James : I know what I'm here for

Once again, Tim Booth's oddly immaculate self-belief leaves everyone else shaking their heads more in annoyance than sorrow. "Follow follow me", he yelps on their latest comeback
single,
clearly unaware that most people would rather pursue Ainsley Harriott into hell or dance over a cliff to the piping of Prince Edward than choose him as a leader.


Booth has always been a poor messiah, and this laser-guided irritation D a bouncy dance-pop monster that keeps a picture of Jesus Jones in a locket round its neck D isn't going to update his tedious gospel. James would still love to be
seen
as Britain's REM, but while Stipe, if a charlatan, is a brilliant and elusive one, Booth is just blatant. If he
was
a villain, he'd be twirling his moustache. If he was a cat burglar, he'd be in the stripy shirt and bag marked 'swag'. As it is, he's the pop star, and he's the one decked out in the self-satisfaction and the triumphalist vocal confidence. This is not interesting.
It's
just silly.


Sorry. But he's not the only one who knows what he's here for.


VICTORIA SEGAL