(Morning Star, Saturday 27 November 2004)
Girls Aloud - What Will the Neighbours Say?
(Polydor)
With a raft of excellent singles that only the most churlish would deny had exercised a foot-tapping effect on them, Girls Aloud's debut long-playing record Sound of the Underground was a pop winner, writes KIRSTIE MAY.
Having thrown off the shackles of reality TV, this, the difficult second album, should be the one to confirm that Aloudsound is here to stay and that the girls aren't for turning.
Garish colours are nailed to the mast early doors - the first four tracks on What Will the Neighbours Say? are singles.
The irresistibly catchy Love Machine is a pleasant diversion, but the ungodly cover of the Pretenders' I'll Stand by You is a reeking disaster and the version of Jump, the Pointer Sisters classic, is similarly horrid.
Five indistinct personalitites, Girls Aloud have tried their hand as the co-writers for a reported five out of these fourteen tracks and you can pick them out with your eyes closed.
The most offensive of these is Thank Me Daddy, which appears to be imploring Daddy to be grateful for those activities of his minxy daughter that he's not been party to.
The album tracks sound, in turn, like something that pop's anti-Christ Kylie threw back or Louis Walsh's blueprint for a nation of underage prostitutes.
Dire disco diva tracks merge unpleasantly with dirgy faux soul, taking the whole thing a pop step too far for anyone older than 13 and in full control of their critical faculties.
Saturday 27 November 2004
A rehash of other bands
(Morning Star, Saturday 27 November 2004)
The Kinison - What Are You Listening To?
(Atlantic)
I LIKE to think that The Kinison's album title is like your mum coming into your room with a "what are you listening to?" and shutting off the stereo, writes KIRSTIE MAY.
And you'll wish that she would - this album is a real rancid slice of nonsense pie.
Opening track The Farm and The Girls plunges into some sub-Cooper Temple Clause rock posturing and, all of a sudden, some no-hopers like Kasabian seem a credible option.
As the album unfolds, each track seems worse than the last.
The unpleasant Oh Boy That Girl Can Move betrays the band's US roots, even though their sound is British to its core.
The heavy-handed rock that The Kinison are peddling is relentless and uninspiring, with guitars that are too brutal and a voice that never changes, forcing any melody that may exist to bury itself shamefully.
The single You'll Never Guess Who Died is nothing new, a rehash of countless other guitar bands with little to say from any given decade.
The Kinison come from Oblong, Illinois, which a rudimentary search reveals has less than 2,000 residents.
As such, it's no surprise that the boys are breaking out - but this is not the way.
Definitely a garage band who should've stayed in the garage.
Saturday 13 November 2004
Booth's ego trip destroys the show
(Morning Star, Saturday 13 November 2004)
LIVE: Tim Booth, Cottiers Theatre, Glasgow
AS the former singer of one of Manchester's most likable bands, Tim Booth had it made, writes KIRSTIE MAY.
James started in 1983 on the mythical Factory Records and enjoyed heady musical successes among students and dreamers for years, the most famous of which being singalong classic Sit Down and the most wonderful of which being Eno-produced paean to lust and madness, Laid.
But what now of the shaggy-haired romantic? Well, the hair's gone for a start, giving him a curiously malevolent look.
As Booth takes to the stage in this converted church with axe supremo and producer Lee "Muddy" Baker and chanteuse Lisa by his side, the air of the misfit hangs about them like intoxicating cologne.
Starting out with a sweet and clear version of Laid, Booth becomes increasingly agitated by the Glaswegian spirit and urges the crowd to quieten down, even stopping halfway through to go back to the first note and demanding no singalongs.
As beautiful as Booth's rolling, honeyed voice is, right through to the undulating Fall in Love, his overly precious nature is irritating and the voice of Lisa can only be characterised as a screech.
Sadly, what would have been a wonderful performance by a truly great talent is ruined by the self-congratulatory nature of the show.
The rapport that should have been built up with the audience never materialises and the fans are left wondering what on earth they're here for.
LIVE: Tim Booth, Cottiers Theatre, Glasgow
AS the former singer of one of Manchester's most likable bands, Tim Booth had it made, writes KIRSTIE MAY.
James started in 1983 on the mythical Factory Records and enjoyed heady musical successes among students and dreamers for years, the most famous of which being singalong classic Sit Down and the most wonderful of which being Eno-produced paean to lust and madness, Laid.
But what now of the shaggy-haired romantic? Well, the hair's gone for a start, giving him a curiously malevolent look.
As Booth takes to the stage in this converted church with axe supremo and producer Lee "Muddy" Baker and chanteuse Lisa by his side, the air of the misfit hangs about them like intoxicating cologne.
Starting out with a sweet and clear version of Laid, Booth becomes increasingly agitated by the Glaswegian spirit and urges the crowd to quieten down, even stopping halfway through to go back to the first note and demanding no singalongs.
As beautiful as Booth's rolling, honeyed voice is, right through to the undulating Fall in Love, his overly precious nature is irritating and the voice of Lisa can only be characterised as a screech.
Sadly, what would have been a wonderful performance by a truly great talent is ruined by the self-congratulatory nature of the show.
The rapport that should have been built up with the audience never materialises and the fans are left wondering what on earth they're here for.
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