Aerosmith

Imagine your father and his mates – all in their sixties or so – have decided to take the stage, because they were in a band once. And they’re there now, it’s your party and they’ll try if they want to. So they’re up there and they’re so sure they’ve still got it. It’s the same old song and dance, they are very much sure of that.

Of course it doesn’t sound anything like the glory days. It sounds comically like people that think it sounds like the glory days still. It sounds like the parodies. So much so you figure Bill Nighy is now an official member of the group.

This nightmare could be the truth – especially if your name is Liv Tyler.

Here, with their first album in nearly a decade, their last one being covers, Aerosmith return to shake a leg and the small detritus that falls loose has been gathered under the term “songwriting”.

The problem, and we’re kidding ourselves if we think it’s just the one, is that Joe Perry thinks – even after playback – that he’s remaking the best bits of Pump. And Steven Tyler is happy enough recreating the worst bits of Get A Grip and Nine Lives.

It’s getting harder to believe/remember that Aerosmith was once (almost) vital. This album is nothing more than a sad joke. The strut is now a stroll. The rut is taking its toll.