Album review: The Holloways - 'No Smoke, No Mirrors'

A faux-calypso hangover you'd sooner forget

It’s not only smoke’n’mirrors that this ever-jaunty (jaunty as in, ‘We wear hats and vests, occasionally at the same time!’) quartet are forsaking, but also originality, depth and soul. Witness: as if faux-calypso skidmarks about being on the bus (‘On The Bus’) and alcohol (‘Alcohol’) weren’t maddening enough, ‘Under A Cloud’ sticks its neck out and says spending too much time online can be a bit dull, while ‘Jukebox Sunshine’’s plinky-plonk melody is more annoying than dropping your phone down the toilet. The Holloways are probably charming fellows, but they are to good songwriting what MJ is to Not Being Dead. They’ll say I’m being spiteful, but I’m not. I listened to this shit. And I want my fucking life back.

Ben Patashnik

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