Where's the threat, the innovation, the brutality, the bounce, the speed, the cheese, the glitter, the glamour and the spunk?
What motivates someone to put a record like this out? Do they
think, “Let’s do something as effervescent and catchy and utterly fucking fun as ‘Mambo No 5‘”? Or do they think, “Hey, let’s make a record so cheesy, cheerful and irresistibly addictive that it’ll have cripples dancing, chronic depressives laughing and clowns sobbing their sodding guts up”? No, no they don’t. God but this is awful.
Anybody with a single rock’n’roll bone in their body has to hate Willard Grant Conspiracy. And I mean REALLY hate them. They’re the enemy – acoustic strumming, lumberjack-shirted, crypto-folkoid singer-songwriters, musos and teeth-grindingly dull pseudo-poets. I suspect that they’re not actually human, I suspect that they’re a colony established here on earth by the denizens of a planet where they reproduce without sex and the TV only ever shows the Open University maths course.
Where’s the threat, the innovation, the brutality, the bounce, the speed, the cheese, the glitter, the glamour and the spunk? This is so grown-up it’s already dead. This has got to be the whitest, most heterosexual, most constipated and downright Ned Flandersishly dull single EVER released. WGC are like a cross between Tom Waits, Pixies, The Divine Comedy, Beth Orton, Nick Cave and Van Fucking Morrison on Horlicks and Mogadon. Yes, I know that’s a horrible thing to say about anybody, but it’s true.