The long-running franchise's latest instalment "might be the summer's most satisfying blockbuster"
Feeder : London Camden Monarch
Radiohead fans: your worst nightmare [I]rocks[/I]...
They may have managed to cram an entire Slipknot gig's worth of kamikaze moshing into a venue half the size of Missy Elliott and Grant Nicholas may have mistaken tonight's High Fidelity DVD launch for a 'Come As Fred Durst With A Wasting Disease' party, but there's no ignoring Feeder's ascendance into the realms of indie aristocracy tonight. Traditionally the Feeder Live Experience was as underwhelming as being smacked in the gob by John Prescott: the personalities never quite filled the stage, the tunes never dared poke their heads above the power-pop parapet, it was all a bit, y'know, slapdAsh. But now they've got the double-barrel gut-shot of 'Buck Rogers' and 'Seven Days In The Sun', the balls to chuck them both away within the first ten minutes and enough arena nous to keep the kids bouncing like kangaroos in a microwave. It could have felt like Feeder belonged down here in the gutter, but instead we're left gawping at the stars.
That Feeder are indie maggots becoming stunning rock butterflies is undeniable, but they're only halfway out of the cocoon. The stench of early-'90s fraggle rockers Ned's Atomic Dustbin still hangs heavy over 'My Perfect Day' and 'Cement', the closing 'Shade' contains a prog segment that curls Rick Wakeman's toenails from 30 years away, and the 'experimental' synth parps on 'Standing On The Edge' have you looking around for heavy vehicles reversing. But while Feeder can't yet bring themselves to shake off the thin crust of grunty metal that dims their inner pop brilliance, when they rev up the pop engines of 'Insomnia' and 'Waiting For Changes' to warp speed, there's no radar that can track 'em. Wake up and shed the blinkers, Radiohead fans: your worst nightmare rocks.
With Skepta and Stormzy dragging hard lyricism into the mainstream, Flowdan’s blunt rap suddenly feels on trend
The Canadian band bring little to the table with their second album of meat-and-potatoes tunes
Please, let this fifth Ice Age film be the last
Spielberg’s take on the beloved Roald Dahl novel is restrained, nostalgic and sweetly sentimental