Jamie T’s second album in two years is a punk, rap, pop and hardcore tour de force
Wheatus/Relish : London Brixton Academy
If you like them then you're a sad twat...
While actually sounding like Lenny Kravitz. With the flu. On a bad day. In Scunthorpe. On a wet Sunday afternoon, In February. They look good, mind. Couple of them sporting mean 'fros and that. But fuck me they're boring.
No one could ever accuse Wheatus of being boring of course. Oh no. They're far to wacky for that. Crazy singer/guitarist Brendan B Brown is wearing a kilt. The loony. And, look, he's flashing the audience. What a crazy nutter.
And Phil A. Jimenez (percussion, keyboards, backing vocals, harmonica and acting like a total cunt) is running around like a mad monkey. Look! He's juggling! Look! He's eating a banana! Look! He's making balloon
animal shapes with his scrotum! Look! His scrotal sac has burst and, in a spray of blood, his testes have popped out and have been eaten by a passing fucking dog. Is there no end to his zany madness?
They did 'Teenage Dirtbag'. Which is a good song. If you like punk lite comedy pop-rock with tediously whiny vocals. They did 'A Little Respect'. Which is an even better song. Seeing as how it was written by Erasure. And then they did loads and loads of really boring shit. And then (God help us) Phil A. Jimenez, while unicycling wearing an exploding bowler hat and playing a rubber
trombone, says " 'Hey! You guys mind if we play some new stuff tonite!?"
The crazy mutha.
Wheatus are the musical equivalent of a 'You Don't Have To be Mad To Work Here - But It Helps!' desk sign. They're the sort of bastards who sent you criminally unfunny e-mails titled 'The Seven Sorts Of Shits' with the attached message - ":It's HILARIOUS! Because it's TRUE!" And if you like them then you're a sad twat. It's as simple as that.
Character studies and ready melodies abound in the latest record by the Oxford quartet
A battle-like record where fear and dread rule
Another gripping Pedro Almodóvar mystery, full of vibrant visuals and emotional revelations
The Californian succeeds, once again, in exposing the ugliness of mankind. It’ll get under your skin