Side 1 of Thin Lizzy’s most beloved album opens with its sleazily anthemic title cut, which is the kind of swaggering-towards-an-explosion mission statement that leads one to believe they were tossed in the clink in the first place for being flagrantly, insubordinately intoxicated in public. Leading off Side 2 is “The Boys Are Back in Town,” which is “The Boys Are Back In Town.” If that’s all there was to the Dublin hard rock greats’ sixth LP, you’d be fine just picking up the 45 that contains both cuts — after all, that’s what the American classic rock radio machine eventually settled for. But that’s just another prison to bust out of, as Jailbreak reveals their deeper strengths: frontman Phil Lynott’s romanticism has an unvarnished sincerity no matter how poetic it gets, and its Venus heart/Mars head dichotomy finds conflict in love (the most compelling, fascinating partners are the ones who bring you down, no matter which party “Romeo and the Lonely Girl” sides with) and vice-versa (albeit in broader terms of “love” — like how “Emerald” juxtaposes Irish pride with the suffering of war that reinforces it). That this emotional tumult is amplified by the almost guilelessly kickass guitar theatrics of Scott Gorham’s and Brian Robertson’s double-lead roles just makes that appeal seem more immediate, the macho feint that conceals the deeper sensitivity beneath.