If we are honest with ourselves, the early noughties were rather a bleak and monochrome time for rock. Radiohead were being self-consciously awkward, the Strokes were plying an insipid brand of faux-rebellion that is only possible when you are the trust fund kids of Wall Street billionaires and The White Stripes were busy whitewashing the blues of all of its cultural heritage. Then into that world appeared The Darkness, a vivid Technicolor explosion in a valley of greyscale. Like all good explosions, they burnt bright and died young. A brief extravagant glimpse into a parallel dimension of lurid colour and tight spandex.

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