The Indie Westlife advance ever-closer.
Late November 2000, and Out There In The World lurks a brand new British rock group with sqweedling guitars called GI, who are, best believe it, The Indie Westlife. Or, rather, they aspire to be The Indie Westlife and may yet become the new REO Speedwagon, managed as they are by Nathan ‘Ver Mondays’ McGough. In the post-post-modern entertainment wonderland, The Wheeze is all; inevitable, unstoppable, conceptually brilliant and irredeemably bollocks – exactly the sort of twisted caper At The Drive-In come among us to destroy.
The howling embodiment of mean-it-man dude-rawk, The ‘In are our saviours, allegedly, if we like our personal Jesus to be a riot-din colossus of shouty-punk frenetics. “Temper temper… temperature!” skree the El Paso gonkoids, loud enough to obliterate the alleged presence herein of Iggy Pop. Vim-rock fabulous, a scream on [I]Top Of The Pops,[/I] what with the calm-down-calm-down Liverpool hair etc, but not at all like Eminem, and therefore, simultaneously, of no revolutionary point.The Indie Westlife advance ever-closer.