It takes balls to name your album true rocker and an even bigger set of balls to name the second track thunderstruck, given that the title is liable to remain inextricably linked with one of AC/DC’s greatest moments. Nonetheless, Monster Truck, the Juno-award-winning Canadians, have done both these things and, if the strength of the opening cut is anything to go by, they look set to get away with it too. Hot off the back of over 150 shows played since the epic Sittin’ Heavy, True Rocker is the band’s third album and it has, in many places, clearly benefitted from the band’s hard-won experiences on the road.
Kicking off with the Rolling-Stones-being-battered-by-AC/DC-and-Clutch euphoric blast of True Rocker (featuring Dee Snider, one of the ultimate True Rockers), Monster Truck clearly aren’t interested in taking prisoners. Like all great rock bands, Monster Truck take pleasure in indulging the mythology of rock ‘n’ roll, singer Jon Harvey roaring away and Dee gleefully eulogising from the pulpit in a manner that channels both James Brown (circa the Blues Brothers) and Bonn Scott. No less exciting, Thunderstruck is every rock anthem you’ve ever heard condensed into one almighty sing-a-long, Jeremy Wilderman’s flaming riffs sounding like the studio was filled with a thousand flaming guitars as Jon’s massed vocals ring out loud and clear above the din. It’s dumb, it’s fun, and if it doesn’t make you want to load up on beer and gather your mates for an impromptu party, you’re listening to the wrong record! However, things take a bit of a dip as we edge into Evolution. A track that’s long been out as a single, it is markedly weaker than the two preceding cuts, referencing the recent studio-bound shenanigans of Shinedown. It’s moments like this, when a red-blooded rock band succumbs to the insidious charms of the mixing desk, that a certain frustration sets in and while the track is liable to provide good radio fodder, it’s a step too far from the pummelling might of the opening tracks. Fortunately, things get very much back on track with the southern twang of Devil Don’t Care, an explosive blues-rock number ably backed by Brandon Bliss’s keys and Steve Kiely’s taut beat. The energy levels are ratcheted up another notch as Jon counts in the monstrously melodic Being cool is over, a hard rock anthem in the vein of School’s out built around the sort of riff that makes it quite impossible to remain seated.
Kicking off the album’s second half, Young city hearts is something of an oddity. Based around Brandon’s keys, the intro suggests an ill-advised foray into the indie rock territory of the Killers, and the end result does have that ring to it, although it’s rescued by an unexpectedly chunky riff from Jeremy. An unashamedly grandiose singalong, young city hearts has the potential to become a live favourite, as does its follow up, the mid-paced ballad undone, but both tracks lack the punch found elsewhere. The band get back to the business of kicking asses and taking names with the chrome and gasoline riffing of in my own world, a track that sounds like Deep Purple and Zakk Wylde in a bar fight. Massed vocals and juggernaut riffs are the order of the day on denim daughter as the band unleash the battle cry of “oh-oh, this is our town!” with a volume that will render few liable to disagree. The aptly titled hurricane makes good on the frantic blast of the title track and its full-throttle follow up, all blues-infused riffing and tooth-loosening percussion before the howlin’ brings the album to a suitably psychedelic close, the filtered drums and distorted guitar played low and slow as Jon delivers a performance worthy of Robert Plant. It’s a fine ending to a solid album possessed of flashes of genius.
On the one hand, True Rockers is an album that has something for everyone. From the unstoppable rock of the title track to the uber-polished evolution, the band have certainly expanded their sonic palette. On the other hand, results are variable and, for those truly seeking a heavy rock album, the digressions into heavily polished anthemic territory can prove distracting. Monster Truck, at their best, deliver the kind of guitar-driven pyrotechnics that make you want to leap from your seat and flail around with abandon, and it’s only when the production gets the better of them and starts to overwhelm the grit that the wheels start to wobble. 7
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