Once in a while a band comes along with the sole intention of saving rock ‘n’ roll. They surf into the public consciousness on a sea of media hype, oozing style and arrogance, and have music fans and critics alike foaming at the mouth with a constant stream of killer tunes. Of course, the cynics are always quick to knock them, but even if they fail, they have at the very least entertained us. Right? The Datsuns could very nearly be one of these bands. They come from New Zealand and have a Ramones-style everyone-adopts-the-band-name-as-their-surname thing going on. These are good novelty features which if nothing else, give an increasingly fickle music press something to write about. And write they will. Because nowadays any band that shows an ounce of promise will of course be branded "the next big thing", "the saviours of rock" or "the new INSERT BAND NAME HERE". And if you haven't read the same bullshit about New Zealand’s finest then I'll be very surprised indeed. (Don't you buy NME?)

So, should you believe what you read? Of course not. I’ve learnt to take all these bright new talents with a pinch of salt bordering on cynicism. Yes I lend them an unbiased ear and in the case of The Strokes and The Vines, I was anything but disappointed. Even so, I know fine well that I don't have to like everything that I’m "supposed to"...

The Datsuns play energy-driven rock ‘n’ roll. This can be fun. But when you take away the plundered riffs, the clichéd guitar poses and the God-awful lyrics ("like a motherfucker from Hell"), there really isn’t much left to enjoy. I’m sure The Datsuns are a thoroughly entertaining live band, but when it comes to home listening I think I’ll give them a miss. Sorry, but I’ve heard it all before. Ten times better. 5/10

Reviewed By David Coleman
1st of October 2002