Counterfeit Culture

Josefina Sanner - Sirens

cjeggett — Tue, 08 May 2012 16:54:31 +0100

Nora Jones was always one with a voice to sell a cup of coffee. A bit of light jazz, add a the accoustic echo of a rainy sunday afternoon and suddenly it’s all perculators blazing. Figuratively speaking.

Josefina Sanner belongs to a similar world. It’s middle aged and middle-class and totally inoffensive.

Annoyingly however it’s also got some fairly efficient ways of digging it’s nails in.

These tricks aren’t new, but they’re proficient. In “Row Your Boat” (yes, it is the familiar children’s rhyme) she plays quite happily with the famous rhyme without a sense of irony, detachment or even trying to subvert the message of the orginal. It’s not clever, and that’s refreshing. There’s obvious rhyme and vocal drop-outs, catches and squeaks littered about the place in a charming way.

It reminds you that simplicity doesn’t just have to mean “unplugged” and that “folk” doesn’t have to mean “out of tune rich kids”. It can sell coffee too.

It’s pop music pieced out of known elements, and while you’ll never be in love with it, it’s certainly good enough to put the kettle on for.

Katrin The Thrill - Earth Is Calling Us EP

cjeggett — Tue, 27 Mar 2012 13:52:00 +0100

The sub-title of this review could be “Is there a place for 90’s throw-back indie-rock?”

I won’t hold you in suspense, the answer is no, not particularly - or if there is a space for it it’s in the multi-disc changers of worn ford mondeos of family men who once quite fancied PJ Harvey.

The problem is that this kind of music was supposed to be intelligent, to mark the teenage listener as different from those kids who were just angry. These kids could be safe in the knowledge that they weren’t just angry, they could articulate that anger if they wanted to - or so they though. They probably couldn’t, but they felt that they were just never asked the right questions.

The EP is full of space noise chorus effects, verses lined with slightly threatening tones and some obligatory flicks and skritches of guitar-strings being mildly abused.

The music is forced into a position of being “clever” - and in doing so suffers. Its camp, Placebo-like, PJ Harvey-lite, Homage du Radiohead (Bends era) noise little but illicit a time and a place; if not a feeling.

There is something here though, and frankly I feel bad for sneering so much, I was one of those kids. The jolly madness of “God” is worth a crack into your ear-holes and really, it would be called “a good start” elsewhere.

Just remember kids, it isn’t going to upset your parents.

Hutch Demouilpied - Otherness

cjeggett — Tue, 14 Feb 2012 14:07:00 +0000

Some albums seem split in two. While this one may come with a remixes disc, the divide doesn’t appear here.

No the fault-lines in the album run through every song, and every “remix”.

The remixes are less than dribbling distance away from the originals and are barely worth investigating beyond the few moments of interest in “Otherworldly” by William Fields, or “Le Voyage” by Making The Noise where the song threatens to suggest a glimmer of electronica or even, whisper this, a beat.

The deep rift which cuts through this album is on the lines between pretentious ambient in the style of (the ludicrously easy to apply) P-Stretch and gorgeous blasts of trumpet.

The architecture of the album is one of rubble - as such it’s barely impressive beyond the first glance of it’s expanse. The noises often feel artificially “found” and manipulated.

“Ambient” music is that by its nature, it’s background noise. It doesn’t invite you to engage with it. It’s there to be ignored. In the soundtrack context this gives us nothing of a narrative, and nothing of conflict - but the trumpet does.

The trumpet on short sweet vingettes such as “Dophinium” have powerful slow burn to them which almost redeems the album. It’s as if the artist didn’t care about the ambient elements, but decided to use them to provide some kind of background canvas for their expert use of the horn. But why include something to be ignored?

IGNORE ME, WHAT COULD I POSSIBLY KNOW. LISTEN AND BUY HERE

Review material supplied by Headphone Commute

Easychord - Not In My Family Tree

cjeggett — Wed, 01 Feb 2012 14:00:00 +0000

Someone out there is clearly pining for a Tangerine Dream cover album. Otherwise I can’t see a reason for easychord to exist.

This is less a lesson in ambient soundscaping - it’s much more like a ambient whitewash. It’ll come out in the rain. The fields of noise do seem to have a pleasent “washing,” quality, you know, like the trusty slush of a white good procured from Powerhouse.

There’s a tendancy to use biaural beats to produce a mesmerising effect. While listening to this album you may find yourself staring out the window but not really seeing anything. This album is made to because the “artist” wants you to stare out the window, but so you can look at them staring out the window; “I can’t fathom the depths of that guy’s thoughts right now” is what you’re meant to think. In reality you’ll move away to a less malordourus part of the bus.

This album is a puddle of music made by someone stoned, who likes being stoned and would like other people to indulge their vain desire to be considered an “artist”.

Hippies will probably like it. But frankly, there’s few things more cultural redundant than someone who self identifies as a “hippy”.

DISAGREE? ARE YOU SOME SORT OF FUCKING HIPPY? OFF YOU GO THEN.

Review material supplied by Headphone Commute

Monks of Mellonwah - Stars Are Out EP

cjeggett — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 13:52:00 +0000

Monks of Mellonwah, while not suckling the be-socked “teat” of Anthony Kedis and Flea of Red Hot Chilli Peppers fame, seem to want to get laid. Really badly it seem. So much so they’ve invested their time in putting together a cod(-piece?) -funk/rock band - assuming that this is definitely the best way to find themselves balls-deep in, well, in.

Mentioning Red Hot Chilli Peppers at the beginning of this review is a little unfair, or would be if the band hadn’t so wilfully pitched up in their shadow.

Yes, lyrically they’re from the Anthony Kedis school of song-writing (“It rhymes, doesn’t it?” - and so we’re treated to couplets which rhyme “disappears/tears”, “stream/dream/steam/cream” (don’t worry about the last bit, they’re good boys talking about peaches and cream) and this gem:

“side by side we own the night / just don’t give up the fight”

Then the guitarist shows off how girthy his guitar neck is, the crowd swoon or possibly orgasm their clothes off.

Or at least, that’s how it’s meant to go. More likely they’re going to see a group of unimpressed faces watching them grind away unconvincingly.

(The really bad news is that all the above quoted lyrical tragedies are from one song, album opener “Swamp Groove” - yes, that really is the name.)

The fundamental problem is the album sounds like it is cynically produced to tickle to ovaries (especially the title track, a slow, earnest picked guitar number which screams “I’m sensitive me!”).

The whole experience is a little like the band stepping quietly onto a harshly lit stage, dropping their spider-man underwear to the hushed murmurs of: “Is that it?”

NATURALLY I DO NOT KNOW ANYTHING AND YOU SHOULD PROBABLY CHECK THEM OUT FOR YOURSELF ON SOUNDCLOUD HERE

Whistle Peak - Half Asleep Upon Echo Falls

cjeggett — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 14:20:00 +0000

I like an album which wants to play hide and seek with you. Radiohead used to do it a lot and Elbow’s first album is a great example of it; melody, sound, texture all hidden or unexpected. It’s a bit like a series of lovely ambushes on your ears. It lets you come back to the album again and again, there’s unpicking to be done after all!

I do admit to having a soft spot for a well chosen snippet of noise used behind the melody. Especially in the form of lazy fuzzy guitars which seem to be catapulted from a distance.

To focus on the foreground for a moment (not that there is much of one) the vocals ring through reedy and rough, occasionally pushed through the fuzz of a cracked tube-amp. Again, I must admit a weakness.

The voice sits happily on the cracked-up-indie-voice-scale between Wolf Parade and Tv On The Radio.

There are problems with the album: there is a tendancy to lean on slower, tinkling, plinking and blonking songs (such as “Sailor” and “Land to Land”) - and occasionally this makes the whole thing a little samey. It’s also not something which can be played with a group of friends while banging back a few beers.

It does lend itself to walking home in the cold with your headphone in however, and I certainly like that.

Stand-out tracks are “Hurry Hurry” (a bouncy, fuzzy, stop-start shanty which is the closest thing the album gets to “rocking”) and “Elephant” (a song of silly, beautiful distance).

It’s rare a submission lands with such a satisfying fuzz.

YOU CAN PICK UP THE ALBUM HERE DIRECT FROM KARATE BODY

Paul Newman & The Ride Home - The Importance of Being Earnest Hemingway

cjeggett — Thu, 12 Jan 2012 13:34:00 +0000

Paul Newman & The Ride Home are a Baltimore pop-punk combo who want to ruin your afternoon.

There’s only so much flat vocal delivery you can take in one album. It’s mainly a problem for “serious” pop-punk bands. The trap which always closes steel tooth’d around the ankle of these bands is the chorus.

“Chorus”, in “serious” pop-punk-land means “wail something vague flatly and maybe do a bit of half-hearted shouting”. Sadly.

The album has other issues:

1. It sounds like it was recorded in someone’s carpeted bedroom - while I appreciate any kind of DIY ethic applied the whole thing sounds drowned.

2. They’re not the black-lips. But then, who is? If you’re going to be messy you need to make me smell the reasons why, the cracked leather jackets, cooking blood and snot; the usual stuff.

Redeeming features include: the optimistic and cheerful rythm section; flitting bass-breaks save much of it, providing a powerful and diverting backbone to what otherwise is a fairly standard pub-core fare.

OF COURSE THIS IS BULLSHIT: LISTEN, DOWNLOAD (NAME YOUR PRICE) AND VOMIT HERE

The Petter Seander - Til Death Do Us Apart

cjeggett — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 13:27:00 +0100

If you were going to write an album cynically with the intention of having your songs played on BBC Radio 1 16 months ago there would be few better blueprints than The Petter Seander’s “Til Death Do Us Apart”.

Slightly buzzy guitars and straight-up beats pervade throughout. Lyrically uninspiring, but hitting the right buttons to be played during lunch-time on Radio 1.

“If you accuse us we’ll surrender / Lalalala” - you know, that sort of nonsense which make office workers feel a little less like wage-slaves.

It’s Xiu Xiu without the self-hate, Wolf Parade without insanity and Arcade Fire without the everything-all-at-onceness.

The songs gather around central riffs like you expect, the chorus comes and goes and comes back again as you may expect, it’s all rather expected…

…Yet, I don’t know, maybe it’s the Swedish blood, but these are all pop song - real pop songs - at the centre of this. 5 years ago they could have been support Doves; today? I am not sure where they go.

List to Petter Seander’s ”When Something Dies”:

Petter Seander | When Something Dies | 2011 by Petter Seander

GLEAM - Lady Psyché And Her Heart Mechanix

cjeggett — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 13:51:00 +0100

GLEAM are an interesting duo in their way, swinging from broad pop-rock choruses which wouldn’t be out of place on a U2 or ToTo album (please contain your vomit, chipmunk-like, in your cheeks for the moment) to Jarvis Cocker mumble-verses, angular Talking Heads-esque breaks, and Zeppelin-like drum-drum-tumbles. (Yes, you can swallow that chunky vomit back down now, save it for another time).

This Italian duo do their best to make the most out of listening too too much grunge when they were younger. Yet Lady Psyché And Her Heart Mechanix suffers from obligatory soaring vocal movements and a little bit too much of School of Rock’s school of plumbing (hint: it involves the kitchen sink). It would be more than enough to shuffle along with a mumble and a whisper and then thunder out the guitar-line.

Stand-out track “Blond Purslane” is so reminiscent something with a foot firmly in 80’s non-synth-pop; a pleasant respite amongst the attempts of HUGENESS elsewhere on the album.

It all feels like the songs are strong, but hobbled by production, everything gets a little lost in the chunky mush of noise. Take them out of the studio and put them on a live stage with only a guitar, a drum set and a kazoo and I’m sure we’d have struck gold.

Why not pop over to bandcamp to hear and maybe even buy the album?

Big Eye Family Players - Family Favourites

cjeggett — Tue, 20 Sep 2011 12:39:00 +0100

Instrumental pop music falls roughly into two groups: one side represented by grand and epic post rock sound-mangle wankery and the other a focused soundtrack-esque narrative strain.

Big Eye Family Players are the second kind of cunts.

Like the Go Team without that feeling of a narrative arc they fling their pleasant enough Americana-tinged classical/jazz-trundling into your ear-brackets. It’s not bad, but it is mundane. Each song feels like a small emotional crescendo in a film, just after the reveal the hero or heroine walks somewhere in the rain, after the break-up they stare out the window and look bloody miserable - each song raising itself up and coming to a kind of needlessly undercut climax.

And then it happens again.

Naturally this gets a little tiresome as seemingly unconnected vignettes flip from one to the other.

The stated aim of the group is to allow the head-man a chance to explore “the soundtrack” amongst other things. Why then does this feel so devoid of narrative? It’s not like they haven’t “got me” with a few of the more sentimental moments dripped forth - had an arc been applied to this, had I been able to listen to the whole album with a sense of movement and place then I think this would be a very different review.

Silver Tongues - Black Kite

cjeggett — Wed, 14 Sep 2011 13:48:00 +0100

Silver Tongues’ debut really felt like they wouldn’t disappoint; a stomping intro with some claps, a little funeral organ in “Highways” and interesting but familiar texture to the thing - a bit like David Sylvian/Japan - except sung a little off; showing not inadmirable weakness. Then I realise it’s not really Japan being channelled here, it’s Matchbox fucking 20.

The lyrics sink in - or rather run off me like my noise receivers are ducks backs; yes the sentiments are so worn that I feel that in fact the pace of EVOLUTION has outstripped them.

“If you look around from your warzone/ somuch Loooo-uh-oOOOOOO-ve to be found”

As I said, not quite kept up with our web-footed friend there.

A U2 pastiche drops by (although, let us be honest as we’re friends, U2 are beyond any parody at this point) and stadium rock from the basement is rarely appealing. Thankfully it if brief and at least, in that, an exercise in damage control.

I feel a little like I’m listening to a karaoke cover album of late-80’s-through-to-2001. A bit like when you listen to Gomez’s “Shot Shot” and think of how good Kid A is by Radiohead…

Michael Stipe even turns up. It’s actually a fairly good punt at it and you just feel that if these guys stopped trying to be so boringly earnest and instead focuses on the 2.45 pop song with hooks and big chorus’ that this could be a Maroon5 2.0 contender.

Their best chances are holding on to parts of their repertoire, like stand-out track “Wet Dog” which is a bit like early Elbow covering a MJ B-side and, frankly, discarding everything else they hold dear.

Barry - Yawin' In The Dawnin'

cjeggett — Fri, 15 Jul 2011 13:55:00 +0100

Some would accuse this site of being one filled with endless pessimism; the glass is always half empty for us. With this in mind there has never been a more fitting EP to land in our inbox than “Yawnin’ in the Dawnin’” by Barry, a folk-rock four-piece. They feel like a capable band cracking out tunes, but they need their glasses topped up - with more whores whiskey and probably lime.

By this I don’t mean they’re missing and rock with their roll (although if this album was a roll it would be a soft white bap.) it’s just… if a folk band wants to sing songs vaguely like Nickleback covering Ryan Adams I need to be able to hear the syphilis in the throat, the jangle of rotten teeth, and the low vibrating thrum of whiskey-pickled lungs; more coke and fights, less gentle folk records, more sleeping rough, less hot dinners, more blood, less bleeding.

The album starts off well enough, the intro to Yawin’ in the Dawnin’ making them sound like bunch of sea-shanty loving fuck-heads. Even the first couple of songs channel something of the Pogues via For Your Own Good and Carnival(e) (embedded below) - but it all falls apart disappointingly by the time we reach Drink One More. Or rather, it doesn’t, nothing is falling apart here, it’s all together each song coddled into existence no roughness, no life, no wear and tear.

Barry: one of the most “together” bands ever to submit to these acidic pages - but all the poorer for it.

Like that? You could always leave a comment, or buy the album to spite my review: BUY BARRY BUY BARRY BUY BARRY

Genco - Confused Einstein

cjeggett — Wed, 22 Jun 2011 13:40:00 +0100

Genco’s debut is little more than whisper on the U-bahn between tipsy would-be-lovers. Deathly sparse but unrestrained you feel that the effort gone into making this album, the pure energy would be barely enough to boil an nearly empty kettle and make a cup of weak tea - even in a pyramid shaped bag which allows effortless circulation of the ground tea-leaves - without milk.

And yet it is hard not to be won over by the half-heard half-hearted mutterings which serve as lyrics dropped between the cracks of fat but quiet bleep-tone melodies.

The actual content of the album is hard to pin down, but in recent interviews Genco’s lead layabout suggested “The album is really about how our pacifism and apathy is the only way to overcome the right-wing, pseudo-fascist, proto-grass-roots movements we’re seeing spring up all over Europe. It’s like: “Chill out guys; the modern consumerist bourgeois lifestyle comes with super cakes and a great wine list. Join in!”.”

While their battle cry isn’t exactly enough to get the blood boiling, they have made the perfect album to listen to while eating cakes.

Wallscenery Demos - Half Asleep. Half awake

cjeggett — Thu, 19 May 2011 14:01:00 +0100

This week Wallscenery Demos offer up their third album for our greedy ear-gullets to swallow whole or choke on at least. The album opens with promising guitar fuzz, the kind of muted guitar fuzz-waves-in-aglass-box noises you absolutely fucking loved from Here Come The Warm Jets. The guitars lace and play with each other, one cheekily unzipping the other in the hope of something meaty.

Sadly it’s a little flaccid. The vocals kick in and you feel your heart sink a little. No it isn’t bad per se - it’s just hidden. Much like cottaging the vocals try and get away with it without exposing themselves to the world.

Shy and retiring wallflower make this mistake, self produced musicians make this mistake - they know the words so they can hear it; for us however it’s mostly lost.

This is made all the worse by the snatches you catch with your deep-diving ear-nets; hollow echoes of Bright Eyes B-Sides and Love is Hell era Ryan Adams fragility (not as good mind, but there are wiffs of it there.)

The album continue to piss warm jets all over itself when petulant samples of “The Big Lebowski” are thrown in for the album’s fourth track. This track serves only to burn whatever good will you have for the artist.

It’s hard to drag up venom for an album standing in front of you soaked in it’s own effluence - especially when you feel somewhere that it is not ineptitude, but shyness that has made it this way.

But what do I know? VISIT HERE TO HEAR AND SEE FOR YOURSELF WITH YOUR OWN EYE STALKS & EAR GULLETS.

My Panda Shall Fly - Sorry I Took So Long

cjeggett — Thu, 05 May 2011 13:30:00 +0100

Sorry I Took So Long contains the required wet popping noises of a ping pong ball being blasted from the masterful vagina of a bangkok hooker and hip-hop inspired tape-warble to place it firmly in the “post dubstep” landscape.

Yet this particular part of that sound-scape real-estate equates to something more like daft-punk asleep at the wheel of an aging hipster coach trip to the seaside. It’s headed for somewhere like Bournemouth if you’re interested, which you’re not.

Video game noises litter the streets of this seaside town like sweet-wrappers - but not identifiable ones; in short there is nothing of real nostalgic substance here, no right hook to your jellyfish-head to remind you of summers indoors playing Kid Chameleon and Toejam & Earl.

Yet this is a little unfair. If you were somewhere really fucking cool, but with nothing to say, and this was playing at ear-bleeding volumes you wouldn’t care - but then you’d be focusing on your own reflection in the coke-dusted mirror-table-tops anyway.

There are some good starts here - but they inevitably wander off down the beach, far away from the tune. Sometime you think there might be a rallying call when a few lost and abandoned ideas (if you’re not back at the bus by 4.30pm we’re leaving you here) gather under a burnt out pier - but you’ll be disappointed.

But hey, WHY THE FUCK take my word for it when you can HEAR, SEE, BUY RIGHT HERE.

Fifty/Fifty - Political Affairs

cjeggett — Wed, 27 Apr 2011 13:51:00 +0100

National pride. Some think it’s out of fashion, some think it’s been made illegal by insane jobsworths (turns out the people who believe this are insane jobsworths), and others make music to celebrate it.

Enter stage left: Fifty/Fifty. British? Yep. Young? Yep. Angry as a badger with a hangover? Certainly. Proud of their country? As much as anyone could want them to be.

Political Affairs is a drama played out through a series of every English sounds; jangly hook-heavy guitars, deep-dubstep inspired bass, relentless but unobtrusive drums and a very average man shouting like singing as best he can.

What does he shout about? Well, he shouts about how he’d like Kate Middleton to give him a blowjob on the eve of the Royal Wedding - producing gems like: “You could be my angry pirate Queen / While you’re looking at William I’ll remember how you were winking at me.”

It’s run-over almost-rhymes which make the delivery so perfect, like the song’s lyrics implode and topple like waves breaking and crashing. And it seems to have turned me all whimsical, the cunts.

Other tracks imagine Blair and Clinton taking turns with Hillary, John Major’s early and unpleasant meetings with Michael Howard (best not talk about that really) and what I’ll only describe as a “Thatcher Solo.”

An album that does what it says on the tin, some will find the subject matter unpleasant, other (cool people) will understand the lacing of civic pride, rise to the occasion and sing the national anthem while thinking of the queen sitting on the throne, naked surrounded by loyal corgi’s. Fifty/Fifty, Political Affairs: You’ve got half a chance to enjoy it.

World Dirtnap - Parents were invented to make children happy by giving them something to ignore

cjeggett — Tue, 19 Apr 2011 13:36:00 +0100

World Dirtnap aren’t your average Finnish electro metal band. Sponsored entirely by Nokia they’re the bridge we’ve always wanted between the bleepity-bleep of chiptune-pop and neo-classical Finnish “Dark” metal. Not only are they they bridge, they’re under it as well - eating …things.

Sponsored by Nokia (yes, THAT Nokia) World Dirtnap use a series of ringtones, keytones and looping samples of international dialing tones to weave their semi-orchestral spikey “dark” metal. The full power of the Nokia 3310’s ringtone composer is use to great effect, but nothing can be compared to when they lay their dicks on the line with solo using only the sound-effect of “Snake”.

Videos of the group working together during their “4G OR BUST!” tour look like your average chiptune band on steroids - troll steroids, no: Nordic troll steroid… In short they look like huge men with massive thumbs hammering away at tiny plastic phone like blonde ADD gorillas - blonde ADD gorillas on Nordic troll steroids.

As for the racket they make? It’s a very fine one. Hunkle Splurson, the band’s front man (usually singing spasmodically into a Nokia E-90 and a Nokia 9210 Communicator - both employed for their superior voice compression) breaks out what can only be described as pointy ear honey - for your ear bees, see? Who can honestly say they don’t like the noise of distorted ringtones pounding out of a huge Marshall stack? No, exactly, you fucking love it.

Carntyne - Salvation by Imagination

cjeggett — Tue, 05 Apr 2011 13:37:00 +0100

Cartyne’s first album is a mixed bag. Yes, they take a mighty run up at genre hopping, mostly crashing into the barriers and bouncing off rather than through anything - but the sheer variation of ricocheting musicality is impressive.

Treading old folk lines at its core Carntyne find ways to augment their sound with dub, reggae, progressive house & thrash-core. In break-away-hit-summer-sing-along-anthem “Mickey Mouse Goes Down On Goofy” you can hear the 6-piece barely containing their joy within in the limits of the song.

The vocals swing erratically too. From soft a soothing jazz-cooing (often mixed with jerky reggae guitars and spacey-house beats) to cod-comedy-rap breaks.

The album really shines on the 14-minute album-ender “Cunting Double-Cunt!” which will literally have your lungs turn into a swarm if giant wasps with stingers deisgned to kill you with kindness. Exploding kindness. Made of Candifloss, which in turn is made out of endless Rebecca Black choruses.

In essence this is the second best album released this year.

Spontaneous Potential - Stay up and fight

cjeggett — Mon, 14 Mar 2011 14:05:00 +0000

Spontaneous Potential’s first foray into the musical landscape is clearly designed to leave us dazed and confused. Heavy, lazy and violent all at once they’ve produced an album so slippery with spunk that you’d assume they’re the proprietors of an elephantine breeding club.

Heavy sub-sonic beats mix with endless static produced by the front man’s artistry of deep-throating the mic (no, that isn’t euphemistic.) As such the wet and violent punctuation of the beat which passes for “vocals” abrasively remove the top layer of your brain-bag with a flesh-eating-virus soaked scouring brush.

However, when you regain consciousness after your first listen you’ll be forgiven for wanting a bit more from this band. Much like watching two overweight bank-managers wrestle one another in a basement while on ketamine you’ll feel a twinge of emptiness at the pit of your stomach.

Curse Of The Boulder Valley - Of A Pleasure

cjeggett — Wed, 23 Feb 2011 13:30:00 +0000

Curse Of The Boulder Valley offer us another generic dancy ear-worm. As the dance duo’s 8th studio album in their 3 month career you cannot go wrong in saying they are a prolific pair. Yet their attempts to create aural pleasure always fall a little short in differing ways between one album and the next. So there is one which goes “Wub-Wub-Wub-Wub-Wub-Wub, WubWub-Wub-Wub-Wub” but it isn’t as good as the one which went “Wub Wub Wub, Wub-Wub, Wub-Wub” on the last album, and the one what goes “daka-da daka-da daka-da, DA-DA”? It is nothing like as obligating when it comes to moving your feet as their debut’s opener, you know, the one that sounds a bit like “Duka-do Duka-do daka-daka-da daka-daka-da.”

So who is this for? Well the sweat and vomit filled pools of social interaction (read as blurily attempting to avoid either being sexually assaulted or having your name on the sex offender list while attempting to just get a fucking beer) might lap it up (along with whatever else might pass in front of them). But no, no one really want this, not really, this is muzak to vomit to - and while that sounds like a recommendation, it really isn’t.