For hip New Yorkers, life is not the usual roller-coaster ride of emotions but an unblinking constant. Ever since Andy Warhol first peered out blankly from behind his shades, the currency of cool has been the ability to maintain an utterly blank expression, and [a]Boss Hog[/a] – the creative child of Cristina Martinez and her partner Jon Spencer – are trying to follow that archetype.
With its anaemic pseudo-punk sheen, ‘Whiteout’ marks a breakthrough into a new type of sullenness. In a stylistic irony, ‘Whiteout’ sees [a]Boss Hog[/a] Tippexing the grime out of their music; where once there was scuzz, here are only Stepford Wives stares. They don’t just look bored, they manage to sound it as well.
This would be fantastic if you weren’t so convinced that this sexless concoction of half a tune here and half a melody there wasn’t so painstakingly considered. Here is a record that smugly wallows in underachievement, secure in the ludicrous conceit that any concessions to entertainment or humanity are a sign of weakness.
It doesn’t sound like it’s any fun to be in [a]Boss Hog[/a] any more. Really, if you can’t be bothered to try, then why bother?