Bland, Bland, Bland
Tunes are overrated, melody is for losers and verse-chorus-verse is dead and buried. Let's all get out that dusty copy of Lou Reed's 'Metal Machine Music' and bang our fat heads against the brick walls of popular music. When Kurt Cobain mulled this philosophy around in his head whilst doing his very best to fuck up his REM-esque anthems with abortive white noise, he knew the songs could take it. There's something similarly off-kilter here, not quite as extreme but just as supportive of a spanner in the works.
The guitars are battered with a discordant grace not seen since the early 90's.
If I were someone's mother I would ask my moody teenage son to turn down this
kind of racket. The odd notes and anti-melodies stick out like throbbing
thrumbs and provide an almost savourable grating of the senses.
Single 'Harehills Chapeltown', though spat out in the grimy funk style of the happy mondays, is viscerally and brilliantly deprived of any sheen or polish that it may or may not need. In the same vein, 'Three Cheers for the Weirdo' is an indie anthem given to the wrong people to play. The delight in the perverse is palpable.
The Bland, Bland, Blandness that the title suggests fights weakly for air amongst the headfuck, but nevertheless is still there. 'Just let me talk to her (part 1)' could be a stroke of Kevin Shields brand genius or it could be just crap. I can't decide. Part 2 is better (and a lot shorter).
Songs like 'Siddall' pick their way through the shoegazing back catalogue with the appropriate ringing guitar strings and schoolboy mumbles. It has some nice moments but they never really add up to much.
'Sick, Sick, Sick' rocks in a much more straightforward direction, and despite a baffling similarity to Carl Barat's Dirty Pretty Things, is all the better for it. The howling riffs and scratchy aural assault akin to the late, great Mclusky though minus the ridiculously funny flashes of wit.
This is very much the definition of a GUITAR album. The dominance of their
boundless expression sacrifices a tad too much of any worthwhile music and
leaves the often pugnacious words lost in space. As much as I cheer on anyone
who favours fucking with the norm, the songs are and always will be THE most
important thing. There aren't many here. Memorable doesn't have to mean hum-mable and whistle-able...
A major case in point is title track 'BLAND, BLAND' BLAND'. Though righteously
berating the 'radio-friendly' and the consumer ideal of thoughtless gloss
(which I concur with quite heartily), it is literally in one ear and out the other.
To their credit, they clearly have no use for reviews like this or any other, so good luck to them. You can imagine the sly grin on the singers face when he cries out the clarion terrace-chant "You're not singing anymore!". Good for you mate.
Funnily enough it improves towards the end. 'No' is a little more emotional and even possesses a touch of sweetness. A nice balance of the esoteric and the harmonious. Ditto for 'Venus not Venus' which reveals a great Bassline and may well be the highlight of a patchy piece of work.
What you make of this is up to you, but WholeSkyMonitor are lacking that something special which makes you play all the right notes not necessarily in the right order..