By The Pigeon Detectives
I've been at a loose end. Bereavements, seasonal affective disorder, raynauds and being no longer of mrs have ensured that this winter has been one long miserable chore. I celebrated a birthday in January. I was 16. Spent all day eating cake, crying, smoking fruit tobacco and watching 'Les Patterson Saves The World', all the while hoping next door's cat would pay a visit to keep me company. All of a sudden I was startled. A package from LMS fell through the door. I began to drool, rushing myself away from Sir Les and Dame Edna to frantically open my birthday surprise. A new single or re-issue from The Pastels perhaps? One of the 926 albums that Guided By Voices have released in the last year? The disappointment was etched all too obviously across my face as the surprise package was revealed to be none other than a new offering from Leeds Rock Revolution 2006 band The Pigeon Detectives. Meh.
Then I said to myself, "open your mind, Russell. Play the game, not the occasion. Remember, you've just heard that Stereophonics and Mick Hucknall are re-recording the first Beatles album. It could be worse."
Dabbing tears away from my eyes I played the record, armed and ready with a brainstorm of negative metaphors, withering put-downs and morale-crushing adjectives. Then it happened. The moment I'd been dreading. I fucking loved the record. Fucking loved it. It was here that a month long illness of crippling writers block began to take shape. I could no longer review the record. I had to find someone to take it from me and do it justice, someone who could take the few words I had left and put them into a big wishing well of journalistic bliss. Someone who could find that cracking simile, someone who could make the Pigeon Detectives proud. In the end I went for a slightly different approach and offered three of my celebrity friends the chance to put their words to this magnificent record. With myself a blubbering mess and locked in a vegetative state, I shall now hand myself over to the three said individuals:
Paul Merson: "This record is outstanding. I like the way it starts, the loud guitars are outstanding. The melody is outstanding. The vocals are good and the chorus is outstanding. Really like it, Mark Blowman has done outstanding. I do think however that the bass is a direct rip off of 'You'll Never Get That Guy' by The Manhattan Love Suicide but nevermind, it's outstanding."
Monty Don: "My dog Nigel, he loves this record. I played it to him the other day and he started yapping his head off and wagging his tail like a right little trooper, his big doggie smile beaming across his face. It will certainly keep him busy while I'm planting my tomatoes this spring, not to mention stop him from shitting on my strawberries! I do however think that the bassline is rather similar to that Manhattan Love Suicide record, but it's fantastic all the same. Carole Klein loves it too, but she's Northern and always drunk so that's to be expected."
Prime Minister David Cameron: "Ahh, 'Animal' by The Pigeon Detectives. I like to listen to this while I'm doing any four of my favourite activities: hitting the gym, cycling to work, visiting underprivileged kids in deprived Northern towns or teaching Nick Clegg how to read. I like the lyric 'follow you around', because that's exactly what Danny Alexander does to me. With his cock out. I'm not sure why. I'm also particularly encouraged by the way in which they've disregarded their lad roots and gone for a more glossy and dense production, something more akin to Editors. All in all, a fabulous record and one in which we can embrace with our connections to the youth of today."
Finally I awake from my coma, determined to stamp my own mark on this record. Determined to find one final pun, one parting shot to prove I still have the ability to review a record I actually like. Pigeons, perhaps? Something about genre, errr detecting a change or something? Then out of the blue, it comes and I'm cured, free to heap hyperbole and praise wherever I roam. Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you... ANIMAL ERECTIVE.
Baah, it's terminal.