ALBUM: Dangerous! – Teenage Rampage

Release Date: September 19th, 2011
Label: Epitaph


A special circle in hell is reserved for bands as superficial and redundant as Dangerous!. From that silly little exclamation mark all the way down to their cringe worthy vocal yelps of false sincerity and ’emotion’, everything about the band feels all too much like a target marketed exercise in cashing in.

Their new album (or as I like to think of it: ‘youth-orientated cash-for-audio product’) is ‘Teenage Rampage’, a title that sums up their intentions better than any flippant remark on my part. Both the music and heavily emphasised imagery are both horrifically condescending and dull. Contradictions drop out of the sky with every passing minute, as if every possible ‘teen-rock’ demographic has been scoured for a visual or audible ‘hook’. The result is a depressingly middle-of-road blandstanding of hollow platitudes, and songs with all the escapism of an angsty underwear model clone.

‘Teenage Rampage’ is an all-in-one package of what the music business thinks Joe and Jolene Average’s experience of life between the ages of 13 and 19 entails: its riffs are formulaic rehashes of all the other successful, well-selling template bands that have gone before it; their frontman Tommy creaks out some exaggerated mess of words in a manner that makes him artificially relatable to for ‘the kids’ with their problems, their hormones and their weird lives; their songs fit the same old structures to make you feel all comfortable and involved from the off since you’re already well versed in how they were thrown together. I mean, they’re called Dangerous! for God’s sake, what more evidence do you need of an intensely focussed attempt at snatching up those ‘edgy’ youth £££s?

You couldn’t ‘like’ this album in the same way you can’t like an implacable tendency for a particular brand of soft drink that you’ve never drank before, yet somehow want. If I were to liken Dangerous! to a building material, it would a flimsy board of beige MDF, fresh off the recycling plant’s production line. Mmhm, smell that sawdust.

Written by Greg Johnson