June 28, 2004 by A.S. Van Dorston

It goes without saying that the UK music press hypes bands seemingly indiscriminately. All their b.s. about saving rock or revolutionizing music is enough to make your eyes glaze over. But eventually, something has to stick. Razorlight’s Up All Night may not change anyone’s lives, but it’s sticky like a floor after unsavory debauchery. It’s easy to see why there’s strong similarities with The Libertines. Frontman Johnny Borrell is their mate who sometimes sat in on live gigs. They share the same breathless romanticisim of being young and drunk in London, and some killer songs that leave you no choice but to play air guitar like the guy who won’t leave the party until physically ejected. The tinking piano on the first tune sends a tingle of anticipation up your spine, perhaps a Pavlovian response programmed by classic openers like Patti Smith’s “Gloria.” “Leave Me Alone” doesn’t quite measure up as such a titanic statement of purpose, but its ringing guitar chords and Borrell’s perfectly ragged vocal delivery don’t disappoint. Throughout the album his vocals range from belting out punk shouters to a rambling chatter somewhere between Rancid’s Tim Armstrong, Bob Dylan and Bruce Springsteen. “Vice” and “Up All Night,” evoke The Boss’ early, rambling epics with the tension between feeling trapped and hopeless and celebrating life.

“Rock ‘n’ Roll Lies” sounds like a tossed-off punky throwaway, but its hooks make it one of the more enduring numbers. “Which Way Is Out” balances the wordy lyrics with the band’s tightly disciplined riffing, building into a tremendous racket. Worked into a frenzied lather, the album’s masterful sequencing sets up for its first killer knockout, “Rip It Up.” While Bjorn Agren’s guitar tone can be admittedly derived from Television, more significantly, its controlled chaos is inspired by The Voidoid’s Robert Quine. Another key element of Razorlight that comes to light here is their drummer is an absolute animal. A great drummer can really make a band, and I’m salivating to hear this live. “Dalston” illuminates another great strength. I have no idea why one shouldn’t go back to Dalston, but the band injects so much convincing passion into the plea that I’m certain going back to Dalston would be a very, very bad idea.

“Golden Touch” starts with another simple, spare riff cribbed from The Cure’s “10:15 Saturday Night,” but blossoms into something much more, and another great, catchy single that demonstrates a lighter touch, which bodes well for the band’s versatility. “Stumble And Fall” is another frenzied highlight with more fantastic drumming. That and the shouty “Get It And Go” seem to whip by so fast I start to panic, realizing I’m at track 11 and that’s as good as it’s going to get. Many recent albums seem to go limp in the last few cuts, but Up All Night proves its meddle, keeping it up until the job’s done. “In The City” taps back into Patti Smith for inspiration, invoking beat poet Bukowski, this time taking its sweet time in getting to the point. One can nearly miss the point with the false ending, before it explodes into a righteous rave-up like The Velvet Underground joining The Who onstage in 1969, Lou Reed furiously strumming, Pete Townsend windmilling, and Moon wailing. Fookin’ satisfying, that one.

At this point, as “Hang By, Hang By” ambles on, you’ve got a stupid grin on your face, and if you’re drunk (like I was the fifth time I heard it last night after July 4th celebrations), you’ll be shouting along to the chorus. “In The Sea” is appropriately triumphant and blustery, with Borrell shouting himself hoarse, “I know your love lies somewhere in the sea! In the seeeaaaaaa!!!” “Fall, Fall, Fall” wraps the album up on a more subdued, melancholy note. I can understand why some might not get onboard with this. I suspect too much time around Borrell would inspire the urge to slap him. But for those without the baggage of looking too closely at the cracks, the hyperbole is pretty justified. The choice rocker of the summer.

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