Did we really live like this?...
Did we really live like this? Back when everyone was mining the dark deposits of the grunge psyche, this Britpop ephemera was sold as pop’s pit canary – flighty, feather-brained, providing the dazzle and, yes, sparkle, that just doesn’t come easy in plaid. Now, hearing [a]My Life Story[/a] is like looking at morris dancers and wondering how our ancestors didn’t strangle them with their own kerchiefs.
. It’s ‘Different Class’ doctored by Lionel Bart, ‘Non Stop Erotic Cabaret’ lacking that vital third word. Tracks that attempt to be shocking revelations about supermodel exploitation! (‘Empire Line’), or America being a crazy place! (‘The New New Yorker’) condescend to nameless girls who sleep in their make-up, with Jake coming on like some creepy Victorian “philanthropist” helping lost women. Even the ambitiously attempted Elvis Costello gravitas (‘Walk/Don’t Walk’, ‘Sunday Tongue’) largely means mangling vowels through the spin cycle. Like, in a launderette. Where junkies hang out. In London.
Yes, we really lived like this. We don’t have to any more.