Review

In an era where earnestness often trumps entertainment, The Darkness continue to wave the flag for theatrical excess with their seventh studio album, "Dreams on Toast." The Suffolk rockers have remained admirably consistent in their mission to deliver bombastic, tongue-in-cheek rock and roll, and this latest offering suggests they have no intention of toning things down. From the opening salvo of "Breakfast Champions," Justin Hawkins' falsetto remains as gloriously ridiculous as ever, soaring over brother Dan's chunky guitar riffs with the same unabashed flamboyance that defined their 2003 breakthrough. It's comforting to know that some things never change, particularly when those things involve skin-tight catsuits and songs about morning rituals delivered with operatic intensity. The album, self-produced in Dan Hawkins' Suffolk studio, retains the band's signature sound while gently pushing at its boundaries. "Neon Nightmares" introduces unexpected electronic flourishes that somehow work perfectly within their maximalist approach, while "Champagne Supernova" (no relation to the Oasis track) delivers the kind of strutting glam rock that would make Marc Bolan proud. What's most impressive about "Dreams on Toast" is how The Darkness continue to walk the precarious tightrope between parody and genuine rock craftsmanship. Yes, there's plenty of winking at rock clichés, but beneath the theatrics lies serious musical chops. Rufus Tiger Taylor's drumming is particularly noteworthy, providing a muscular foundation that anchors even the most indulgent moments. The album's centrepiece, "Leather Weather," is vintage Darkness – a perfect storm of double entendres, guitar histrionics, and a chorus so catchy it should come with a health warning. It's nonsense, of course, but it's the sort of nonsense that leaves you grinning like an idiot. Not everything lands with quite the same impact. "Digital Love Machine" feels like a step too far into self-parody, while "Midnight Rider" strays dangerously close to AC/DC tribute territory. These missteps are forgivable, however, in an album that otherwise delivers exactly what fans would expect and desire. What's remarkable is that two decades after "I Believe in a Thing Called Love" had us all air-guitaring in our living rooms, The Darkness still sound so energised. There's genuine joy in these recordings, a sense that the band are making music primarily to amuse themselves – and if we happen to enjoy it too, all the better. "Dreams on Toast" won't convert the unconvinced, nor does it try to. In a musical landscape often dominated by calculated authenticity, there's something refreshingly honest about The Darkness' commitment to ridiculousness. They know exactly what they are, and they deliver it with conviction. For those of us who've followed their career through breakups, reunions and varying commercial fortunes, "Dreams on Toast" feels like catching up with an old friend – one who still wears the same outrageous outfit and tells the same type of jokes, but somehow remains endearing rather than tiresome. The Darkness may be serving up familiar fare, but it remains deliciously satisfying nonetheless.