I recall seeing these Camden immigrants (from t'north, originally) at the Underworld a while back. Truth be told, it's not their music that sticks in the mind (FM-ready, middle-of-the-road indie rock, to be as kind as I can), but the massive flyering operation that night still brings me out in nightsweats. The cheek of the boys, thrusting badges and glossy cardboard mugshots of themselves into my unimpressed palms. Really, it's just not cricket.
Such blanket coverage is one way of making a name for yourself - it's certainly a more successful approach to promotion than sitting back and waiting for word of mouth based on this release (get it in Rough Trade and Fopp, if you like) to do the work. There really is nothing special, whatsoever, about this single. It swaggers where records by Oasis and their offspring have before, and the band look like NYC-cool castaways, desperate to ride a trend wave or two back to shore, their leather jackets forever weighing them down as they pray for a break. It's all as predictable as the sun rising in the east of a morning. Will they get 'All The Way'? Will they fuck.
Okay, sorry. It _is_ cruel to pan a band on a first showing. So, lads, come back in a few months when you've found a sound of your own, or at least some twist on an established theme, and then we'll readdress your chances. If this is the best you've got, you're fucked.
3Mike Diver's Score