If their 2013 debut album, 180, saw Palma Violets touted as the “saviours of indie” or the new Libertines, the John Leckie-produced follow-up finds them pitching up closer to the post-punk era, especially the Clash circa London Calling. Chilli Jesson and Sam Fryer’s sweat’n’spittle-drenched harmonies can’t help but recall Joe Strummer and Mick Jones, and there are loud, swaggering songs about America here, too. Elsewhere, though, they reference everyone from Graham Parker to the Damned, and hurl in everything from Doorsy organs to twangy-guitared surf-rock, delivering each song with epic, music-hall rowdiness. The likes of Hollywood (I Got It) and English Tongue are huge-spirited, singalong rockers that seem to teeter on the edge of chaos. Indeed, Danger in the Club’s flaws and charms alike are summed up in the way Matador rollercoasts from sprawling mess to tuneful brilliance as the band throw everything in their locker at a heroic charge towards death or glory.
