By The Cut
Boy, am I excited! I'm told that The Cut are one of West Yorkshire's hottest bands around. Whoopie! Insert CD and we're on fire, baby!
Bump. It's at this point I remember my home city York's "hottest band" of the last few years, Colour of Fire. Hardly life changing, a thrash set of twelve variations of the same tune made up for one of the most tedious nights of boredom I have ever experienced in the sweaty days before air conditioning was introduced to Fibbers. Will The Cut be a forgettable blaze of tabloid-esque hyperbole then, or will an impressed nod of the head be vastly deserved for the rock trio?
"Dazed, that's the way she spends her days"
Great! Clever lyrical rhyme in appearance, and we're off to a good start. A bonus point awarded too, for intriguing musical arrangement that doesn't dwell too much on their genius of an opening verse.
Catchy! Just ask The Kooks, Kasabian and Kaiser Chiefs and they'll tell you the main way of enticing the Great British public is to respect their intelligence and adoration of classic music; i.e. stick a few oohs in that louts can dance and sing-a-long / stare people out to when monumentally pissed in shit clubs that have an indie half hour once most people have long headed to various kebab vans.
"Twice in the morning, she spreads her legs."
Sex! A basic human need that so many forget to incorporate into their musical endeavours. Even Morrissey kicked off his sex life this year at 47. With every bedtime escapade and natural touch, another record is sold. Check out the recent intercourse provided by Goldfrapp and... er... Lionel Ritchie.
"She never noticed".
Duran Duran! It is in the middle of the song that reality hits home and our listening privileges are under attack from a Simon Le Bon sound-alike. Pah! Who am I trying to kid? With hits as tenacious as 'Rio', 'Girls on Film' and 'View to a Kill' Duran Duran are as timeless as they come, and their obvious influence on Dazed can only be championed.
"She's falling to pieces, and you can't work out what for".
And here it ends. The sarcasm I mean, for I honestly can't decide what to think of this record. One thing I do know is the thrash pop of B-Side 'Follow Suit' is better, but who cares. I'm ready to let people poison my mind and waste my time. When I was 16 I was told The Datsuns were the future. Anyone who has heard them will know that they are, and always were absolutely fucking wretched.
And then I look at the wider spectrum and realise The Cut are still a band at the very beginning of the critical acclaim hierarchy- word of mouth. The front cover depicts a confident act, one dressed in black with chests puffed out and egos in attendance. Another listen is granted and funky bass and a stint at the melodic school of excellence are ticked in the "does this appeal to hormonal teenage girls" box. Simon Le Bon hits me again, the smile replaces the frown and the Legion of Creamers will beg for mercy. Colour of Fire duly forgotten, the long road for The Cut continues into pastures new.
Still on fire. Just.