The word “Nirvana” has been tossed around near North-West’s bratty noisemakers Nine Black Alps so much recently that, like a young child with an embryonic grasp of language, they may well be under the misapprehension that the name belongs to them. Their vocabulary past that point must be fairly limited. But it’ll all just end in heartache later, surely. All sorts of “I am not your father” type shenanigans, time wasted in the courts, DNA testing, the lot. Because that association is quite simply poppycock (or, ahem, rockycock). You can trace a faint line all the way back to the output of Seattle’s most infamous sons, but it’s no family tree. You’ll need a solid black marker for the short line between them and the Foo Fighters, mind. And The Dave Grohl Band’s link to Nirvana is tenuous at best, even considering their frontman.
This is streamlined arena rock with loud guitars, just lacking the production values needed to exist in the top league. It is not much more. Though it is occasionally reasonably good. ‘Just Friends’ for instance chances upon a Kaiser Chiefing chorus and throws in a bit of buoyant Red Hot Chili Pepper ‘Me & My Friends’ style japery. ‘Behind Your Eyes’ with its removed folk plucking surprises by sounding like Badly Drawn Boy. And the single ‘Shot Down’ pinches a Jane’s Addiction riff and stays on top of it, bucking bronco style.
‘Ironside’ kicks off with some gruesome Bleach grinding, but is sucking a sickly sweet lollipop by the time the chorus comes around, not sounding dissimilar to saccharine rockers Lit. ‘Not Everyone’ again has some rough riffage buried in there, but is more notable for stealing Dave Grohl’s revving-up-his-throat-to-sound-dead-impassioned trick. ‘Headlights’ has more in common with Blink 182’s slacker sound than anything particularly anarchic or ambitious. There’s a competent pop rock record here, but the only way they’ll get closer to Nirvana than My Vitriol is by being filed alphabetically.