Peaches Geldof’s ex!
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[5.60]
Edward Okulicz: People, presumbly with functioning but undiscerning ears, have placed Spector as comparable to Roxy Music, Pulp, and The Killers. The latter makes the most sense; they’re not glamorous enough for Roxy, or as frisky as Pulp, and “Grey Shirt & Tie” has a fairly appealing longing in its melody that Brandon Flowers could have barked out with enough impact to slay the Modern Rock chart for at least a week. Instead, Fred Macpherson’s woozy, determined whine of a vocal and this song’s aggravating hook actually makes me think of Britpop’s forgotten rump and what they’d sound like if they formed today. Yes, people, I’m talking about Menswe@r. I half-expect a cover of “Daydreamer” on their next single. I also half-expect it to be fantastic.
[8]
John Seroff: “Grey Shirt & Tie” starts like a Joy Division cover of “Red Right Hand” before making tantalizing side trips to a muted tease of pop melody, lackadaisical hand claps and a weird duck down an alley of skipping-to-stop glitch. It’s a nearly charming song that I’d bet would be twice as good if it were half as long; the final chorus with obligatory vocal choir adds nothing but a minute that would’ve been better left unspent. Worth a listen but I doubt I’ll return anytime soon.
[6]
Michaela Drapes: Hey, kid, you can push all my Martin Fry buttons whenever damn well want! So, yes, Spector’s Fred Macpherson comes precariously close to being the boy version of Lana Del Rey; I honestly don’t really have a problem with that. (A gangsta Jarvis Cocker? Nyar har.) Whatever, nicely-executed plush, modernized New Romantic throwback business is always welcome. He’s a better Paul Banks than Paul Banks could ever hope to be.
[7]
Alfred Soto: From the placement of the not cheap electronic effects to the leftward parting of the nasal lead singer’s hair, these Brits were designed to occupy a space: Coldplay with a grander sense of drama, minimalist and opulent. Not terrible, but of no interest to anybody but Anglophiliacs unstuck on bathroom mirror moves.
[6]
Katherine St Asaph: I don’t hear the Strokes or Kaiser Chiefs or Coldplay (well, OK, maybe a bit) as much as a slicker, more cocksure “Bleeding Love.” That’s not an insult.
[6]
Iain Mew: I rather liked “Never Fade Away” but this one plays up the worst elements of it. It has the same sense of carefully constructed non-committal blankness without ever getting to a pay off that makes it worthwhile. The perky keyboard exclamations help, but not enough. Mostly it reminds me of The Vaccines’ “Post Break-Up Sex” if it hadn’t so fundamentally undermined the seriousness of its own music. And that was my favourite thing about “Post Break-Up Sex”!
[4]
Pete Baran: I’m not sure pop music, even sophisticated minor chord leaning mid-tempo ballads like this, is properly equipped to talking about ageing. At least not in such an obvious way. That said the austere production, and the “look at me” beat shuffles coupled with the lyrical clarity creates a rather startling track. Perhaps the funereal bell tolling at the end is a bit much, and the title is both misleading and off-putting, but there are 35 year old people with disposable income who have never been so accurately written for.
[8]
Doug Robertson: There always needs to be a band prepared to take the mid afternoon slot on the main stage, ready to play some vaguely pleasant but ultimately unfulfilling tunes, filling in a bit of time and soundtracking yet another trip to the beer tent as you wait for something interesting to happen. Friendly Fires, your successors are here.
[5]
Brad Shoup: Reggie Watts expends more energy looping himself for five minutes than these jokers did in a whole studio session. And his bassline would pop.
[3]
Jonathan Bradley: Where the dolorous gets lost in the doldrums.
[3]