120 Days
Sleepwalking

Aiming for Interpol gloom peppered with disco dazzles but falling short onto the doorsteps of The Bravery’s decaying mansion block, Norwegian four-piece 120 Days’ ‘Sleepwalking’ is an opportunity missed. The eerie guitar tone touches greatness, and the thumping percussion propels the piece along at a rate that belies its sinister slow-motion underbelly, but the package is assembled in such a fashion that the cracks become the most noticeable facet of the equation.

Undoubtedly, this song sounds cool, albeit in the most hackneyed manner – it could have tumbled from a production line hidden in some backstreet New York City warehouse, where men in tight trousers and skinny ties frown at each other whenever their work meets with the approval of a nation’s clubland. Actually, it is_ cool; its sole problem is a lack of natural cohesion. The ties that bind the four-piece together are fraying, and their outward appearance quite clearly isn’t telling the whole story. Something’s just not right about _‘Sleepwalking’; it’s difficult to convey exactly why, but this really doesn’t sound like a naturally arranged, organically produced piece of work.

Elsewhere this will be received as ‘epic’, ‘otherworldly’, et cetera. Here, well, we’ve heard it all before, and done better. Call us snobby if you like, but we prefer the word discerning. Whatever the Norwegian for that is, someone should whisper it into this outfit’s ears before they’re reduced to a copy of a copy… of a copy.