Throughout the history of Internet Rock Music (2006-present), Japandroids Pty Ltd have prided themselves on equally dividing their focus between their two core business arms — Bromance and Nostalgia. Both of these limbs have consistently been bulging with muscular masculinity, engineered for crushing beer cans and high-fiving besties, perfectly masking the heartache of another failed female romantic endeavour, as well as being utilised as an expression of appreciation for their fellow species.
While nobody in their sober mind would dare describe their debut record, Post-Nothing, as a "subtle adventure in the pursuit of real love", the album took on an unmistakably introspective focus, internalising the seemingly never-ending battle to find a pleasant enough vagina to lodge semen into over an extended period of time.
Celebration Rock calls off the search party.
Actually, it goes further than that, tricking the search party into returned to Base Camp and then stealing all their pocket money, bludgeoning this metaphoric group of innocent volunteers into a unrecognisable heap of intestines and regrets, while screaming "shout like hell to the heavens" into the empty night sky, before speeding off down the Highway of Life 101 in a Mustang Yolo, zero fucks in their rear-view mirror and a million hours of freedom and Canadian Club ahead of them.
But aside from the subconscious serial-killing, narcissistic rebellion this record might conjure up in some listeners, above all else (as the title would suggest) this album is a celebration of life, delivered through the basic mechanism of unapologetically straight-shooting rock and roll. More specifically, this album is about the jubilation of the last fleeting moments of adolescence. An adolescence that has already been dragged out well past it's used-by-date, overlapping into the tragically mundane world of adulthood. "We don't want to worry about dying, we just want to worry about those sunshine girls" is still tattooed in cursive across the chests and butt cheeks of both Japandroids members. And there's still no regrets, with the band continuing to live every weekend as if an unwanted pregnancy email will be waiting for them in their Monday morning inbox. This is nostalgia for the glory days - those days when, even as you're living them, you can almost feel time slipping through your fingers. Romanticising your final hurrah, the last summer and the slightly unclear memories that attach themselves to these moments.
It's this sense of urgency and drive that makes Celebration Rock such a remarkably good record. An alzheimeric glance at nostalgia that's primarily overshadowed by an appreciation of the dissipating present. With every line and crowd-yelled echo delivered as if it's the last words of a twenty-something share house resident reluctantly accepting full-time employment and/or that his fuck buddy has become his girlfriend.
But that's not today. And right now there's no pondering, contemplating or worrying about tomorrow. It's just about some mates, arms around each other, beers spilling, occasional gentle pecks on each other's cheeks and the possibility of vomiting on each other at the end of the night, leading to some mild sexual experimentations, pushed right up to the point where the whole vomit incident becomes just a minor footnote in an explosive night of Bromantic Exploration. And right now nothing else holds the same level of significance.
And this acute sense of aliveness is what dictates the record's sole purpose — to be performed live.
Japandroids are a band where their albums are a reason to tour, not the other way around. They know who they are, who their fans are, and they aren't aiming for artistic heights; they just want enough money for some petrol to get them to the next show. Of course, there's an unmistakable romanticism attached to this simplistic view of survival, even more-so in this era of television karaoke contests, five-minute careers and fantastic Saturday Night Live performances.
But more than that (and all of the billion paragraphs presented here), this album is simply unattached. Celebration Rock is just two guys making triumphantly brilliant punk songs, joyously expressing their lust for an instance. Lost in a moment fuelled by an overwhelming happiness in the surrounding company of friends, the creation of vivid imagery featuring Springsteen riding Mark Hoppus bareback through a field of Paul Rudd's and the act of bottling more memories from these days than any other period in our lives. And right now, as we put off growing up for another week, it's hard to imagine needing much else.