Deep in the primordeal swamp of syrup-sickly jazz-hop balladry, one step down the evolutionary ladder from The Lighthouse Family, lurks the Morcheeba amoeba. Morcheeba – not so much a band, more the only flavour ice cream available at the Royal Albert Hall – would like you to believe that their fourth album is a scintillating blend of film score, hip-hop, ‘exotica’ (whatever that sounds like) and ‘Brazilian psychedelia’ (the tambourine bits, presumably).
It’s actually Dire Straits gone trip-hop and everyone involved – Kurt Wagner pretends to be black on ‘What New York Couples Fight About’; Slick ‘Thick’ Rick suggests we kill fat women on ‘Women Lose Weight’ – should be brutally beaten to death with a tray of Ferrero Rocher. Be warned: this record will make you want to fly passenger jets into the Jazz Cafe.
Mark Beaumont
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