Exceeding the bounds of a mere band, Canadian quartet Billy Talent have, without a shadow of a doubt, transformed into something of a cult. Seemingly, half of Milan’s sub-20 population has withstood the sacrilegious scarring of their smouldering pop-punk iron, wearing the heart of Benjamin Kowalewicz and co on their sleeves, or recently-purchased extortionate t-shirts doused in saliva of phonetically-blurted lyrics after a mere matter of minutes in the swirling pits of Devil In A Midnight Mass...Yet tonight, sprawling before the dove-splattered backdrop to their inspirationally-entitled third LP Billy Talent III, the troupe veer haphazardly close to the pit of caricature and no return. As This Suffering flails limply, it takes the abrasive shrieks and boy band vox of old school shocker Line & Sinker to jolt tonight into the land of the living, before the down-tempo slump of Rusted From The Rain dampens spirits within the throng of sweat-soaked disciples on a drab Thursday amongst the smog-ridden outskirts of Italy’s monstrous metropolis. The ‘Talent shot through the clouds of relative obscurity into the paradisiacal realms of the mainstream a handful of years ago with their seminal power-rock opus Billy Talent II, largely disregarded tonight in favour of the somewhat formulaically convoluted, contrived cackles of LP3 and as such, lose about as many strings from their bow as a male tribute to the Plasticines. The swathing balladry of Surrender lulls the swaying masses into a saccharine-sweet sense of soothing before the crunching Strat strums of River Below drown wandering thoughts, before the haunting bass pulsations and cascading guitars ripped straight from the cold, beating heart of Burton’s The Nightmare Before Christmas lurch from the open grave of The Dead Can’t Testify. Kowalewicz quips incessantly about the feminine sector of the Milanese population in his now-trademark banal pre-pubescent squeaking and squawking before the bratty brutality of The Ex, occasionally muttering the odd vaguely recognisable Italian slur, yet it’s the razor quiff of pencil-fingered Ian D’sa and the wandering wrists of Aaron Solowoniuk that steal the bones of the show away from the drooling jaws of their front man. Turn Your Back is the glistening blade that strings you up from your ribcage on a tantalisingly catchy choral hook more or less reminiscent of the visceral spits of The Ramones, whilst Try Honesty is still as heartfelt as a rom-com bereft of resolution. Returning triumphantly to a rapturous reception, Devil On My Shoulder and Fallen Leaves pile drive bass-hefty riffs into the sturdiest of skulls before Red Flag unceremoniously drills their banner into the now-viscous decks of Magazzini Generali. Disappearing discreetly, an evident sense of prominence prevails yet where Billy Talent once beat supreme at the bruised heart of punk, they’re now endangering themselves through emotionally vacuous inanity and comical choruses. Their heart’s now scrounging for its amputated scribble-soaked soul...
