This is a review of "Women Of A Certain Age" recorded by Scatter. The review was written by Russell Leeming in 2006.
“Scatter's debut CD 'Judas' was a lament to Leeds Utd golden boy Alan Smith's vile decision to join Man Utd."
Aaah, football fans. We're a bit, well, wank aren't we? Begrudging players who move to rival clubs for more money, when the object of life surely has to be to make as much money as possible. Yes, we are a strange bunch. I remember when Alan Fettis moved from York to Hull because he wasn't getting his wages and had a family to support. STILL A TWAT THOUGH!! Apparently. Never met him, me...
Rant over. At the end of the day this is a music review and unlike TINPOT Leeds, Scatter are actually quite good. The striking thing about the band is singer Amanda's Kirsty McColl like voice of perfection. The tunes are maybe a little easy on the ear, but its not Magic Numbers territory, thank fuck. Our Kirsteh is given the good 'Stars In Their Eyes' treatment on the overly perfect opener 'Women Of A Certain Age'. Like a doped up Howling Bells, it blissfully breezes along on the crest of a wave, troubling only the devil in its ride. 'I've Had A Few' is much the same, but with a country tinged riff - slightly MOR but at the same time, I don't see snooze legends like Ronan or The Corrs grappling with diversity.
Jim Corr is good though. I like Jim.
I'm horrified by the title of track three, 'Sexlife Nosedive'. I think it's going to sound like The Darkness and daren't check, so I skip it.
'Some Girls' is track four, so naturally I'm waiting for a Rachael Stevens cover. How wrong I am! It's a cover of God's own band The Smiths. The song in question is 'Some Girls Are Bigger Than Others', and is poignant, considering the late Kirsty McColl's work with Morrissey. It's better than Supergrass' version so gets a gold star that says 'PROPER' on it from me. Well done.
After intense therapy I return to 'Sexlife Nosedive'. "You haven't got a chance, just face it", proclaims Amanda yielding (probably) a sneering laugh and wagging finger. It's indie as fuck, but without the tedious scruffy haired swagger of so many Oasis wannabies. It's also catchy, and while travelling on the wave manages to stop off at several stations along the seaside town of Tuneville. Buzzing garden party music for rock stars, and not greedy footballers. The money grabbing swines!
Eh, Roberto! Pass the Pringles!