I've always been a sucker for this industrial-type leather trousers and gimp mask nonsense, and - now that
Nine Inch Nails have gone blunt - Garbage are prime exponents of said shiny shenanigans, albeit with a
nice friendly pop sheen. This, the 75th single to be lifted from LP "Version 2.0" is poppier than some of
Shirl's previous offerings, with its lyrical "ba ba bas" and almost 80s-style synth noises. However, despite
that it still manages to contain lyrics about golden showers, blood and blisters and having one's tongue
cut out, thus making it a ridiculously debauched and seductively enjoyable experience. I think this is the
kind of direction Steps should be moving in - especially Lisa (yes Sporty, it's true - I have spurned you
for another...)
"Tornado" on the b-side is a big sassy dance electro intsrumental shimmy round a black pvc handbag, then
the "Rickidy Raw R&B Mix" of "Special" follows, Shirley's vocals from the original being the only thing
left intact; the rest replaced with a slo and lo grind, which you just can't get used to after being
exposed to the blistering normal version. 9 out of 10 for effort though.
Rating: 9/10 (I just said that)
The Rest
Though it's undeniable that the Divine Comedy are at their best when soaring above string-drenched
over-the-top doomed romantic epics, they also have their less cerebral and lower-aimed moments. "National
Express" is one of those, taking the metaphor of regional coach travel and applying it to the ridiculous
nature of everyday life. Veering once or twice too close to stereotype and cariacature, its sheer
bounciness and "ba ba bas" (this week's lyricists obviously ran out of words) make it hard to resist. Unless
of course, you share the view that Mr Hannon is a detestable smug little man, in which case read the preceding review inserting the words "not", "don't" and "pish" at various points.
"Going Downhill Fast" takes on a Gallic flavour with its accordion and Gauloise style, in another pencil
sketch of futility and emtpy hope (and with a "la la la" chorus this time). "Radioactivity" is the third
song on offer, a cover of the old Kraftwerk klassik, adding a touch of sinister melodrama to the original,
like the shadow of Nosferatu on a castle wall.
Rating: 8/10
I was brought up to think that all music made prior to June 1976 was evil, and it's still a mindset I
adhere to rigidly today. Hence Mercury Rev's 'orrible 'ippy nonsense leaves me colder than a bag of frozen
peas in Antarctica. Now, I can see how some of you may find "Delta Sun Bottleneck Stomp" (gah, even
the title sounds like something by The Grateful Dead) innovative and fresh (like you would also no doubt
sing the praises of Gomez), but to someone like me who's been around the block so many times that I'm
getting dizzy, this love and peace laid-back stuff cuts no mustard with me. Bah.
The Chemical Brothers attempt to inject a much-needed dose of vitality into the song on the b-side, but are largely unsuccessful, the noodle-brained spaciness of the orignal still shining through like a
tie-dye t-shirt. A live version of "Vampire Blues" fills up space as the third track, and is predictable
"woke up this morning, no cheese in my fridge" type blues (doh) that flits perilously close to Neil Young's
flame. Burn, baby burn.
Mercury Rev are one of those bands that you seem forever being told to like. Bollocks to that, I say.
Rating: 4/10
"Jack and Jill went up the hill, Jack gave Jill a funny pill, Jill fell down and Jack did too, Every me and every you" are not lyrics from Placebo's latest attempt to sound menacingly subversive and
dangerous, but they might as well be, the real ones being almost as crap as the words to "Pure Morning". Tediously,
Molko and his crazed gang of sex dwarves retread the same old trying-too-hard ground here, and Placebo
end up in the embarrassing position of finding themselves beneath Mercury Rev (calm down Brian).
He still sounds like Geddy Lee out of Rush as well.
Placebo have something of a reputation for putting out cack b-sides, and the Blue Amazon Mix of "Nancy
Boy" upholds this position, with its clackety rackety monotony. "Every You Every Me (Infected By The
Scourge Of The Earth)" (oooh, matron) is last, and is every bit as pompously ridiculous as its parenthesised
title would suggest.
Rating: 2/10
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