Single of the Week: What exactly is hideous, I have no idea and I don’t think Gigwise faves Do Me Bad Things do either, cos ‘What’s Hideous’ is a mesmerising piece of uber camptastic pop-funk-rock-rompery that defies categorisation! On the face of it, ‘What’s Hideous’ shouldn’t work, it jolts all over the show with stabs of powerchords and funk laden drumming, but put these fantastical musical jabs in combination with the unadulterated mind blowing vocals of Chantal Delusional and Nicolai Prowse and you’ve got the mastery and potency of Turbonegro, the soul of Vandross (two mentions, in one Gigwise article must be a record!), and the flamboyance of the Rocky Horror Show! It’s hideous to think that such a motley crew of characters can actually produce such majestic ostentation, and it’s hideous to think this may go unnoticed! Go purchase!
In cometh the legion of thy doom, Bullet for my Valentine, bow down to the new order. Entering the bloodied fray with glass splintering guitars and bellicose drums from the pits of Hades, ‘Four Words (to choke upon)’, heralds the monstrosity that lies within the spawn of British metal. Bullet For My Valentine disavowal the comedic imagery of ol’ United Kingdom’s metal pantheon with this beastly seed of Slipknot’s frenetic agitation and Metallica’s asphyxiating velocity and sheer horsepower. Roar!
Mincing on another level come the New York via Germany dandy dyad, Fischerspooner. Yeah, you may recognise the name, let me take you on a paragraph’s journey, and all will be explained…in a time not so long ago, we lived in a world of chaos fuelled by the fruits of capitalism’s liberties, the planet was on the cusp of a new millennium, a cusp of insecurity. “Why, the world may explode tomorrow in the dawn of such a new numbered era”, thought Earth’s moguls, “how can we pillage the proletariat for one last time!?” Well, Tony, Rupert, Jacques, George, Osama and Saddam thought of a plan so ludicrous it may just work, “ELECTROCLASH… a coalescence of the Space Invaders (‘I hear the kids dig it!’) soundtrack and the subhuman detachment of new romanticism”. Somehow the tsars pulled it off, “just label it postmodern art, the music mags will cream their pants over it!” Then the world settled into the 21st Century and the fashionistas forgot all about ‘electroclash’, what with guitars making an unheard of resurgence an’ all, but Fischerspooner wouldn’t let it lie. ‘Just Let Go’ scrounges electro’s leftovers to form this pointless parody…is the title meant to be ironic!?
When The Dead 60s were known as Pinhole, they described themselves as the strut of The Clash with the harmonies of The Beatles, this wasn’t entirely true, they were more like a band striving to recreate ‘The Clash’ (by The Clash) but instead fabricated empty rhetorical punk pop ditties that held mild melodic congruity. Nowadays The Dead 60s are a band trying to recreate ‘Sandinista’ (by The Clash), and ‘The Last Resort’ makes a hash out of that. ‘The Last Resort’ is, to be fair, piss poor, there’s no passion, no zest, even the inane sloganeering of ‘Riot Radio’ is void. If you wanna apprehend how to rip-off Clash dub, lads, look no further than The Ruts, they did twice the job you’ll ever do.
Weren’t Thirteen Senses supposed to be the next Coldplay!? No such success thus far, eh lads, and this ain’t gonna change with their oddly chosen single, ‘The Salt Wound Routine’. You can’t fool this hack with your identikit piano musings - just cos the exact same niminy-piminy intro worked to a certain degree on previous single, ‘Into The Fire’, it doesn’t quite give it the corresponding gravitas this time around. Whilst Thirteen Senses aren’t as predictable or weak as Fans of Kate, they don’t hold the morose knees-ups that Coldplay deplorably do, and they don’t entirely possess enough quirkiness to relate to Ed Harcourt followers, they just seem to hover in the middle of the road wastelands.
Aah, nonsensical raps over funky, funky eighties b-boy backing tracks, don’t you just love ‘em!? DJ Format certainly does, in fact, he’s become quite the hip-hop funk authority of recent years, and ‘3 Feet Deep’ does nowt to diminish this. You know the formula, sing about yourself, do it a bit more, mock Cher, mention Luther Vandross gettin’ handjobs- yep, that’ll be the Format protocol. ‘3 Feet Deep’ comes at ya’ like a less garish Beastie Boys frontin’ a fried chicken advert, and that’s gotta be finger lickin’ good!
Aw, poor Jimmy Eat World, they haven’t had the best fortune have they, they more or less brought emo into the public consciousness, other bands exploit their blueprints, they make a darn good record in ‘Bleed American’ but it gets overlooked in the aftermath of 9/11. Now their latest album, ‘Futures’, has been forgotten in favour for the American eye-liner renaissance of The Bravery and The Killers. ‘Work’ smothers word that ol’ Jimmy are dried up, with an illumination of Weezer-esque balladry that leaves you defenceless to their anodyne relief and stalls any such thought of chuckin’ that lumberjack short-sleeve shirt for a tight fitting T.
Turkey Of The Week: Ooh, look at our vulnerability, we’re indebted to girls and we don’t know what to do with our limbs and we sound like an indie-fied Keane, (no this isn’t another Thirteen Senses review) - Fans of Kate and ‘I Don’t Know What To Do With My Hands’. More girls…more vulnerability…verse…chorus…verse…chorus…uplifting keyboard solo swiftly mincing into chorus…BOREDOM, BOREDOM, BOREDOM!! Such is the AM radio feebleness of their songs, Fans of Kate would cry with gratitude if they even met Tom Chaplin and his merry band of fops, I’d cry with fear… “get that pig-man away from me!”
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