The reason history can't repeat itself is because we know too much, and the reason that most of the punk bands currently plaguing Britain aren't convincing is that their basic stance—"We ain't heard nothin' yet"—is a lie. The same old rock & roll riffs are the same old rock & roll riffs, however badly they're played. But these old riffs are also the crispest way to celebrate some joys and doubts, and the problem in assessing young rock bands often lies in assessing what they say as much as how they say it. Certainly it is in this respect that Eddie and the Hot Rods are so refreshing.

They aren't punks anyway, but straightforwardly British; American influences have reached them through the filter of mid-Sixties mod-beat. The reference point for this record is the first Who album. There are the same kind of soul standards played clumsily and determinedly fast. There is the same sub-Eddie Cochran teenage anger, as in the title track. All the songs are addressed directly to the listener (it's marvelous to have an LP so free of introspection). There is the same muddled, lyrical feel for young male mysteries. There is even a live and authentic version of "The Kids Are Alright."

The Hot Rods' greatest strength is their anonymity. They use a traditional lineup—vocal/guitar/bass/drums—without stylistic self-consciousness. Their songs, mostly written by guitarist Dave Higgs, are trim and catchy; their influences are those of the early Who—Bo Diddley, Cochran, Buddy Holly, rockabilly; their emphasis is on chopped phrases, a busy bass, excellently exuberant drumming. The only time they indulge themselves, in the dramatic "On the Run," it is in good pop fashion—feedback and whispered echoes.

This is a first album and the Hot Rods have a long way to go before they match the Who. Singer Barrie Masters lacks Roger Daltrey's splendor; Higgs is a good rhythm guitarist but so far hasn't a leader's venom; the band doesn't take the risks that made even the early Who so exciting. But then they live in a more sober age, and my comparison is not just reviewer's bathos: there is music here to stir even Keith Moon's jaded spirit. These kids are alright. (RS 238)

SIMON FRITH