Wild Beasts’ fifth album is a Tinder-tastic display of carnal desire
Neil Finn : One Nil
Evil from inadvisable start to merciful finish.
There are Easter Island statues that have been around for less time than Neil Finn. A man best known for writing beardy REM shite about the weather, on this his second solo album he clambers back in his second-hand yellow submarine to delighted squeals from the Observer massive.
If you've ever bought an
early-'90s album produced by
Jeff Lynne because it was 50 pence in Woolworths you know what to expect. Sickly sweet Traveling Wilburys production stinking of Grey Away, smothering the sort of tunes that could fill a tent at the Fleadh in under 15 seconds but instantly kill anyone under 40 on contact. It is unmitigated, honky-tonk-speckled, 'Happiness Is A Warm Gun'-without-the-bollocks evil from inadvisable start to merciful finish. Red card, you c**t.
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