If, for some reason, you can't get enough of Classic Rock stations (Zeptember is around the corner), plus you give credence to post-millennial revival bands and don't think there is enough of them quite yet, The Yardbirds (I mean Wildbirds) will deliver Golden Daze, although they won't be much different than any other day: hitting the bar before noon, drinking PBR out of a can, storing a few suds in your mustache for later, smelling like burnt charcoal, and growing that hair long (who cares if you're balding on top). As you live in the margins of hygienic responsibility, The Wildbirds' marginal songs will speak to you, in a way. You are both imitations of life.

To say Golden Daze is a bad album would be incorrect. Many of the songs have an initial appeal, and are easily listenable because they do not belabor any movement for more than thirty seconds. The real problem and it's becoming more frequent due to lack of originality, is that once The Wildbirds is out of my ears it's out of my head. Golden Daze does not make my mind recall its own songs, but rather my favorite Kings of Leon songs (or Strokes, Hymns, etc.). The Wildbirds do not prove their own greatness, but the greatness of those before them.