Everybody Wants To Be On TV
Scouting For Girls
People really do miss Take That, don’t they?
And they want Coldplay and Keane to be spliced together with Robbie & co into some beige chimera Dr. Moreau would run screaming from. The best thing you can say about this album is it is short. Oh, and you can turn it off. You can’t un-listen to it, though, that’s the problem. And you’ll never get that time back. On the positive side, the band should be commended for toiling away at their craft for years before ‘making it’. The fact that they sound like something manufactured by Cowell’s backside is somewhat unfortunate, but there you are. These are ‘perfect pop songs’, apparently, you ungrateful oik.
Albums like this should be reclassified as cultural viruses. If you’ve heard Pulp’s Common People, Posh Girls should make you throw up a little at the back of your throat (‘Posh girls have good manners / but they go like the clappers. . . There’s nothing like a little bit of class / wrapped up in a perfect arse.’). Worse than full-on chunk blowing, as every burp burns the back of the throat just a little bit more. The other tracks breeze by like anthrax spores in the wind. I’m now off to listen to a field recording album of leprous swans attacking arthritic hedgehogs in a vat of battery acid. THAT’S WHAT THIS ALBUM DOES TO YOU. I told you it should be made illegal.