I have been sitting on my hands since Monday, desperate to not say anything about how bad The Darkness are. But, after last night’s Brit awards (which I didn’t see because I was out watching real bands) I just can’t stay silent anymore. I am well aware that people have different tastes which all make up the wonderfully diverse quilt of music that we all wrap ourselves up in, but usually the damp patches stay far away from my side. However, The Darkness is so in my face that I can’t avoid them anymore. Since my turf is the London live scene, I have been privy to their shtick for over a year now. I remember when those first posters went up – it was just a close-up shot (no text, just an image) of Justin’s flames-shooting-from-below-the-belt-area tattoo. And hey, flames rising from a guy’s nether regions – if that is wrong then I don’t want to be right. But then I started getting emails about them and people starting talking about them (He wears a lycra jumpsuit! He sings falsetto!) And I saw them – I can’t even remember where and I did think – yeah – that was fun, they are like Thin Lizzy meets the Sweet, Peter Frampton sings and they wear second-hand Ice Capades costumes. Hooray! But like a candy bar, once that initial sugar rush is over, you need a little something like a club sandwich to get you going again.
I think that the reason The Darkness works is because they make people who would normally be embarrassed to like cock-rock feel comfortable about their tastes - and it’s all because of that ironic edge they’ve got. If it were completely serious it wouldn’t work, but because it’s not serious it’s suddenly ok to rock out to cheesy rock riffs again. I am not saying they don’t put on a great live show (they do) and its refreshing that they care about that (and the audience having fun). But are we supposed to genuflect in front of them like they are doing something no one has ever done before and hail them as the new saviours of rock? Sorry, no. They are cock-rock hair metalers. They are Whitesnake, if Whitesnake wore feathered unitards and didn’t date porn stars. The Darkness are a flash in the pan (albeit a very shiny one) and no one will give a toss about them next year.
They’re like an STD on rawk’s groin – weaseling its way in via a sparkly outer package, wreaking havoc, but you take some penicillin so it all becomes something that was fun and foolish, but with time becomes a silly, embarrassing memory.