The Singles Jukebox
Lowri Turner & The Bunnymen



we’re six months old this week. Hoorah! And what better way to celebrate this momentous occasion than with a week full of singles that we don’t really like very much? Come, join us as Echo & The Bunnymen return to roughly no fanfare at all (marginally more than Shaggy, mind), Mylo isn’t as good as that mash-up of ‘Rapture’ and ‘Riders On The Storm’, Jack Johnson derp de dweedly diddly derp, and the Ying Yang Twins get to do that whole “Yeah, well, we don’t mind if people hate our stuff, cos at least we’re getting a reaction, y’know?” thing. Perhaps this makes them the new Razorlight, I forget. But first! Goldie Lookin’ Chain have noticed that women be drinkin’! Ha! Ha! Yes.


Goldie Lookin’ Chain – Your Missus Is A Nutter
[2.50]


Dom Passantino: I'm not much of a one for appeals. But, I'm asking you, the Stylus singles jukebox reading public to open up your wallets, hit the Paypal, throw coins in the little collection jar at your local Co-Op, sit in a tub of baked beans for seven hours, sponsored "Go everywhere hopping" day at your office, do whatever you can to raise funds. And when we finally have enough money, we'll send invites out to Goldie Lookin' Chain, all 749 of them with their hysterical names more suited to appearing on the back of the university hockey team's drinking shirts, we'll have them all around, sit them on some thrones, give them crowns, and officially declare them the worst band in the world today.
[0]

Doug Robertson: Of course, all generalisations are wrong, but one that holds up pretty well to even the most intense examination is the claim that all musical comedy is as entertaining as cleaning out a paper cut with turpentine. After all, if jokes were supposed to rhyme, Murray Lachlan Young might still have a career. But while this might be received wisdom in most homes, more and more this idea is being treated with the sort of contempt normally reserved for, well, musical comedians. Essentially a remake of ‘Your Mother’s Got a Penis’, only without the radio bothering references to genitalia, this is smart, witty and as catchy as a highly trained cricket fielder. Who’da thunk it? What next, Mitch Benn releasing a single? Oh…
[7]

Hillary Brown: This is more like it. Song of the week, with madly catchy repetitive chorus, incredibly simple bass and perfectly half-assed prevailing aesthetic.
[8]

Patrick McNally: It was only a matter of time until Serge Gainsbourg and Jean-Claude Vannier's amazing doubled guitar theme to the 1970 film Cannabis was sampled for a hip-hop track. Unfortunately, we get lumpen comedy-rappers Goldie Lookin' Chain spitting over it. I say spitting, but given the skills on offer, they're actually dribbling thickly down their chins. Hip-hop is the only type of music that can regularly make me laugh on purpose but GLC are so lame that I can't even raise the energy to laugh at 'em.
[1]

Alex Macpherson: As GLC 'insults' go, this is a huge step down from "your mother's got a penis", itself entirely free of hilarity. This song acts as a black hole of humour, sucking all trace elements of wit from the listener's surroundings; an anti-joke which leaves you not with a grin but with a sour grimace on your face.
[0]


Coldplay – Fix You
[2.87]


Fergal O’Reilly: As far as Coldplay go I have long been in the "oh come on, they're not that bad camp, but this funereal drudge of a song actually is That Bad; it induces that particular type of soul-crushing boredom unique to songs that spend their entire length straining to be all beautiful and fragile and failing miserably because they're so fucking clumsily maudlin and utterly bereft of inspiration. It's not often I find listening to something to feel like so much of a chore, but its banality has this insidious, room-filling quality and ngh, I really don't want to hear this ever again.
[0]

Jonathan Lee Bradley: X & Y is utter, utter shite. It is the sound of the world's most undeserving band resting on its laurels. Fix You, however, is a thing of beauty. It follows weepy rock ballad convention perfectly, and gets every single detail right, turning standard Coldplay fare into stirring, emotionally affecting music. Too bad it's still standard Coldplay fare. They put it on the O.C., though, and it was freaking awesome, so I gotta bump up the score a few points just for that.
[7]

Tom Ewing: Unstoppable balladosaurus that will trample us all no matter what anyone says about it. The opening reminds me of a horridly slowed-down "Where is my mind?" and the building arrangement is nothing if not obvious - hard to avoid some involvement even so, harder still to not feel cheated afterwards. Better than "Everybody Hurts", if you're counting.
[1]

Paul Scott: Like U2 did with the post punk sound, Coldplay have taken the expansive yet intimate emotiveness which characterised some of the most acclaimed music of the last decade or so and repackaged it with the straight ahead sentiments that fill stadiums. The reason why they have got so huge may be the way Chris Martin's lyrics are so vague that on some level they must connect with anyone who has ever had a relationship; the way to connect with an audience of 200,000 people is to make them think you are singing to one person. Sure it's corny populism, unashamedly so, but it doesn't feel cynical in the least, driven by a desire for connectivity rather than riches. It has no more "worth" or whatever than, say, Ciara or Spoon, but its existence feels every bit as necessary.
[8]

Dom Passantino: It's like watching Del Boy fall through the bar, isn't it? It wasn't really anything better than average in the first place, and living with a country where it's rammed down your throat over and over and over and over again as an example of "genius" because we live in a land where mediocrity is trumpeted as excellence you just grow to hate it more than you really should. I don't even know what this song sounds like, my brain just rejects it, it hits my taste gag reflex when I try and listen.
[0]

Patrick McNally: It's an anthemic piano house record but with lyrics from greetings cards and car adverts and the beats taken out in case the 'real music' fans get scared.
[1]


Jack Johnson – Breakdown
[3.40]


John Cameron: See, when surfers get sad, they get sad. But they also stay groovy and listenable. And they keep on strummin' their nice, mellow, folky guitar, and singing songs which tell you occasionally unique things about livin' through wordplay like "the wisdom's in the trees, not the glass windows." Because that's the secret surfer code.
[8]

Alex Macpherson: This is one of those guys whose omnipresent MOR pisses Americans off, right? And who completely fails to impinge on British cultural life bar the odd appearance on The OC soundtrack? I do so hope, anyway: my god, his 'sensitive' flutter of a voice is the most irritatingly one-dimensional vocal instrument I've heard in a long while.
[3]

Dom Passantino: You say, "OK, it's wrong to hate Jack Johnson because all of his fans are backpacking, rich-kid, patronising, "Oh, we went to Thailand and the people are so much more humble there", never-done-a-day's-honest-work-in-their-lives, surfing, tie-dye wearing, cocaine liberal assholes", and then you realise that the man's music actually causes you physical pain to listen to because it's so bad, and you can hate him for that. Like Bobby McFerrin on a STA break.
[0]

Jessica Popper: I'm not entirely averse to the "boys with guitars" - I love a bit of Maroon 5 and Gavin DeGraw - but this guy and his music are just so extremely dull that even I can't persuade myself to like it.
[3]

Paul Scott: In the same way 6 months backpacking in the Australasias isn't the same as truly abandoning everything you own, this limpid strum by a pro surfer who mistakes laziness for charm is a simulacrum of music. Like Counting Crows pretending to busk for the cameras in the centre of the most antiseptic mall imaginable, this sells you an idea of freedom that it and the listener can never attain.
[1]


Foo Fighters – DOA
[3.67]


Patrick McNally: Queens of the Bronze Age. Foo Fighters are one of those bands that are consistently popular but no-one actually loves, or can remember any songs by. The type of band picked fifth to make up the weight in an HMV five-for-£30 offer.
[4]

Jessica Popper: Their music is horrible and could never be described as catchy, yet every single they release seems to get stuck in my head like some kind of mean punishment for not caring about them. I even turn over the radio or TV station as soon as they appear, yet I can't avoid being infected. It's quite upsetting!
[2]

Dom Passantino: Why... why... why are the Foo Fighters so keen to show us that they can "rock" nowadays? They did the shouty thing with "Monkey Wrench" about eight years ago now, that was OK, but these desperate attempts to show they're "down" with the "kids", the majority of whom were still breastfed when they released "This Is A Call"... it would be embarrassing if Grohl had any dignity in the first place. Hey, maybe he could dress up as a woman in the video for this! That always cracks me up.
[2]

Peter Parrish: Dave Grohl takes time out from being a superstar freelance drummer in every single band in the history of music (no, it’s true) to remind us that WE’RE ALL GOING TO DIE. Thanks, Dave. Just to hammer it home, this message is communicated to us through the almighty power of rock and roll! Perhaps god truly did give it to us, in order to issue timely mortality reminders through his gift. If so, this rather predictable effort probably won’t grab as many people by the balls as the divine creator desires.
[4]

Joe Macare: More vaguely angry rock 'n' Grohl. There are times when Dave's perpetual naivety is endearing, but I'm not sure that applies when he's musing on mortality. What's that you say, Nate Fisher? We're all going to die some day? Blimey! Also, that new “no I really do feel quite strongly about this” growl that Grohl's started doing at the end of lines is losing its charm rather quickly, I fear.
[5]


Fall Out Boy – Sugar, We’re Goin’ Down
[4.07]


Abby McDonald:“I’m just a notch on your bedpost/ But you’re just a line in a song”. Oh the delights of a good emo/pop/post-punk piece of melodic angsting! Fabulous soaring chorus with enough vitriol to fuel the pouting break-up rage, plus the tumbling pace of the gun analogy is pretty irresistible to a girl who loves target practice such as myself.
[7]

David Meller: This sounds like a Creed song but with bad, almost pre-teen vocals and featherbrained lyrics, “Drop a heart, break a name/We're always sleeping in, and sleeping for the wrong team”. What, male and female persona are always mistakenly sleeping with the wrong sex? Oh they’re silly billys, aren’t they? This is the sort of song thirteen year old girls will take lyrics from, use as their MSN username and take exceptionally seriously, whilst not having a clue what they mean.
[3]

Jonathan Lee Bradley: Does this have a real killer video or something? There's no other reason why this particular track should be Fall Out Boy's breakthrough hit. It's a serviceable attempt at the emo-pop thing - the best moments work as a sort of Taking Back Sunday-lite - but for the most part, the verses are way too New Found Glory and there's not nearly enough TBS-style anguished screaming. The "number one with a bullet" bit is a nice piece of High Fidelity-style melodrama, though.
[6]

Hillary Brown: Irrational hatred is provoked here. This is prog-pop-punk, and that is wrong on the level of humans and animals getting married.
[1]

Peter Parrish: Fat wedges of sludgy riffing with background tinkles and that guy who seems to sing on EVERY SINGLE ONE of these tracks. You know the one. He’s got a slightly strained, slightly nasal tone ... it hovers on the edge of breaking into either a whine, or a fraudulent emotional outburst. It’s wayward, but in a controlled and castrated fashion. It’s hugely rubbish. Radioactive Man should immediately redeem the honour of his sidekick by squeezing this load of old toss into a lift, cutting the cable and puffing out his chest as the human deathbox tumbles to a deadly end. Only then may he boldly quip, “Goin’ DOWN?”
[3]

Joe Macare: They just write these songs first and let them make the big budget superhero/action movie afterwards these days, surely? If there isn't already a film in the works featuring a geeky/angsty high school/college kid who has to save his true love from an evil father figure to the sound of 'Sugar We're Goin' Down', then somebody's missing a trick. When I close my eyes and listen to the chorus, the trailer to that film is what I see. It's not a classic, but it goes with popcorn.
[6]


Devendra Banhart – I Feel Like A Child
[4.36]


Paul Scott: Kids in my experience seem to be annoying, unpredictable, loud and surprisingly vicious when they want. Not really the day dreaming idealised naifs that Devandra seems to believe he feels like. Or he could be attempting to glamorise mental illness, it's not really clear. This trundles along like a depthless Animal Collective and somehow manages to be even more irritating than Shaggy.
[4]

Alex Macpherson: It still disappoints me that Devendra Banhart isn't the whisky-soaked old lady I'd assumed he was when I first heard his voice, but instead a rather punchable beardy student type. Nevertheless, this is by far the best song I've heard from him: a tipsy, clanking reel around what sounds like a louche underground basement party, like if Tom Waits got twee rather than maudlin after knocking back a bottle of JD. Of course, it would be better yet if he was the grandma swinging back and forth on the rocking chair in the darkest corner, but this is why we have imaginations, no?
[8]

John Cameron: Everything that was right about the flower-headband-wearing, gently-swaying era, boiled down into one song which sounds almost exactly like a hippie commune clustered around a gently crackling fire. Just go with it, man.
[8]

Hillary Brown: This being another example of something that I should like, having been raised on folk music and not having a problem with weird voices, but Devendra tends to be a grower, not a first impression kind of guy, and this is particularly tic-y and yippy and, therefore, aggravating.
[2]

Tom Ewing: We don't really have coffee houses in the UK and right now I'm very grateful for that. Self-congratulatory tosh in the tradition of "Alice's Restaurant" - it gives up its meagre jokes on first hearing, so don't stick around for more.
[0]


Ying Yang Twins – Wait
[4.40]


Alex Macpherson: The musical equivalent of an obscene phone call - dirty, creepy, downright nasty. How much are you prepared to forgive in the name of hot beats, people asked of 'Wait', and my answer is "virtually everything": its moral indefensibility is part of the reason it's so great. And there's no doubt that these spectres of crunk beats are hot! Half a year on (why oh why the UK time lag?) it's been trumped by both David Banner's 'Play' and its own remix with Jacki-O, but in many ways this was one of the year's key songs.
[9]

Abby McDonald: Argue for the beats all you want, but I have to draw a line somewhere, and although it may sound a ‘lil bit reactionary, I’ll come in from leftfield to say I’d kinda want that line drawn before my pussy gets beat up. I know, shocking proposition, huh? I mean, statistically, half of you guys reading this think it’s just fine and dandy to force me to have sex under certain circumstances. I have sympathy for your plight. I mean, I see a drunk man in a fetching Ben Sherman shirt who obviously isn’t a virgin, and whoosh! I just have to fuck the guy up the arse with a strap-on dildo no matter how much he screams ‘No!’. Come on, we went for coffee last week: he was asking for it! The song doesn’t condone non-consensual sex, you say? Well hell, maybe I’ll just contribute to a climate of sexual fear and objectification and leave it at that. And even though this all went down back in March (?), you know what? The beats ain’t even particularly hot.
[0]

Paul Scott: The pop song as moral conundrum; the most invigoratingly, hair-raisingly stark beats since ‘ Drop It's Like Hot’ combined with the most violently misogynistic sentiments since Cannibal Corpse's ‘Fucked With A Knife’. The music draws in to almost the same degree as the words repel. It's hard to write it off as gameplay or irony or even fantasy. If by portraying parts of the human psyche that perhaps shouldn't be expressed it set out to challenge and start a discourse it could be permissible, but crediting it with that much intelligence seems a little naive.
[4]

Patrick McNally: When the Twins whisper "I'm gon' beat that pussy up" I imagine that they are only six inches tall and are smacking it with tiny ineffectual fists. When they whisper it I imagine that they have to beat it up in order to subdue the rows of razor sharp teeth that they're sure are contained inside. "Bam, bam, bam, bam…" that's them describing the freakiest ever episode of the 60s Batman show, the one that features the Ying Yangs as villains.
[7]

Tom Ewing: Like the Coldplay single, this is manipulative and leaves you feeling slightly soiled. Unlike the Coldplay single, this is startlingly original and has genuine shock value. You need to hear "Wait" once to form an opinion on it, and if your opinion trends towards "unpleasant gimmick record" after a few goes, well, that's more than fair.
[3]

Joe Macare: In its own way, this is as challenging, daring and avant garde as the music of Throbbing Gristle, Coil, Whitehouse and Swans. And like the music of those artists, it is creepy and pretty much shit. And you can't really dance to it.
[4]


Pussycat Dolls – Don’t Cha
[4.73]


Fergal O’Reilly: They look like they ought to be ridiculously good, and although the chorus' parade of I Am Better Than Your Girl sentiments is fun, it's already established itself in this half-asleep, muted drone by this stage, and it feels like a potentially great song trapped in a bland arrangement; the reading-from-a-card level of excitement Busta musters for his verses doesn't help.
[6]

Alex Macpherson: It irritates me that if I'd never heard the original Tori Alamaze version of 'Don't Cha', I'd probably find nothing objectionable about the Pussycat Dolls' cover which they stole off her. At root, it's still one of the best songs of the year, but I can't help but perpetually compare and contrast, an exercise which doesn't exactly favour the Dolls: they oversing blankly where Alamaze purred and crooned in just the right places; the ironed-out production is wishy-washy where the jerky buzz of the original felt like fingers touching you in inappropriate and unexpected places; Busta Rhymes is entirely unnecessary to the proceedings (dude, the song's 100% about her, not him). The only person I'd be happy to see do this song, actually, is Rufus Wainwright.
[5]

John Cameron: It's starting to feel like artists don't understand what "sexy" even

is anymore. Busta Rhymes, well, he tries, but dammit, it feels like he doesn't care, and when it does sound like he cares then he also winds up sounding a lot like a complete perv. And proclaiming that you're sexy and a freak and hot does not, in fact, make you sexy, a freak, or hot; neither does shamelessly and uninventively aping soul music. It just makes you boring. And kind of depressing.
[1]

Tom Ewing: A wonderful buzzing zizzing noise like contented crickets or spinning plates backs up a satisfyingly sultry record. According to the posters on the Underground there are hordes of Pussycat Dolls so why Busta Rhymes' desultory verses get so much eartime is a mystery.
[8]

Peter Parrish: Special guest reviewer - an actual cat:
*hiss hiss*
*scratch*
*shits in garden*
*leaves*
[2]


The Rasmus – No Fear
[4.87]


Jonathan Lee Bradley: Scandinavian pop metal is much better than real metal. Especially if it has a stupid solo and stupid crunchy guitar hooks and a stupid chorus like "no fear, destination darkness" repeated ad nauseum.
[5]

Doug Robertson: Everything goes in cycles, and from listening to this, it’s quite clear that The Rasmus are hoping that coming up next on the sine wave of popularity is ‘The past’. This is only worth buying if you’ve never ever heard music before, and even then only so that you have an example of what Bad Music actually is.
[4]

Hillary Brown: Has fun Avril-rock echoes and bigness and is very promising at the beginning, but fails to capture the kind of pouty enthusiasm she exemplifies so well and sadly trails off into not much of anything (despite occasional amusing Spinal Tap guitar noises).
[4]

Joe Macare: This is so patently ridiculous that I can't help but like it a little. I wonder if the lead singer (who sounds oddly Bono-esque in places during the verses) makes little “woooh, spooky!” gestures with his fingers when they perform this live. I certainly hope so.
[7]

Tom Ewing: Scandinavia's two major exports - scowly rock and campy bubblegum - collide gloriously on "No Fear". Celestial Alcazar piano, gloopy boyband vocals, crunchy hooks, guitar melodrama and keychanges - this is what rock should be (and it's about DEATH!). My only minor quibble is that the production needs to be even huger - what's Jim Steinman doing these days?
[9]


Shaggy ft. Olivia – Wild 2Nite
[5.20]


Patrick McNally: It's that time again, Shaggy's return. But now that the charts are full of dancehall influenced records there's no longer any unearned exoticism for him, so now he'll have to get by purely on his easy going charm. I maintain that this won't be too easy as he has none, but thousands around the country disagree with me. Whose will shall prevail?
[4]

Jonathan Lee Bradley: Is Shaggy trying to get us to take him seriously? The beat's pretty good, clicky dancehall with dramatic synths and strings, but Shaggy, when he's not playing the fool "It Wasn't Me" style, is really quite boring.
[4]

Alex Macpherson: I've never warmed to Shaggy as much as I could have - an innate antipathy to men who trade on cheeky-chappy personae which makes me want to commit acts of violence on them is to blame, perhaps. He tones that down on 'Wild 2Nite', happily, though still isn't anywhere near the best thing about it (that's the girl singing the hook, so faceless she could be anybody, Everygirl, which is obviously the correct approach because every girl's dancing after all), and what we're left with is a very decent slightly-but-only-slightly sub-Rihanna faux-dancehall semi-banger.
[8]

Hillary Brown: Uncomfortable reggae/R&B thumper hybrid that, despite its title, is less wild than Nick Cannon’s show.
[3]

Dom Passantino: It says a lot about the state of shit we have to sift through doing this feature that I was really really looking forward to hearing a Shaggy single. Do you ever read those magazines you get in branches of Lloyd's Cafe? There's always an interview with either Shaggy or Phil Tufnell in each one. Anyway, on his return to the charts, Shaggy has chosen to team up with none other than alleged penis-owner Olivia of G-Unit, and, you know, it's a Shaggy single, and it's kinda great to have him back.
[7]


Echo & The Bunnymen – Stormy Weather
[5.38]


Joe Macare: I don't really understand why people who would never give Oasis or U2 or, well, a reformed Cast or something like that, the time of day, do so for Echo & The Bunnymen. This kind of rock is what the term “workmanlike” was coined to describe. It belongs in Q magazine.
[2]

Hillary Brown: I’m not that familiar with their stuff, so I’m coming to this relatively fresh. It sounds a little like “Take the Skinheads Bowling,” but also like the Southern college rock of the 1980s in its slightly countrified tone. You could, believe it or not, dance to this in non-ironic cowboy boots.
[6]

Tom Ewing: Last time I heard a Bunnymen song they were trying to sound like Oasis, a demeaning fate for a once-charismatic band. They're over that particular delusion: "Stormy Weather" is trying to sound like the Lightning Seeds, and making a fair fist of it too. Far too long, and deeply pointless, but I suppose it keeps them occupied.
[4]

David Meller: Whilst it can’t compete with “The Killing Moon”, this at times tries to reach the epic plains Killing Moon managed and isn’t that far away. It sounds remarkably pretty and sounds positively rousing; helped at times by some striking guitar. McCulloch’s vocals are also impressive; they’re serene, mature, but not showing an ounce of age. This makes you wonder why people need The Coral when the music they impersonate is still in brilliant form. Thank God McCulloch hasn’t kept up his flirtation with Chris Martin, otherwise the result could have been the exact opposite. A superlative comeback single.
[10]

Doug Robertson: In which Ian McCulloch and friends do a passable job of sounding like Echo and the Bunnymen on a day where the main inspiration came from a cheap and nasty painting by numbers set. There’s nothing to particularly hate about this track, but equally there’s nothing to particularly love about it either. It’s just there, in the same way the career of Lowri Turner is there: it’s never going to interest you, but it’s not worth getting worked up about.
[5]

Peter Parrish: Another day, another band revival--waiting for the inevitable rush of glory-days comparison, accusations of terminal irrelevance or a fluked resurgence on the back of dubious namechecking trend-setters. Inevitable, yet somewhat unhelpful. McCulloch’s vocals no longer spiral ever upwards into trapped princess melodrama, but the newly restrained approach on offer here suits him just fine. And whilst Will Sergeant’s guitar work doesn’t quite whip up a whirlwind, it still blows an impressive gale. Fuck the purists and the nay-sayers. Leave the past where it is. Just enjoy.
[7]


Mylo vs. The Miami Sound Machine – Doctor Pressure
[5.87]


Doug Robertson: Since Mylo first hit the scene, haven’t we all dreamed of him collaborating with Gloria Estefan?
[6]

David Meller: This brings me back to the time when I first heard Madonna when I was a young’un. “Drop The Pressure” at times would thrill, but would struggle to evolve into anything else; but this makes you dance and brushes away any cares you have – the prime job of a pop single.
[9]

Tom Ewing: A bootleg plainly constructed on proud old school principles, i.e. a chancer singing a song over another song in the pub and thinking "That'll do". And indeed it will - the sweary core of "Drop The Pressure" and the freestyle popping of "Doctor Beat" twine nicely, but they never quite catalyse and in the end we make a bad trade of Mylo's wilder vocoded ecstasies for serviceable old hooks.
[7]

Dom Passantino: If this song was just posted as an MP3 to, say, Get Your Bootleg On it'd sink off the first page after six downloads and one half-hearted "Yeah, nice tune mate". However, because coffee table house antichrist Mylo has imbibed this with his "approval", we get to hear it delivered to the charts. Bring back 50 Cent vs the Benny Hill theme tune, that's what I say.
[3]

Hillary Brown: Cursing robots should be in a lot more songs. Scratch that. Every song. This isn’t so fab other than that element, but that’s like saying Michael Jackson’s nothing without his “sh’mon”s.
[6]


The Arcade Fire – Rebellion (Lies)
[6.53]


Patrick McNally: Based on all the fuss I bought a promo copy of this album for a quid. It says something about the impression that it left on me that I initially thought that this was a non-album track. It's an anthemic piano house record but with lyrics about dead grannies and stuff to cover that up in case the indie kids get scared.
[4]

Abby McDonald: Hype hype, deserved hype. With bells on. And jangly bits. And an insistent sort of intensity. And ‘whoo whoo’s. And the sheer force of internet adoration from people who love things I usually hate made me fight to resist this, but no! I tumble without reservation into their ominously blissful existence.
[8]

Fergal O’Reilly: Like every other Arcade Fire song I've heard, it's a load of waily-voiced tuneless bluster with the odd unexpectedly good bit that makes you sit up, take notice and mutter "hm, perhaps I can be bothered to steal your album off the Internet after all..."; as it gathers pace towards the end I do find myself genuinely liking it, so you never know.
[6]

Tom Ewing: One day I will work out exactly which band the Arcade Fire remind me of and then the fun will end. Today's best guess is 80s positive-pop squirts Red Box, though that's just wishful thinking based on "Rebellion (Lies)" la-la-la chorus backing. Glossy and borderline danceable, which is all you can reasonably ask from indie these days.
[6]

Peter Parrish: This, in the terminology much beloved of football commentators everywhere, is something of a surprise package. Last time Arcade Fire popped up in Café Jukebox, I dismissed them as rambling, deranged pseudo-prophets. My momentous error was to cast this as a negative trait--instead of a brightly shining virtue. In truth I’ve no idea what caused this turnaround, but I’m thrilled by it. Undeniably a slow-builder, both in terms of the track itself and the way it creeps around the subconscious like thriving ivy, once at full speed there’s a weird sense of ever-flourishing energy and perpetual motion that’s nearly overwhelming. Objectively, that’s a load of balls--but that’s how it *feels*. And it’s why I love this so.
[9]


By: UK Stylus Staff
Published on: 2005-09-05
Comments (4)
 

 
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