![]() ![]() A lyric like “must get to France / so we can French kiss some French girls” is stupid and fun, and there’s that sweaty wink amid the guileless sincerity, punctuated by a band that sounded like they could defeat all the evil of the world with just a guitar, a drum set, and the lack of anything approaching irony. Brian King’s infectious, vein-bulging yelps and David Prowse’s blistering skin work, the sound of a unit of artillery set off by one man, are enough to make even the most cynical child of the late ‘80s/early ‘90s unironically raise their clenched fist. How many Pabst-in-the-air anthems can you stomach in one sitting? At a Japandroids show, this is generally a rhetorical question. ![]() Strangely inert for a band that practically built their brand on hurtling recklessly forward, Near to the Wild Heart of Life is the sound of a comfortable band stretching the limits of their sound and their fans’ goodwill.
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