[a]Dawn Of The Replicants[/a] are the [B]Mr Bean[/B] of pop....
[a]Dawn Of The Replicants[/a] are the Mr Bean of pop. Their paper rocket invariably failed to leave its pad. Their hair-dryer glitter storm always resulted in blown fuses and spangly puddles. When Paul Vickers tries to sing the elegant swoons of ‘Get A Bright Flame’ like a shimmering Scott Walker, dogs in Galashiels run howling for cover while his band-mates play kazoos louder than the chamber orchestra. They’re so fundamentally WRONG that they could have been invented by [I]The Guardian[/I].
So, for dignity’s sake, they had no choice but to succumb. If their debut album was the sound of Nectarine No 9 on bad heroin, then ‘Wrong Town…’ bungs a crate of top-grade acid into the mix and finds DOTR writhing around in a mudpit of cowbells, scary strings, shoegazey interludes and [I]Braveheart[/I] war drums. ‘Love Is A Curse’ is all viola delicacies and dribbling, like The Divine Comedy being dragged down a dark alley to see some puppies, while ‘Howling In The Dark’ sounds like a husky New Orleans bluesman still trying to record while being run over by the 5.19 from Grungeville. And those are the [I]least[/I] weird numbers.
DOTR revel in playing the googly-eyed rock maniacs, smearing top pop tracks like ‘Science Fiction Freak’ and ‘Rule The Roost’ in their own filthy musical effluent as some kind of ‘dirty protest’ against Gay Dad, banging their heads against the bars restraining them within the high-security perimeters of Indie Rock. Ironic, then, that such wilful wrongness means they’re finally doing something right.