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The
promo literature accompanying this album includes an awful lot of
detail about Vines singer Craig Nicholls and his mental state, so
I would like to provide a quick summary - Nichols liked his dope
and his junk food, lost it and went a bit mental, was subsequently
diagnosed with Asperger's syndrome, now off the gear and the burgers
and a bit more with it. I took none of this into consideration when
reviewing the music.
At the moment there seems to be this glut of inoffensive,
uninspiring mainstream, middle-of-the-road indie rock bands - I'm
talking about your Kaiser Chiefs, your Magic Numbers, your Artic
Monkeys, your Editors and on and on and on. I don't particularly
dislike any of them, but they range in quality from nearly mediocre
to reasonably good, and every man jack of them is well overrated
in my opinion. It would be so easy to just lump the Vines in with
this lot. So I will.
What can I say? It isn't the worst rock album I've
ever heard, not by a long chalk, but a lot of it is way too lightweight
and melodic for my taste. The best bits sound like Ramones-unleaded,
the worst bits like post-Beach Boys Brian Wilson
er diesel.
Most of the tracks sound nicely radio friendly (including, ironically
enough Don't Listen to the Radio), and I should imagine they will
appeal to a fairly broad spectrum of listeners, being a reasonably
varied blend of fairly punky ditties and insipidly mellow easy listening
numbers. Although erring a bit too much to the latter as I've said.
Love 'em, hate 'em or simply not give a furry fuck
either way, it seems there is another mainstream pop rock band everywhere
you turn these days. If only we could run our central heating off
them we would have a lovely melodic solution to the problem of the
world's dwindling natural gas supplies.
words: Harry Harris
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