I am listening to a book at the moment about AOR — Album Orientated Rock — that glorious phenomenon that took over America in the 70s and 80s, all big hooks, bigger choruses and songs built for highways, convertibles and dreams. Like everything else, that world faded, got repackaged, got ironed out and, in some quarters, forgotten.
Not by The Gems, though.
Because if this Swedish trio clearly intend anything on “Year Of The Snake”, it is to drag the past kicking and screaming into the future. Not in a retro way, not as some dress-up exercise, and not with their eyes fixed on a museum piece. No, this sounds alive. It sounds hungry. It sounds like Guernica Mancini, Emlee Johansson and Mona “Demona” Lindgren have taken all that old-school melodic hard rock magic, fired it through their own attitude and come up with something that feels both familiar and properly urgent.
There’s no messing about either. “Walls” opens things with an ominous bassline that almost feels sci-fi, before those stacked harmonies arrive and suddenly you’re in that glorious 70s world where everything is huge, dramatic and designed to make your fist clench. It is an opener that announces itself with no little confidence.
The title track follows and really nails the record’s central appeal. “Year Of The Snake” has that sheer sense of glee that the best AOR and hard rock always had — that feeling of the wind flowing through your hair as you thunder down the highway with the stereo up far too loud. The solo absolutely screeches, and the whole thing feels like a band revelling in exactly what they are.
“Gravity” keeps the quality high, and there’s a definite Van Halen-ish flavour to the thing, all shine and swagger, with choruses that absolutely sparkle. Again, the lead work tears through the song with real purpose, and that’s one of the record’s strengths throughout: nothing here feels half-done or merely functional. It all reaches.
That goes for “Diamond In The Rough” too, which is all big, thick, brave grooves and sounds for all the world like it was built with larger venues in mind. There’s ambition in its bones. Then “Live And Let Go” arrives like it might genuinely be a lost hit from 1985. You can practically picture Lita Ford and Pat Benatar nodding along in approval. It has that kind of confidence, that kind of immediacy.
“Clout Chaser” is plainly made to be played live. It struts in, looks you square in the eye and says: I love rock and roll. The Gems evidently do too. Nuff said. “Hot Bait” then throws in a bluesy streak that brings ZZ Top to mind, and by this point the record is having such a good time it’s impossible not to get swept along with it.
There is a ballad of sorts in “Forgive And Forget”, but even then The Gems are not interested in shrinking away. This is big, brash and brilliantly done, a power ballad in the best sense, full of drama rather than sap. “Go Along To Get Along” is another example of just how well this lot understand their craft. It simply sounds perfect — polished, powerful, and absolutely on the money.
Later on, “Math Ain’t Mathing” throws in the line “I’m not here for a long time, I’m here for a good time,” which is a fair enough mission statement for the whole album, really. “Firebird” has something very European about it as it veers close to power metal, while “Stars” is more than happy to lean into a metal edge too. By the time “Buckle Up” arrives, slightly more mid-paced but still fully committed to the ride, the album has already long since made its point.
And then “Happy Water” ends the whole thing in a flood of chaos, which feels exactly right. This is not a band interested in quietly slipping out of the room.
What The Gems have done here is smart. They have taken the melodic instincts, the gloss, the uplift and the sheer exuberance of classic album rock, then welded it to a modern hard rock backbone. Guernica Mancini’s voice is a huge part of that, full of command and character, while Emlee Johansson gives these songs their drive and Mona “Demona” Lindgren brings the riffs and solos needed to make the whole thing fly.
“Year Of The Snake” may wear some old influences on its sleeve, but it never feels trapped by them. Instead, it understands that big choruses, big feelings and a sense of escapist rock ’n’ roll joy never really go out of fashion.
Rating 8/10
