‘Ten Tonne Skeleton’ is the deal maker, though. ‘Blood Hands’, ‘Loose Change’ and ‘Careless’ all have echoes of an augmented Jack White, the former as close to a ballad as a band can get while taking everything to its loudest point. ‘You Can Be So Cruel’ has a delightful hint of the Homme to it, cruising the desert in a way the Queens of the Stone Age main man would no doubt approve of. ‘Come On Over’, a pulsing engine of oil and metal, retains its stature too, while ‘Figure It Out’ brings a touch of the funk, rolling and strutting into a high risk of headbanging whiplash. ‘Out Of The Black’ remains an incendiary calling card - a roaring, snarling Godzilla levelling sky scrapers at will. Thumping, sleazy blues, mile high riffs, a mighty crunch that could turn a skeleton to dust far from reinventing the wheel, Fred Flintstone’s car has been painted with go faster stripes and fitted with nitros.Įven with a debut album, their ascent has been so steep the opening salvo feels like a premature greatest hits.
In an era where rock on the radio has found itself staring longingly at arenas by becoming ever more epic, often risking sharing a student bedsit full of Coldplay’s discarded pissy mattresses, they’ve led the charge by going back to its glorious roots. Yet where a bit of a good old fashioned racket usually means an underground rather than mainstream concern, over the past twelve months Royal Blood have exploded.
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