Don't be fooled by the title. Peeps into Fairyland's second album "Happiness" is the total antithesis, in every sense of the word.
If Will Oldham were Scottish, less hairy and, er, really shit, then Peeps into Fairyland might have some copyright issues to raise.
Like the backward kid at sports day with one leg longer than the other, you find yourself willing Peeps into Fairyland to put you out of your misery and just reach the goddamn finish of this trite excuse for an album. Mercifully it clocks in at under thirty minutes: just before we all die from boredom or choke on our own disbelief at how bad this is.
Aside from the whirr and click of the CD player that tells you the torture is over, the only good thing about this album is the 90 second music-box style intro. Hopes are raised of an ethereal road trip into pearly soundscapes, where the sky is hazy pink and the moon is made from milk and diamonds - but wait!! As the second song takes hold, the truth dawns that we've been hi-jacked by all that is bad about twee, folky "angst-rock"; and the journey's not going to be pretty.
"Every Hill Looks The Same" intones Michael Angus, which is a fairly accurate description of this album. Like Coke and Pepsi, every song sounds almost identical to the next, even though we know there's supposed to be a difference in there somewhere.
On "Swiven From Elphin" Angus sings of "the smell of gas in a caravan" - Hey! Maybe they've got themselves a copy of this and the mind-numbing, dull-as-fuck-ness is all too much to bear.
"Fear Of Flying" livens things up like a romantic night in with the local necrophile, by entertaining us with some monk-esque droning, but even the brown robed bastards wouldn't have been so cruel as to inflict this on us.
The remaining four songs, like the rest of the album, pass by in an insignificant, colourless blur.
Expect to find this under "The most dragged out career suicide note in history" section down your local HMV.
4Lucy Tarry's Score