By Towers Of London
Or "the dangers of setting your stall too high" as this album should possibly be called. Don't get me wrong, this is still a good album. But it could've been a GREAT album. And that's where the disappointment lies. If you've heard any of Towers Of London's four singles to date, you'll know what to expect - three minute yellathons with power chords crashing in from every angle, the sort of attitude that would have wusses like Arctic Monkeys running back to their bedsits and crying under the duvets and vocals not so much sung as spat in your face. Quite simply, they've yet to put a foot wrong.
Until now that is unfortunately. This album gets off to a real flyer with the Damned-style thrashathon "Rat", the supremely stoopid "Air Guitar" and "Beaujolais", the bile-spewing "Kill The Pop Scene" and a quite clearly taking the piss country strum through "Fuck It Up".
Yet come track six, "Blood, Sweat And Towers" promptly stumbles headlong into the fog without its torch - the cock-rock balladry intro of "King" is, I realise, a mickey-take but it totally messes up the rhythm of an otherwise okay song while "Good Times" and "Northern Lights" are just dull. Luckily for them, they do rescue things towards the end with the superb "Fuck It Up" (still their best song), "How Rude She Was" and the sneering "Seen It All" bringing the album to a reasonable close and almost rescuing the whole shebang. Almost.
Like I say, it's by no means a bad album and the world undoubtedly needs a band like Towers Of London as a counterpoint to stuck-up indie Little Lord Fauntleroys like Razorlight. But the main problem is that when you've got yourself a rep as gob-on-a-stick yobbos with all the subtlety of a brick in the face, trying to be clever just doesn't work. Next time lads, 13 tracks, 30 minutes and no let up please. Cheers.