Goth synth disaster

Some things just make you a little uncomfortable don’t they? The thought of rats; being on an aeroplane 50,000 feet in the air when the engines decide to fail; being in the middle of a motorway pile up: all very uncomfortable thoughts on their own, but what happens when those ideas become reality? On the list of things that I find uncomfortable are Goth synth acts: the very thought of them makes me cringe and pull perhaps the world’s ugliest face. It’s not the liberal use of PVC they use to dress themselves with or the make-up; it’s just as a musical direction it’s pretty abhorrent and I‘d rather endure a week of listening to people run fingernails down blackboards whilst being made to fondle cotton wool than listen to it.

With some beyond awful song titles “America is a Fucking Disease” and “Feeling Fascist?” (Which incredibly sounds like it’s going to segue-way into 2-Unlimited’s classic dance anthem “No Limits” at one point), they aren’t really going all out to impress.

This Goth synth dance nonsense, although the staple soundtrack for thousands of rubbish horror films, doesn’t wow you with its originality, in fact, it is quite the reverse. Every song sounds very similar, so similar in fact that you can’t tell where one finishes and the next begins. Perhaps it is because this type of music is inconsequential noise to me, kind of like a white noise of sorts but far more irritating and rage inducing, but there is nothing that distinguishes it between other bands of London After Midnight’s ilk.

Everything sounds dull on this album. The dreary vocals which lie somewhere between Marilyn Manson and Pete Burns seem laboured and ultimately, very lazy: they are the sound of your inner ear itching for you to stab something sharp into them to give your brain a break, perhaps knitting needles would suffice?

This album is shockingly bad. With nothing to really get your teeth into or really enjoy, it just seems like an exercise in torture on the part of Sean Brennan, the gentleman behind the band who we can blame for wasting good resources on creating this gigantic pile of pap. With nothing at all redeemable or remotely likeable about this album you start to think that all those things that make you uncomfortable are slightly preferable to another listen of this album.

Bring on the cheese and rats.