Hailing from the home of the infamous Reading Festival, which is strangely devoid of books - a point which becomes all too apparent once Meretto have trudged their enervating new single against your auricle.
Essentially a two-piece, although the skin bothering services of Steve Hughes are enlisted for session services, Meretto encapsulate the commercial strand of Indie rock that has been made worryingly wonted by the likes of Hard Fi and Snow Patrol.
Guitarist Stu Bell has previously had experience as a weatherman, which is likely to stand him in good stead for to recognise the impending overcast, grey musical skyline that Meretto are adding to. In a time where the saturation of sound-a-like bands (coupled with the ongoing illegal downloading saga) means that characterless derivative music is unlikely to last longer than a Warhol quarter of an hour, one would assume that a desire to elevate their music above the clan would be inherent. Unfortunately for Meretto (as good intentioned and honest as they may be) their music only manages to heighten my blood pressure as an overly familiar clang of jangly chords echo for the millionth time this decade through an already agitated mind.
In addendum before I click send - whoever wrote “Meretto mix the verbose vitriol of early ‘Manics’, the taut energy of ‘At The Drive-In’…” should have their ears besieged by bayonets, as none of this is evident on the three track single that has left my insides feeling like a trip to the clinic may well be necessary.