The Donnas used to wrap up their tracks within two minutes. Their songs were cheeky punchlines-- "Skintight", "Do You Wanna Hit It", and "All Messed Up"-- and they all had the same set of purrs, sneers, and distortion. Albums titles like Turn 21 and Spend the Night were equally problematic-- nodding and winking, they seemed to trace the band's career alongside websites tracking the Olsen twins' crawl toward legal age. Even after Spend the Night's sole thrill, "Take It Off", afforded The Donnas some grown-up success and MTV exposure, the group still seemed happy playing the role of teen-movie house band.
Gold Medal tries to remedy that reputation with richer songwriting and a thicker sonic tip. In other words, it's not all riffs and swears. New ideas have appeared inside the Donnas' old put-up-your-dukes, pull-down-your-pants swagger; instead of constantly rewriting rock 'n' roll radio, they're dutifully working towards a unique sound. "Don't Break Me Down" burns slow and pays off with a chorus as subtle as the chilly bassline which runs throughout the track. It could be one of those occasional gems you hear on Loud 107's "Turn Back the Rock" weekend, right after the 700 millionth spin of "Sweet Emotion". Even a track like "Friends Like Mine"-- despite placeholder lyrics and a pick-slide opening-- has more going for it than the typical Donnas songs. Much of the credit goes to Allison Robertson (formerly Donna R.-- the girls have finally done away with the Ramones-baiting aliases), whose guitar work has grown stronger with each album, but here she's really tearing it up, giving Gold Medal a more dynamic feel.
In the album's best stretches, the Donnas layer their image and influences over something they can call their own. Butch Walker deserves some credit for this transformation. His production is subtle, but it always highlights the right element of a song, whether it's the extra spice on Robertson's guitar in "Friends" or the continued emphasis on Brett Anderson's throaty vocals. For once she sounds more like a true frontperson than just the bitchy girl in the back of class. Unfortunately, the increased vocal presence also emphasizes Anderson's lyrical weaknesses. "It's so hard to be on your own/ When you're holdin' it all alone." Right. Fortunately Walker is always just a knob twist away from another saving grace. He integrates the album's array of backing vocals and handclaps, makes Maya Ford's formerly inaudible bass a true force, and amplifies Robertson's solos in ways that avoid miring them in cliches. He knows hard rock can't fully outrun cliche, which means the Donnas can't either. It's just party music, after all. But ideally, it still has some breadth-- the party extending beyond the kitchen-- and with Walker's help, The Donnas have fit the pieces together better than usual.
But Gold Medal is still too flawed to be The Donnas' finest hour. "It's So Hard" is another one of those loudmouth punchlines that fails to go anywhere, and lead single "Fall Behind Me"-- as great as its twin-channel guitars sound-- isn't strong enough to compete in the current Return to Rock sweepstakes. "Revolver" goes for an acoustic/electric hybrid, but it's as empty as an album track from one of the junior Avril hopefuls. The title track is a slight improvement-- it's also acoustic, but has a great vocal hook in the chorus and "ooh-wah-ooh" harmonies that put it closer to Dreamboat Annie than The Donnas' usual Kiss 'n' Crüe strut. The recycled riffs and too-easy lyrical cheese are occasionally still in play. But on Gold Medal, even when they fail, it seems as if that failure is a result of The Donnas trying to carve their own identity rather than just being a cute cover band that ran out of ideas.
