It's the marketing mantra of our time - when all else fails, rerelease....
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 [a]Oslo[/a]. 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.
‘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 [a]Oslo[/a] 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.