Dear Franz Ferdinand,
I recently came by your latest single, 'Do You Want To', in my mail. Initially I was shocked - who would have thought you'd want _me_ to have a sneak preview of your forthcoming second album to call my own? - but after a clutch of listens my mood has shifted from one of optimism to something rather less savoury.
Please, give me back the three minutes and thirty-eight seconds I spent listening to the aforementioned. I'll forego the repeat encounters.
I understand you have an audience to placate, really I do - throughout school I would always stick to the straight and narrow path of behavioural mediocrity to satisfy my parents' desire for me to at least achieve something - but this is nonsense, isn't it? Really, Franz Ferdinand, all you've done is taken half an idea and flogged it out 'til you reached a radio-friendly length. Said idea isn't even that great - 'Take Me Out' this most certainly isn't - and the least you could do is pronounce "want to" properly. It comprises fifty per cent of your song's title, you know.
Again, I do understand your need to have someone love you - indeed, you stress it with your very first line - but this isn't the right way to go about things. It's beyond simple laziness: this is hackneyed to the point where people will actively stop wanting to love you. No longer will they come and dance with you, Michael.
I know I have fallen out of love, and I am sure I am not alone. I would return this abomination to the point of purchase if I had attained it through such channels; as I have not, I will consign it to the top shelf alongside other, now dusty, disappointments. See: most of the bands you were meant to be a superior take on.
Yours with an unsettling queasiness,
4Mike Diver's Score