Doves

Ah, the smell of the Mercury Music Prize nomination. The smell of critical acclaim. The sweet smell of the inflated record sales. It's almost enough to override the smell of Doves frontman Jimi Goodwin...

In essence, a Doves gig is hardly a mouth-watering prospect with it being about as interesting as listening to Gavin Goodwin talk , as visually appealing as looking at the ex-teachers that make up the rest of Terris and as kinetic as an ultra-still Coldplay freezing Sigur Ros in time at the gunpoint of Noel Gallagher. So this is dull sonically, visually and physically. Oh grrreat. Haven't we had enough of this smelly hippy thing? Weren't the Levellers enough?

Such criticisms shouldn't hold in the face of brilliant music but it would appear that the Brian Molkos of this world write infinitely better songs on every conceivable level and would recognise a bath should one violently assault them. He could certainly teach this lot a thing about personal hygiene. Sadly though, it would appear that people actually haven't had enough of what Fran Healy resurrected and the likes of Coldplay and new heirs to the throne Lowgold have carried on. I'm talking about music's darkest evil. The worryingly and rapidly growing trend that is Smelly Boy Rock. Making it cool to be a soap dodging Teenage Fanclub fan all over again. For the year 2000, the tramp look is in. Take a look at this year's Mercury Music Prize as a prime example. Generally most winners give their prize money to charity but this year the organisers saw fit to cut out the middle man and generously give twenty-thousand pounds to some homeless busker from Manchester called Damon Gough.

The thing is, Doves actually show some promise. Particularly on the tearful torch-burning ballad that is 'The Cedar Room' with Jimi repeating the gorgeous refrain "I tried to sleep alone / But I couldn't do it." His voice may sound disconcertingly like that of Danny McNamara's but this incredibly sad song can still bring a tear to many an eye. More saddeningly though none of this is built on.

Doves are total careerists and such attitudes annoy the likes of myself and evident from his rants about the Mercury Music Prize earlier this year, bald punk-overlord Alan McGee. McGee would probably throw Doves into the same category as "bed-wetters" Coldplay.

Even if Doves do manage to surpass the likes of Travis and Coldplay they still fail to outdo the alternatives that are available. If Coldplay and Doves are the music of a bedwetting then Placebo are a wet dream. Fran Healy asks why it always rains on him. With Jimi Goodwin the rain may be a little heavier.

The Doves album (which, incidentally , isn't that bad) is appropriately named 'Lost Souls' as Jimi and co really are lost. Lost in a world post-Madchester acid house twattery. A world of Reni hats

and illegal raves. Surprising really, given that they would genuinely never do anything that their mum's wouldn't approve of.

If the Doves ever do find their souls let me know because they probably could be quite exciting. In the meantime you'll find me glammed up and wanking over pictures of Brian Molko.