Saturday 10/02/07 The Hedrons, Rose Hill Drive @ King Tuts Wah Wah Hut, Glasgow

Following their tour bus crashing in 1973, Rose Hill Drive awake in the present day. How will they cope with modern music? OK, that’s not actually true, Rose Hill Drive are really just a modern Colorado power trio. But it should be. Their sound is astonishingly retro, with a Led Zeppelin and Deep Purple esque thump to it. It’s like the 80s and 90s never happened, with a series of lengthy guitar workouts on each song. Certainly, there’s of plenty middle aged men nodding along, presumably delighted to find a band that plays “proper” meat and potatoes rock. For the rest of us though it grows rather tiresome. The musicianship is evident but the songs lack any sparkle and merely remind you why punk rock was so desperately needed.

There’s no lengthy jams with The Hedrons. Anything over three and a half minutes seems anathema to the all female Glasgow four piece, who cram around fifteen songs into just under an hour. Big riffs and short sharp punk pop energy is the order of the day. Playing a hometown gig to close their three week tour the band seem delighted to be receiving such a rapturous welcome, tearing though most of their debut album.

Certainly, the early songs bounce around merrily. However, what follows is the realisation that is all the Hedrons have to offer. Quick opening drum beats, guitar kicking in, the odd solo and front woman Tippi screeching away. And that’s your lot. There’s no variation, nothing to change the tempo, just middle of the road Ramones lite being slowly bludgeoned into your skull. OK, ’Heatseeker’ is pleasing enough and ’Bad Charm’ gives the rhythm section something to do but the majority is teeth grindingly dull.

There’s even a cover of Vince Taylor’s ’Brand New Cadillac’, rendered exactly the same way as their own material. Reports that Taylor didn’t just spin in his grave but actually rose from it to decry its awfulness before going back under again are unconfirmed. At least the band have a bit of rock n roll swagger about them, guitarist Rosie in particular standing out. Tippi on the other hand insists on throwing various rock n roll poses which, rather than make her look like a wild woman of rock appear to suggest she is a demented aerobics teacher instead.  

They may try hard but The Hedrons need a severe upgrade in material if they want to progress. Frankly, their banal, unoriginal work here suggests a band that pays far too much homage to their inspirations and not enough on originality.