Album review: The Holloways - 'No Smoke, No Mirrors'
A faux-calypso hangover you'd sooner forget
It’s not only smoke’n’mirrors that this ever-jaunty (jaunty as in, ‘We wear hats and vests, occasionally at the same time!’) quartet are forsaking, but also originality, depth and soul. Witness: as if faux-calypso skidmarks about being on the bus ([b]‘On The Bus’[/b]) and alcohol ([b]‘Alcohol’[/b]) weren’t maddening enough, [b]‘Under A Cloud’[/b] sticks its neck out and says spending too much time online can be a bit dull, while [b]‘Jukebox Sunshine’[/b]’s plinky-plonk melody is more annoying than dropping your phone down the toilet. [a]The Holloways[/a] are probably charming fellows, but they are to good songwriting what MJ is to Not Being Dead. They’ll say I’m being spiteful, but I’m not. I listened to this shit. And I want my fucking life back.
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