Is “Baby’s Gold Death Stadium” likely to win any awards at a folk music convention? No, because it isn’t folk music and, even if it was, Desert Sharks aren’t out and about looking for gongs. They just like making some noise and some properly angry noise at that.
Lo-fi to the max with all the dynamic range of a bulldozer on a reverb rampage, this is the kind of raucous album that pretty much defines delinquency in our time. Of course, girls with overdriven guitars, manic drums and a bad attitude is hardly a new concept but Desert Sharks are positively zealous in their efforts to get your attention for this is the kind of old school garage rock that has a natural home in any basement dive that has a Joey Ramone mural on the wall.
As song after song hits you – and I means hits you – you soon realise that this isn’t the kind of music that you play in the background while you are painting your kitchen. I tried to do so and had to do the job again after kicking the damn paint pot across the room in an unexpected bout of uncontrolled pogoing. Yes, I danced like this was the first days of punk.
I don’t know what colour of lipstick these ladies use but I will bet my last lottery ticket that it is red. It has to be for you can’t create music like this without bright red blood flowing through your veins. “Baby’s Gold Death Stadium” – must try and figure out what that actually means – kicks out the jams and that, mes amis, is more than this grey world deserves. Play loud then play it again. Loud. Loud. Loud.
Best song? The full on “Sick Sad World”.
The verdict? Another band to worship at full volume.