Mix well-worn Chelsea boots, Levis 511s, long hair, countless cigarettes and cases of Miller and voilà, like a seedy tub of basement moonshine, you’ve brewed up Fox Valley’s own homage to retro-rock, The Wildbirds. If you thought Wisconsin was only good for violently cold football games and those obnoxious “cheesehead” hats, you were wrong.

Their debut LP, “Golden Daze,” is a junky meld of bland blues-rock and lackluster love songs that try to, but fall short of, transforming rock ‘n’ roll into something different than what the genre has been doing for the past 55 years. It sounds like original rock ‘n’ roll – barring several rock powerhouses like Led Zeppelin and Guns ‘n’ Roses – went of out of style along with those Chelsea boots. Be that as it may, the Wisconsin-bred Wildbirds still manage to get feet tappin’ and hands clappin’.

The first throbbing rock boogie, “421,” laden with low toms and tambourine spurts (exactly) like a Rolling Stones record, is what turns this review from a derisive slam of the typical, ever-so-often classic rock revival (The Black Angels, Buffalo Killers and Wolfmother) to a defense of danceable, good old-fashioned music that clearly arose from, well, good old-fashioned music.

Point being, it doesn’t take long to realize The Wildbirds are the cute little spawn of the Stones’ “Between The Buttons” and Tom Petty’s “You’re Gonna Get It.” But with imitation so blunt and blasé, it takes even less time to just get over it and dance.

If “Golden Daze” is nothing more than a booze-fueled romp through a stack of old records – The Heartbreakers, The Yardbirds, AC/DC, etc. – then so be it. This album is not the fruits of a long-labored search for originality, rather fruits of fun (“Shake Shake”), time scale mess-ups (“Way Down Low”) and a love for music, which works whether you can grin, bear it and forget The Strokes ever existed.

Coursing acoustic guitars, like rhythmic heartbeats and meek percussive thumps, fill out the final track “Suzanna,” which is a weaker version of Zeppelin’s “Bron-Y-Aur Stomp.” Both songs tally that same old “sunshine…so fine” bit, but it’s always better when Zeppelin does it.

Filled with infectious, frayed vocal squelches that can be traced back to The Trashmen and The Troggs, “Golden Daze” is in fact music for the sake of music. However, unlike other attempts within the same ilk (cough, cough, Jet), it’s hardly cheapened.

Overall, there’s a “who cares [nobody cares]” attitude hovering over this album’s head. Who cares if it sounds like the Kings of Leon, who sound like The Rolling Stones, who sound like any African-American blues outfit predating 1950?

Any critic can go on and on and admonish the Wildbirds’ copycat rap but they’d be missing the point: Just shut up and dance.