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Mumford and Sons have changed their sound, dropped the faux alt-country bullshit, lost their banjos and apparently bought some pre-distressed leather jackets from Matalan, so the least I can do is give their new album Wilder Mind
a fair, open-minded appraisal.
However to save time and unnecessary agony, I’m going to write this review while listening to it for the first and only time, so it should theoretically only take an hour. If you think that Mark Beaumont, Simon Price or Alex Petridis are more professional than this you’re wrong and if they tell you any different they are fucking lying.
As we all know, there are only three different types of people in the world. Those who prefer Carl Barat to Pete Doherty, those who prefer Pete Doherty to having anything resembling common sense, and those who would choose a nice long trepanning over having to listen to another second of music from either Barat, Doherty or The Libertines.
Pink Floyd's final album The Endless River was produced as a tribute to keyboardist and founding member Richard Wright who passed away in 2008. Although tribute may be the wrong word. Five years too late apology for never taking him very seriously might be a better description.
As a tribute to Wright it's inexcusably bland. ...
It's very easy to mock music that's specifically designed to be played by Nick Grimshaw on Radio 1 or soundtrack a show on BBC3 about rich teens learning about what a plumber does.
Two things first. When a band is described as 'the saviour of guitar music' I immediately want to piss hard all over their bonfire. In fact I'll drink over 12 times my bladder capacity of Um-Bungo in preparedness.
The same people who describe anything as the 'saviour of guitar music' are the same narrow minded scum-bags that wince anytime they hear a Polish accent in a lift and believe that maybe there should be a separate island from our own where all convicts are sent to fight each other to the death.
Named after Charles Manson’s getaway driver and sexual partner Linda Kasabian, Leicester sickos Kasabian have a surprisingly huge and varied fanbase. Surprising because nobody I know has ever admitted to liking them. Then again nobody I know has ever said they like UKIP either, but it's in the polling booth where people's true colours show.
There’s an old saying in the music journo business that helps when confronted with the occasional lack of inspiration… “If in doubt, just slag off The Pains of Being Pure at Heart.”
It’s a wide-ranging tactic that can be deployed anywhere at any time. Luckily this time, it just so happens to be within the confines of an actual The Pains of Being Pure at Heart review.
Think of that one person in your life who, 10 years beyond the point that it was already getting tiresome, is still inexplicably doing impressions of Ali G. That guy (and he will be a guy) will love White Women
, in fact he's probably been a fan of Chromeo for quite some time. 10 years beyond the point that it was already getting tiresome.
I thought we had successfully said goodbye to the Kaiser Chiefs with 2012's The Singles
compilation, but oh no, here we are in 2014 and all it took was a short stint by Ricky Wilson on a BBC prime-time Saturday night talent show - the only saving grace of which is that it's slightly less of a parade of stark cuntishness than that other prime-time Saturday night talent show - to herald the return of lad-pop's least talented sons.
Posted by The Ape
at 08:17 on 18 Mar 2014
My first real disagreement with Skrillex's Recess
happened during the title track. A voice pleads "don't stop this music" whilst I was pleading "please stop the music".
'Recess' is track two. I had managed to laugh my way through the idiotic dayglo, parping of opener 'All Is Fair In Love And Brostep' but when the next song began the true horror presented itself.