November 26, 1999

Daylight

It's the marketing mantra of our time - when all else fails, rerelease....

5 / 10 It's the marketing mantra of our time - when all else fails, rerelease. Perseverance might be a virtue, but these days, when instant fame is elusive, it means cobbling together some EPs nobody bought in the first place for a last-ditch mini-album.

Latest to try this scam are Brighton's Oslo. When they aim for art-school pop - the dusty shuffle of 'Talk To Feet', the tear-soaked organ of 'Stop Start Again' - 'Daylight' briefly twangs with wasted ennui. But such moments are only occasional, and never enough to warrant a full-blown resurrection from the bargain bins.

/img/Oslo1199.jpg 'Daylight' mainly features a lame parade of indie's castoffs; from the odd bass-heavy riff they obviously think it's the Pixies' treasure chest they're plundering, but really it's a mix of the Longpigs' earnest rock and Suede's lesser moments.

Worse, even when they do escape the dreaded smell of artifice, they do it with sanitised ineptitude. So - inspiration seemingly not an option - these misapplied influences inevitably come together on 'She's Into Strange', with a Brett-approved title, a Crispin Hunt chorus, and some tired riffing that could be anyone from Muse downwards.

With ideas running thin and the prospect of writing something better too troubling, for Oslo the shoddy rerelease is as good as it gets. You, however, don't need a second chance to know few bands play it as boringly safe as this.