The Dykeenies


Nothing Means Everything

When, after you stick an album on the NME stereo, two staffers ask why in the name of Brandon Flowers’ ’tache you’ve just put Boy Kill Boy on, you know you haven’t found the new Killers. And so it was with The Dykeenies’ debut, which was ejected faster than that Gary Glitter compilation the workie put on last week (after ‘Rock & Roll Part 2’ ended, naturally). In fairness, the opening tracks are passable synth-indie fare, hinting at why we got them on an NME tour a while back, but if they’re the Wile E Coyote moments, briefly floating over the cliff edge, from there it’s the plummet to the canyon floor. The fatal crash is ‘Pick You Up’, on which Killers-lite schmindie mashes with a super-club beat more akin to the Crazy Frog than anything that could headline a festival. Still, we’d rather listen to ‘Axel F’ than Flea RHCP’s Reading trumpet solo…

Jamie Fullerton