Much like Marmite or anal
sex, opinion is pretty much divided over The Others.
And,
similarly also,
it’s something most people have made their
minds up about before even having a taste.
In all fairness, I have been trying to avoid
the typical knee-jerk reaction to The Others
and actually giving the music a listen. Putting
aside the band’s affiliation with the current
Doherty-felating London scene, ignoring their
stupid hair, stupid clothes and stupid interviews,
I tried to reassure myself that there must be
a reasonable explanation for this irritating
bunch of thirty-somethings being shoved down
our throats by the mainstream music media.
And, yes, there is an explanation. Despite being
unable to play their instruments particularly
well, they do have an enviable knack for a song.
All their compositions follow exactly the same
formula – an offensively simple bass-lines
kick things off, drums and guitars fill in the
spectrum, and then that curly-haired vocalist
starts prattling on in his famously unconvincing
mockney accent about bedsits, tube stations and
being poor. Musically, the sound is of a sub-standard
pub-rock outfit trying desperately to work out
what this stuff Steve Lamacq plays is all about.
And to be honest, it probably sounds great if
you’re 15 years old. I’ve had a bit
of an awakening lately, delved back into my cassette
drawer, and realised that Smash by the Offspring
isn’t actually the greatest album ever
recorded. It’s just that a song with the
lyric “you stupid dumbshit goddamn motherfucker” followed
by a flurry of powerchords is obviously going
to seem brilliant to pubescent males.
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