What does it sound like?:
It’s a kind of nihilist death metal with overtones of English pastoral whimsy, a strange melding of nostalgia for a non-existent past and a fiercely obsessive desire to bring about an enduring dystopia, driven by a gleefully celebratory anti-intellectual lack of any kind of appreciation of complexity.
‘Moonboy Oxfart’, the previous lead guitarist, kickstarted this project a year or more back. After a disastrous early publicity campaign he left the band and was last seen buying second homes from people in the rural provinces who can’t afford not to move to a city any longer.
The lead guitarist and vocalist, who looks like a scruffy bookie on the way home from a long day at the races, goes by the name of ‘DavidDavid’. You wouldn’t want to be alone in a lift with this man late at night in an unfamiliar town a long way from home – somewhere in Europe, say. Which is where he spends most of his time.
He’s backed by the high pitched vocal bleatings of the myopic ‘Goveatron’ and the rounded plummy chortles of the fool known as ‘The Kontroller of Kaos’ a.k.a. BJ. There are several other players involved, many of whom you’ll have heard of, but you can’t hear what they are playing for the deluge of outrage feeding back from the other side of the channel.
As alluded to above, the production is confused and haphazard. Behind the desk, Theresa Pants seems oblivious to a cacophony of complaints from the studio floor, moving the faders this way and that, vainly trying to reach a compromise that will keep the players happy – a bunch of very dodgy looking characters who can, in all fairness, sneer for England.
(It’s widely thought that she’s likely to be pushed if she doesn’t jump soon, and her departure was seen as inevitable as soon as things started to gain Momentum.)
What does it all *mean*?
Everyone’s got this by now – it’s everywhere in the country – and likely to be inescapable for the next few years. Given the effect the racket has upon the listener – bleeding gums, tense nervous headache, horrible crampy feelings up and down your arms, an uncontrollable urge to scream – I’d advise you invest in the finest noise-cancelling headphones you can afford and go somewhere isolated until it all blows over and everyone comes round again to buying Simon and Garfunkel albums instead.
Goes well with…
Cheap gin, over-ripe mackerel sandwiches scavenged from a supermarket waste bin and a good thick cardboard box under a railway arch somewhere.
Might suit people who like…
Running headlong repeatedly into a brick wall, stamping barefoot on broken glass or pulling their own toenails out with pincers while singing “My old man’s a dustman”.