Tuesday, 4 January 2011

Why I Hate Razorlight

Before you watch this video I must warn you that you will want to paper cut your eyes and force her to piss her own teeth out.




The fact that an 'Indie' is regarded as a thing is annoying enough, but to exemplify an entire group of people using this little sod is excruciating. I would rather have sex with a nail-gun than have the statement 'I like alternative guitar music' equate me to this type of person.

It isn't just because she has no self-awareness. It's hardly her fault she's been chosen to represent an entire group of people with a token title that barely scratches the surface of what such people are actually like. It's the fact that she says her life was changed by Razorlight.



Firstly, that wave of post-Libertines landfill indie that turned pub bands into stadium rockers annoys the hell out of me anyway, as every guitar band in the country decided they either had to be from Essex and write about Britishness with all the grace and wit of a Daily Mail discussion board member (occasionally witty, but still wrong); Or worse, be the new U2: putting delayed guitars on everything, playing stadiums and being EPIC while saying things like 'Obviously Bono is a wonderful man...'

Secondly, Razorlight epitomise everything I hate about that wave of music. Not only did they come from a suddenly-achingly-cool place, full Nathan Barleys and waiting NME journalists hoping to fellate anything walking past in a leather jacket, but - and this is much more important - they were shite. Truly shite. So buttock clenchingly pisspoor that Pete Doherty's tedious life and times were less irritating than the sheer colossal shiteness that was Razorlight.

I had heard a couple of songs from the first album and thought 'They're nothing special, couple of alright songs. Plenty of bands out there who're better than this', but had reckoned without their totemic bell-end of a front man bragging his way through an NME interview about how spectacularly great he was, and the magazine realised they were onto a good thing and promoted the bejeezus out of them. They knew that people would want to read Johnny Borrell talking utter bollocks about how he had invented rock and roll and how he had once smoked a spliff and now he could fart new colours and his heart was the note between B and C and he was better than Dylan, Lennon, and Craddock.

Ignore the fact that his lyrics are like something you'd expect to find in a volume of poetry written by Adrian Mole, ignore the fact that the rest of the band clearly hate him, and ignore the fact that I saw Razorlight at T in the Park playing to a group of e'er dwindling people (after they'd become 'big') which consisted of Borrell staggering about the stage with his top off, hollering and swinging his guitar around. Occasionally he'd hit a chord, but it would probably not be one the rest of the band were playing. They stood long sufferingly playing the actual song while Borrell careered around as if he was in Velvet Goldmine, fucking everything up and acting as if what he was doing was somehow of great artistic value. It was without doubt the worst live performance I've ever seen.


Then they released a second album when I was working at a shop that left the radio on all the time. And they'd somehow got worse. This time, however, I couldn't do anything other to escape. A couple of times I managed to make it to the stock room before 'America' came on, but mainly I had to listen, praying for a customer with a loud voice to come along and talk to me about anything at all. This never happened. Instead I had to listen to a catfaced arsecandle wittering meaningless bollocks over their version of epic music. Razorlight are a pub rock band, but they got caught up in the whole EPIC music thing until they got to Live Aid and decided they were U2. Everything had to be soaring and grand and able to, y'know, heal the world and bring people together because that's what music is about, yeah?

No. Fuck off. Fuck. Right. Off. 

Razorlight are an ego project for a spongelike vanity-felch rodent-faced pen-scratching attention seeking English-language-sodomising vacuum packed nodular scuntbucket and their inexplicable popularity was part of the crest of a wave that contained The Kooks singing 'She moves in her own way' about Katie bloody Melua, every guitar band in the world taking turns to feel Bono's flaccid legacy settle on their lips before they started working it as EPICALLY as fucking possible before getting a papercut on their tongue because that's where the bastard keeps his tax break money and he never actually comes anyway because even his climaxes have delay pedals on them while Snow Patrol chime away in the background with another of their songs that go:

*guitar* chime,chime,chime,chime, chime...
*oirish vocals* you have such pretty eyes, let's run away together...
*guitar*DERNERNERNERNERNERNER-DER-NERNERNERNERNERNER etc. 

Biffy Clyro have managed to become popular by writing whole albums worth of Foo Fighters B-sides and The Pigeon Detectives were actually popular rather than being dismissed as a satire on boring music by people who think that being 'an Indie' means you have to wear converse and artfully slashed jeans and can't watch Doctor Who from after David Tennant left.


So in conclusion, I hate Razorlight.

January 2011

Snow Patrol's fast-paced pop music (as opposed to their ballads, which sound like someone pouring cement over a Coldplay soundcheck) is actually something I enjoy. This is an endearingly lo-fi example: