“Well, Laaaaaaaaast Niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiite, she said…” dum-de-dum-dee-daarrrggghh! You scum! SCUM! I said SCUM GAWD DAMN YOU! I keep hearing this song everywhere. Every indie club I end up in. Every time my alarm clock pops on to wake me up. And even when I’m bored, it’s stuck in my head, like some kinda transmitter sending me messages to drive me insane. Yes I hear voices in my head, you got a problem with that?
Unless you’ve been under some kinda boulder in Outer Mongolia since January, you can’t be forgiven for not knowing who Th* Strks are. I don’t believe in censorship, but they don’t need any more coverage. Even being anti-them is good for them, if you believe the age-old bad publicity inversion rule, but I can’t help myself exorcising these thoughts from my mind.
To me at least, they sound like Ringo Starr taking the piss outta his drumming, with some stupid kid who can’t play teen spirit messing about with one riff which seems to work and some smelly singer, with scruffy hair, singing in any and every key but the right one about how cool and carefree he is. The fact they are ‘COOL’ and EVERYONE knows who they are makes me hate them even more, as if I needed any more reason? Before you write this off as some kind of inverted snobbery – here’s why. This band, represent everything that is wrong with today’s youth, of which, I am one of this generalised generation. Bland! Bland! BLAND! That seems to be our messageless meaningless mantra. The assumption that I like them, ‘cos I am a meeeejah daaahling (apparently!) makes me sick. The fact one band, with this single being just about the only song on the album that people seem to know, have got oh-so much coverage in a magazine that is oh-so outta touch with reality is more painful than the school gimp getting a wedgie wearing a latex thong.
If I have to blame any one thing for the wholly undeserved preminence of Th* Strks, it’s the NME. What do I mean? For instance, they’re chasing the Slipknot and Limp Bizkit trend about a year too late because Mtv have done all the marketing and Kerrang make them into some revolutionary cool thing. They bow down at the feet of Steps waiting for one of them to walk on their heads in some saddo ritual to soothe their ageing, dieing, libido’s. The fact it’s a publication, which used to be credible and only read for the advertising to see whose on tour and then for boys with big fringes and girls with wash-off tattoo’s to sit around berating it, just to be COOL, is what is wrong! People buy it regardless, they’ve got into a routine and they make do. Why on earth do you make do with this poo? This record! That mag! They can both lick my love pump and sell their soul via some kinda novelty ring tones. Ring tones.. don’t get me started!!
1Sean Adams's Score