Brooklyn throwback rockers Diamond Nights are the latest cyclical rockers, hoping to woo girls who won't realize their moms were fawning to virtually the same band 25 years ago during REO Speedwagon shows. After the Darkness pecked away at metal-phobic listeners' prejudices, the subsequent carbon-copying of the Cure and Duran Duran decimated listeners' retro barriers, allowing anything sounding dustier than Dad's record collection to seep in. If right now the Killers are trashing Ritz-Carlton suites and spilling Port on their suit jackets, retro-cousins Diamond Nights at least must be leaving candy wrappers on the floor at Best Western.
Four of this EP's five offerings are pure frat party filth, cashing in on the reemergence of "Jessie's Girl" and "867-5309/Jenny" (did they ever go away?) on kegger playlists. "Dirty Thief" swipes the chords to "Just What I Needed" but forgets the hooks to match, leaving us with an unremarkable tale of heartbreak and rote soloing. "Saturday Fantastic" offers much of the same as the band pulls out its beefiest power chords and testosterone-soaked vocals. Amazing to think four years ago these guys would be tarred and feathered by both underground and mainstream critics, no?
Before totally denouncing them completely, check opener "Destination Diamonds". It's not exactly pushing the envelope, but it's also not jumping up and down screaming "pick me!" like so many outlandish revivalists. Frontman Morgan Phalen borrows the verse melody to "Blinded By the Light", but fluffy guitar riffs and disarming falsetto puts the diffident, vulnerable spin on arena rock that the Foo Fighters and Queens of the Stone Age so often miss.
Unfortunately those slight gains are nullified by Diamond Nights' most vile error-- inexplicably feeling the need to prove they can use synthesizers. "The Girl's Attractive" reeks of lechery and tackiness, and the camp is residual on the fist-pumping faux-Rocky montage "Buddies". No one's being narrow-minded here, you simply can't just ape your parents' music, pass Go and collect your 200 bucks anymore (OK, I guess you get the money sometimes). Once We Were Diamonds unabashedly sports a caveat emptor, but that's exactly what drunk kids want to pay for when they stumble into Wal-Mart at 2 a.m. anyways, right?
