Bad Blood

Supergrass remain the sort of band that must profoundly confuse American Anglophiles, who tune in expecting a bit of Bob’s-yer-uncle British cheer and instead get a guy with trucker sideburns ponderin’, all heavy, about “dirty streets” and shouting “Guurl!” when he spots a person of the female gender. You still long for something a bit more from them, these once cheeky Oxford tykes, who now display all the lyrical ingenuity of rutting buffalo. All the same, though, ‘Bad Blood’ remains a big, honest lump of rock’n’roll, like you might cut if you were slightly drunk and using a bread knife.

Louis Pattison