And yes, it smacks heavily of Randy Newman driving a tank though a piano graveyard.
It really is refreshing, in a time when every other rock chancer is scrabbling about for the last scrap of the December 1984 [I]Vogue[/I] on which to style themselves or ’emoting’ their guts up all over some hoary old rubbish that sounds like Neil Young rupturing a moose, to review a single that really doesn’t give a shit what you think about it. Yes, ‘I Can’t Believe You’re Gone’ is about a girl. Yes, she has gone. Yes, they can’t believe it. And yes, it smacks heavily of Randy Newman driving a tank though a piano graveyard. So chuffing what? The mighty Webbs deliver this rag-bag of Ben Folds Five-ian folly with such carefree exuberance and wanton flapping of fringe that it’s an intoxicating, stupid and plain brilliant thrill from opening chug to closing ker-plonk. So stick that in your “I saw the crescent” and smoke it, Starsailor.