Wednesday, September 5, 2007

I Hate New Rave

What great news. The Klaxons just won the Mercury Music Prize. Let's all jump around until 4am waving glowsticks and pretending we are gay and high on E.

Teenagers are cunts. I say with almost without exception. Every generation of teenagers finds a new way to be complete cunts in the eyes of that which went before. From the Generation Xers and their guitar-solo killing grunge who were actually okay, through self-harming Slipknot freaks, through emo pussies, and to the current dayglo paint smeared poofters, teenagers are almost ubiquitously absolute pricks.

These new-fangled idiots have gone the other way, though. Whereas before people would get more violent, depraved and bedroom-bound, this generation found it impossible to go further that way, so they became complete dicks, put on pink and yellow t-shirts, and went to Creamfields as boyfriend and boyfriend, being sure not to hurt any Ladybirds on the way.

It makes me not angry, but sad, that these kids can sit there and think that their culture is somehow important, somehow valid and somehow of relevance in 2007. But you know what makes me even sadder?

That, to them, the music they claim to love is just an accessory to an image they claim to identify with.

If you think this rant applies somehow to you, then stop being a sheep, grow a spine and read the review below. Then go to the shops.

Future of the Left - Curses

Hows your fantasy team getting on so far this season? Mine have just recorded a record.

McLusky were one of the best bands of the noughties. This fact is inescapable. I put them on the same pedestal as Biffy Clyro and Idlewild when they were still called iDLEWiLD. McLusky Do Dallas is a work of sheer, sheer genius, and everything else they released falls not far short of that high water mark. If you don't own McLuskyism (the massive three CD version), then I demand you to go out and make the purchase. If you regret it, I'll shit your money back in two pound coins.

I also loved Jarcrew. They were the original dance fucking punk band (this time around, anyway) and they rocked. They were beyond intense live, charismatic, and in Paris + the New Math, had a tune that simply does. not. age. a. day. Jarcrew gave birth to new rave, and everything good and bad that comes with it.

Jarcrew + McLusky = Future of the Left. Awesome.

So is this record. My god, this record is awesome. Imaigne Jarcrew, ten times as evil, cold, calculated and vicious. Imagine McLusky with even huger tunes. Imagine the sound of violence, but not the type you'd associate with Slipknot and such like. These guys are sick, perverted assasins, not depraved serial killers. That is the sound of this record. My god is it good. My god, my god is it awesome.

Highlights? That wouldn't be fair. But if you insist... if we've been following our recorded output we're already very good friends with The Lord Hates A Coward and Adeadenemyalwayssmellsgood, so allow me to intruduce you to My Gymnastic Past and Wrigley Scott. And Suddenly It's A Folk Song. And the re-invented Real Men Hunt In Packs. And we can't forget Plague of Onces. And and and. Oh, I quit. You simply can't pick highlights from something this seminal.

I apologise it's taken another 10/10 review to get me writing again. I doubly apologise because I'm far, far more readable and entertaining when I'm presented with something by The Holloways or The Enemy or something utterly shite like that. I apologise thrice for revealing even the smallest detail about this record, because, in an ideal world, I'd want you to discover every sweet nuance for yourself.

But this is it, readers.

Your album of 2007.


Saturday, July 7, 2007

Interpol - Our Love To Admire

Interpol are fucking depressing miserable life-hating cunts who enjoy nothing better than causing a few thousand people to end it all every two or so years by unleashing a suicidally negative album into the world.

They're shit live too.

This is probably their best offering yet, but that's like saying that Michael Hutchence killed himself in a better way than, say, boring cunts who throw themselves under trains. So cliche. Give me an orange in my mouth and suspenders on my limply dangling legs anyday. Turn On The Bright Lights was good too. That album is like overdosing on cocaine and choking on your own vomit between a strippers thighs. Pretty awesome but done before by cooler people.

I sometimes struggle see the appeal, or even the point, of albums like this. There isn't anything exciting going on and there isn't anything original on it. I appreciate the artistic merit in a way that I do not appreciate the artistic merit of Damien Hirst fucking around or Banksy being a cunt again, but seriously, fuck off and hang out with vampires and stuff rather than try and bring down my lovely summers day with your night time suicide attempt soundtrack.

I derived no positive emotions or pleasure from this album, but then again, I like albums by The Paper Chase, so that's not really a bad thing. I must sound fucking ScHiTzO, slagging this shit off then giving it a good mark, but yeah...

It's depressing and boring and miserable and stuff but it's not bad. It's their best album. They need to change a little bit before they bother releasing another one though. Otherwise they'll find their next album getting Z/10. They avoided it this time out because some tracks show some stretching. By some tracks, I mean The Lighthouse.

I should start giving albums either 0/10 or 11/10 because making my mind up is hard.


Monday, April 23, 2007

At The Drive-In - Relationship of Command

You may have noticed that I enjoy being scathing in my reviews. That's because I do not suffer fools, I do not suffer crap music, and I do not suffer my toast going cold before I get my butter on it. One of those is relevant, sometimes two. In this case, "fools" is most definitely the only one relevant. This is my favourite album of all time, co-written and partly performed by one of the worlds biggest penises, Cedric Bixler.

This is the album that is responsible for the screamosplosion that's ruined the last five years of music for me. All of these bands who puke out adrenaline-shot riffs and scream indecipherable lyrics about plankton and shit got their ideas here. All of those bands who would rather jump around the stage and break things than perform got their ideas either here or from Idlewild when they were called iDLEWiLD. And all of those bands who are horribly skinny, wear tight jeans and have wafros... well, I'm glad they're limited to Wolfmother.

It's hard to put into words quite how perfect this record is, and because you've heard it all before, I'm not even going to bother. I think the fact that, six and a half years after its release, it's the only record ever released that I can still listen to, start to finish, and be as excited, captivated and awestruck as the first time we came across one another. It is the yardstick to which all albums are compared, be they hardcore, post-emocore, new prog or country and western. Songs like One Armed Scissor, Cosmonaut and Invalid Litter Dept, three songs that piss all over the combined career output of 99% of bands, are timeless, essential, and examples of sheer, undiluted genius.

Such a shame it is, too, that Cedric and Omar have gone on to form the worst band in the entire world, The Mars Volta, and that Jim isn't getting the press he deserves for releasing three albums, two good and one amazing, with Sparta. Man, I REALLY HOPE THAT THE MARS VOLTA DIE IN A HORRIBLE GAY-SEX RELATED ACCIDENT. Cedric is getting plenty of press, however, for being a complete and utter cuntflap, and writing songs with guitar solos, drum solos and fucking sound-of-farting-caterpillars-solos so long, pointless and destinationless they could aptly soundtrack a disabled dogs attempt to drive around the world in a Reliant Robin just because it can. Whilst Jim makes upward looking rock which seems the logical progression from ATD-I in the mainstream direction, Cedric is content to vomit out discs crammed with musical sewage, pointless 16 minute songs and three minute swirly whooshy sound effects that sound like being lost in the woods at night. And that is definitely NOT something I'd pay £12 for the privilege of doing. Perhaps the biggest travesty of them all is that he is busy creating seventeen minute sonatas for indier than thou spastics and that kid from school who sat in the dark room and said you didn't understand him rather than the kind of visceral, urgent stuff on Relationship of Command. What a waste of fucking talent.


Thursday, April 12, 2007

+44 - When Your Heart Stops Beating

I don't really know what Mark Hoppus and Travis Barker want to achieve with this. I really can't fathom it. Mark is utterly minted already, Travis made some fairly cool stuff with some of his punk friends on that Transplants record that was out a few years ago. What I can tell you is this;

This disc contains some of the most insipid, uninspired pop-punk toss that I have ever heard. It's not even that most of the tracks are shit. That would be kind to them.


Arctic Monkeys - Brianstorm

Once upon a time I thought the Arctic Monkeys were alright. I had an .mp3 of a decent enough song called A Certain Romance but I couldn't get past the fact that the riff was a complete Ocean Colour Scene ripoff. I was then reviled by the fact that, when they finally deigned to churn out an album, it consisted almost entirely of songs they'd already released for free to their fans on interweb, and filled in the gaps with some other songs that sounded exactly the same as the rest. It was the most 5/10 album of the year. It wasn't terrible, but likewise, it had nothing special about it, and yet it got lapped up by the record buying zombies nationwide. Travis. Coldplay. Snow Patrol. Arctic Monkeys.

This single sees them make their ill advised return. You'd have thought that having seen the backlash reserved for Maximo Park and Arcade Fire that they'd have split on the spot. I certainly would have, rather than release this record. The problem is that it's View From The Afternoon V2.0. Only it's not, because it's crapper. You should never release a shit rework of your own song as a single. Absurdly, Brianstorm is the second track on this single. Lead track "If You Found This It's Probably Too Late" starts off with some strings before burning out in one minute, just like a furious wank.

Then the single itself shows up. You've already heard it on the radio so I won't bother commenting on it. What I will comment on is underage girls in indie nightclubs. Why do they always scream when their favourite song comes on? And why do they scream the loudest for this painfully average candy floss? If you want to hear something really, really awesome on the dancefloor, request the Soulwax remix of Gravity's Rainbow.

The third track is completely disposable, and bizarrely features Dizzee Rascal in a straw-clutch for some more credibility, and the fourth track is probably the best, being feedbacky and noisy and stuff. It's pretty cool once you get 1 minute in, and it's basically GRUNGE at 1 minute 45. The Vines wanted a song like this to put on their second album.

However, I do not await the Arctic Monkeys album with much expectation.


Wednesday, April 11, 2007

The Holloways - So This Is Great Britain?

So this is the sound of a bunch of talentless chancers picking up some instruments and singing some puns about STDs? Yes, I'm afraid that is pretty much it. In fact, to be honest, I can't believe this CD exists. There isn't a single redeeming feature about it except for the weather forecast on the cover which is just as good as the Met Office one. The first track is a laughable attempt at God knows what. The fact that you know it's fallen flat on its face and failed miserably despite not even knowing what it was aiming to do is indicative of the quality of music on offer on this record.

This is the sound of Pete Doherty taking a shit then sticking a tin whistle up his arse and farting, recorded on a broken four-track and mixed by clinically insane four year olds.

Seriously, I listened to this abortion of a record twice. Once because I had to and once in a futile attempt to find anything good on it. Most of the crappy sub-Libertines albums that have been released (note to Holloways - mostly about three years ago)
had at least one or two goodish songs on them. If The Others, The Paddingtons and even Thee Fucking Unstrung could manage one or two passable songs, why can't The Holloways?

The answer to this question, I'm afraid, is that they are inestimably shit.