Artist: Late Of The Pier
Album: Fantasy Black Channel
Year: 2008
Grade: 1.5 pretzels
Big and attention-grabbing, but completely devoid of life, Late Of The Pier combine the worst elements of Gary Numan, Brian Eno and other electronic pioneers. There are lots of “weird noises!” and “futuristic effects!” but very little “good music!” It would take some great tunes to overcome the awe-inspiring terribleness of Late Of The Pier’s name and album cover but, instead, the music doesn’t even come halfway. Late Of The Pier are simply the latest log thrown on the fires of hatred burning in my heart against the current wave of British indie (“brindie”?) bands.
The music is a total mess. The guitar, which the band clearly wants to be loud and visceral, instead sounds positively afraid to show its face, lest the synths dance and stomp upon this threat to their iron-fisted stranglehold over the music. When the guitar does get its big moment in the spotlight, it sounds tentative and cautious, always looking over its shoulder to make sure the synths aren’t about to stab it in the back. Which, of course, they do. The songs are cluttered and overly fussed-over. Too many ideas, in far too little time. “The Bears Are Coming” is so scattered and schizophrenic, it forces you to pause and figure out just what the fuck is happening. “Why?” I kept asking myself as I listened to it. “Why is any of this here? Why this squiggle? Why that beep? Sweet jesus why?!”
Singer Samuel Eastgate adds his name to the long list of unmemorable, yelpy English rock vocalists that have emerged in the past few years. It’s not that he’s a particularly bad singer, in traditional or non-traditional ways, but there’s simply nothing unique or interesting about him. He yelps some, he sings some, he screams some, but in the end, he adds a sum total of nothing to the music. His voice just gets lost in the squelches that dominate everything else. Not good.
The music is a total mess. The guitar, which the band clearly wants to be loud and visceral, instead sounds positively afraid to show its face, lest the synths dance and stomp upon this threat to their iron-fisted stranglehold over the music. When the guitar does get its big moment in the spotlight, it sounds tentative and cautious, always looking over its shoulder to make sure the synths aren’t about to stab it in the back. Which, of course, they do. The songs are cluttered and overly fussed-over. Too many ideas, in far too little time. “The Bears Are Coming” is so scattered and schizophrenic, it forces you to pause and figure out just what the fuck is happening. “Why?” I kept asking myself as I listened to it. “Why is any of this here? Why this squiggle? Why that beep? Sweet jesus why?!”
Singer Samuel Eastgate adds his name to the long list of unmemorable, yelpy English rock vocalists that have emerged in the past few years. It’s not that he’s a particularly bad singer, in traditional or non-traditional ways, but there’s simply nothing unique or interesting about him. He yelps some, he sings some, he screams some, but in the end, he adds a sum total of nothing to the music. His voice just gets lost in the squelches that dominate everything else. Not good.
The ever-restrained English music press (snark…) loved this record, further ensuring the NME’s eventual destruction at my hands. We live in an age where dance-whatever crossovers have become the big thing, but Late Of The Pier represent one of the hideous misfires that accompany any emerging genre. The band is clearly aiming for an infectious dance-rock sound. My only hope is that Late Of The Pier find themselves the only ones dancing at the party they’re trying to start.
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