Fails to entice because the song simply doesn't deserve the defilement.
I knew it was too much too soon. Your mother warned you never
to take sweets from records like this: V/Vm are two deranged northerners in pig masks whose one idea involves taking the hits
of Celine Dion, Nick Berry and Queen, disembowelling them, pulling them inside out and hanging them up on meat hooks so that the final result resembles what Shane MacGowan hears every morning on Classic FM. They are Jeffrey Dahmer in a Jive Bunny suit and their ‘music’ is always hilariously unlistenable: the only possible ‘pleasure’ to be had from it is closing your eyes and picturing Westlife being fed through an abattoir mincer or
East 17 being roasted on Satan’s own pork spit. This agonising post-mortem of Joy Division’s finest moment (imagine if someone managed to Hoover up all of 1979) fails to entice because the song simply doesn’t deserve the defilement. Oh, and there’s a prize of six months in the psychiatric ward of your choice for the first person who can prove they’ve danced to it.