When Time says the velvet ropes, limousines and magazine covers have passed you by,
or that rock & roll is only a young man’s passing digital fancy? Do you pack it in, pull up a bar stool and content yourself with re-living the glory days?
Or do you hunker down, turn it up, and tell the Gods and Time to fuck the fuck off?
The gentlemen in Temperance League choose the latter, and this beggar's dozen of lunch-bucket anthems is the night-in, night-out product of a band just nailing down its stride.
What matters here is experience: A rhythm section locked in, a song-serving guitar solo, a singer who spills his guts into every desperate ballad and transcendent rocker.
Without aping the classics, but built from the same DNA, Temperance League’s sophomore slab reminds us that heart-felt rock & roll songs don’t care how old or famous you are – only that you mean it.