I was at a cricket match this past weekend – for any US readers, it’s like baseball, only way, way better – and one of the venues at the ground was being used for a fancy-dress party.
Quite apart from fancy dress being one of the worst things ever invented, they had a band playing. I could hear them soundchecking, and rock ’n’ roll classics were very much the order of the day. They even had a sax player.
But something was missing.
That special something rock ’n’ roll possesses. The thing nobody can properly define, yet everybody recognises when it is there. You can play the correct chords, learn all the moves and buy the right clothes, but you either have it or you don’t.
The Amplifier Heads have it, baby.
“Rock N’ Roll Riot” is about as pure a shot in the arm as you will ever find. Essentially, it is the entire history of the music played out in just over two minutes. Loud, breathless and utterly joyous, it understands that rock ’n’ roll was never supposed to require a lengthy explanation.
“Hot Stars” contains one of those guitar solos people like me describe as “low-slung” without ever being entirely certain what that means. What can be said with considerably more confidence is that the harmonies are magnificent and the piano is even better.
There is a touch of the E Street Band about “A Song Called Sha La La,” but more importantly, it is purely and simply about loving music. Nothing more, nothing less. Then the saxophone arrives, and frankly, enough said.
“They Don’t Dance Anymore” offers perfect, timeless reflection. “No one listens to the radio, and they don’t dance anymore,” sings Sal Baglio, summing up the record’s central concern in one line. It mourns what has been lost without becoming some tedious lecture about how everything was better in the old days.
“A Girl Named Chop Suey” is a glorious Stones-style romp, complete with a namecheck for the wonderful Peppermint Kicks, another of Baglio’s bands. It is scruffy, swaggering and sounds as though it has been having a better evening than you.
Then comes “Can’t Put My Finger On It.”
Well, I can.
The Amplifier Heads are simply sensational. This is beyond catchy, somewhere close to being infectious enough to require a jab. Every hook lands, every guitar part feels necessary, and the whole thing moves with the confidence of a band that understands exactly what makes this music exciting.
“Superstar” struts as though it knows how good it is, even while Baglio admits, “I don’t know what it’s like to be you.” There is vulnerability beneath the bravado, but the overriding thought remains the same: The Amplifier Heads should be enormous.
“Hot Wax” is the type of thing the great Dan Baird himself might look upon enviously. The saxophone returns, doubling the fun and giving an already riotous piece of bar-room rock ’n’ roll another sizeable shove.
That effectively concludes the main record, but there are a couple of bonus affairs.
“Deuce Machine” is as gloriously primitive and garage-bound as The Sonics, while the Transistor Radio Edit of “Hot Wax” trims everything down to its brass tacks. No excess, no wasted motion and absolutely no interest in being tasteful.
It really is as simple as this: there seems to be a growing clamour for “proper” rock ’n’ roll again. Music created by people rather than selected by an algorithm. Songs with sweat, personality, saxophones and the vague possibility that somebody might knock over an amplifier.
Should that be the case, Super 8 deserves massive love from everyone who has ever found rock ’n’ roll exciting. It is a love letter to simpler, louder and perhaps better times – but crucially, it is alive right now.
Rating: 9/10
