- Music
- 01 May 01
If you get your rocks off to breakneck guitars, thumping drums and shout-along choruses, then The Offspring may be just the cartoon punks you've been waiting all your life for. Their only other hit, the anthemic 'Self Esteem' seems such a long time ago now that Dexter Holland ... pals could be a completely new band.
If you get your rocks off to breakneck guitars, thumping drums and shout-along choruses, then The Offspring may be just the cartoon punks you've been waiting all your life for. Their only other hit, the anthemic 'Self Esteem' seems such a long time ago now that Dexter Holland ... pals could be a completely new band.
I must admit, I'm quite partial to their latest single, the insatiably catchy 'Pretty Fly (For A White Guy)', even if it does nick its intro straight from Def Leppard's 'Rock Of Ages'. In fact, the '80s BIG ROCK acts, complete with big hair, could be something of a reference point for The Offspring's six-string stomps.
'The Kids Aren't Alright' is straight from the Jon Bon Jovi songwriting school - pseudo-social commentary a la 'Livin' On A Prayer' - and Offspring sound not unlike the fuzzy haired 80s rockers on fast forward.
Thankfully, they have more of a sense of humour than their predecessors, with 'Feelings' a punk-parody of the old 70s standard, and the Caribbean beach party of 'Why Don't You Get A Job?' displaying their lighter side.
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'She's Got Issues' is the funniest song this listener has heard in a long time, as Dexter pokes fun at the American tendency to invent technical terms for our every neurosis, over-analysing into the bargain, and the humour is a delicious shade of black: "You told me a hundred times how your father left and he's gone/ But I wish you wouldn't call me Daddy when we're gettin' it on."
On the downside, 'Walla Walla' is a heavy-handed reminder that crime doesn't pay that's about as subtle as a Vinny Jones sliding tackle. That said, it's delivered with a large dollop of melody and, most importantly, brevity. In fact, the only songs on Americana that overstay their welcome are the title track itself, a puerile dissection of the American Dream which comes on like Megadeth on Prozac, and the closing, epic 'Pay The Man' which is a yawnfest if ever I heard one.
While Americana isn't likely to have you searching for superlatives, it doesn't pretend to be anything more than it is - a punk-pop album which is going down well with angst- ridden teenagers the world over - and isn't nearly as intelligence-offensive as it might have been. As Bryan Adams once observed, everywhere he goes, the kids wanna rock - maybe now they'll pogo too.