[B]Ronan Keating Life Is A Rollercoaster[I](Polydor)[/I] [/B]
Life Is A Rollercoaster[I](Polydor)[/I]
Let’s get one thing clear. There are only two types of music, as [a]Jimi Hendrix[/a] told me just the other day: good and bad. Genre and audience demographic have nothing to do with it – Placebo have never written anything even a tenth as good as ‘Ride On Time’ by Black Box, for example, while the average My Bloody Valentine B-side pisses all over REM‘s entire career. And even the most bankrupt, conservative, sexless, cynical, kiddy-fleecing opportunists in the shady demi-monde of packaged pre-teen pop knock out the occasional great tune.
Boyzone, though, are the ruthlessly efficient exception to this rule, a musical Chernobyl rendering everything within a 50-mile radius – solo careers, Westlife, B*Witched even – as flat and grey and utterly dead as poisoned earth on which not even the hardiest weeds will grow. And here comes the inevitable, joyless solo debut proper from ‘Zone foreman Keating, planned and assembled with military precision and methodically drained of anything resembling passion or individuality. Lame pastiche Motown riffs? Check. Sappy yet meaningless homespun homilies? Check. Hideously wholesome and expensive video? Check. Prematurely middle-aged multi-millionaire with evil Sting-like poker face and risible desire to be taken “seriously”? Checkarooba.
But surely the problem here is that even the most gullible record buyers will only eat dry white bread for so long before, metaphorically speaking, they puke their guts up. And after Stephen Gately‘s execrable solo effort, how much longer can the fans tolerate an entire band of Gary Barlows?