They signed their own death warrants the minute they inked their names in [B]Rupert Murdoch[/B]'s [I]Bumper Book Of Satan's Soldiers[/I]....
They signed their own death warrants the minute they inked their names in Rupert Murdoch‘s [I]Bumper Book Of Satan’s Soldiers[/I]. We could almost forgive them the hackneyed [a]Primal Scream[/a] impressions, the hour-long outros of pure widdle, their lust to look as ugly, sound as bloated and perish as innocuously as their heroes The Real People.
Then Hurricane #1 tried to flog the ‘Only The Strongest Will Survive’ single to the masses by slapping it on an advert for [I]The Sun[/I] accompanied by a plethora of happy commoners enjoying the scum-sucking sensationalist bullshit within and – GOTCHA! – they were exposed as the ultimate in cretinous sell-outs, taken outside and justly crucified.
Their second album, inevitably, sounds like a beg for mercy after the final cigarette. They try every trick in the book to sway our affections: Kula Shakey sitar bluster on ‘Rising Sign’, Portisheadish Fripp-hop on ‘Remote Control’, even, on ‘The Greatest High’, a chorus. The whole thing is swathed in scattershot electro beats they presumably found down the back of Fatboy Slim‘s sofa, but they fail to transform ‘Only The Strongest…’ into Garbage-with-soul let alone the – gag! – new ‘Screamadelica’ they obviously hoped for. You can lead a retro guitar tosser to dance, after all, but you can’t make him think.
So ignore the techno pretensions and get down and feel the trad, dad. Feel the Oasis sloshing out of ‘What Do I Know?’. Sense The Eagles trotting through ‘Twilight World’. Shoot the Karl Wallinger who seems to have infiltrated the very soul of the title track.
Still, don’t give up just yet, eh lads? We hear that Slobodan Milosevic is looking for a cheap, tedious techno-baggy number to advertise his next massacre. You should do lunch.