Robbie Williams Rock DJ(Chrysalis)
He’s a chirpy one, that [a]Robbie[/a]. A cheeky chappy, an artful dodger. And sure enough, within the first 60 seconds of this effort, [a]Robbie[/a]’s pickpocketed [a]Daft Punk[/a] (that opening-of-the-club-door fade-in effect), The Gap Band‘s ‘Oops Upside Your Head’, George Michael (in earnest, ‘wish I was Aretha Franklin’ mode) and the bouncing bass of Frankie Goes To Hollywood‘s ‘Relax’. Later, Sly Stone‘s ‘Dance To The Music’ is also pillaged. In between times, [a]Robbie[/a] unbelts a few more of his big-wink, clever-clever vocals, dropping phrases like “no backstage passes” with added emphasis, as if expecting social observation Brownie points the
way Dire Straits did when they mentioned “microwave ovens” on ‘Money For Nothing’.
‘Rock DJ’ is fucking rubbish. It appalls me that Robbie Williams is lingeringly regarded by sentient left-field beings as some sort of important, Ivor Novello-worthy
pop phenomenon. He is the living symbol of the vast, corporate emptiness of present-day pop culture. You sometimes wish the population of this country had a single head, so you could give it one giant slap upside of it for giving encouragement to this desperately derivative, overblown no-mark.
Reviewed by Squire David Stubbs, up from the country for the day to check out the doings of the young people