The
suburban punk poet and avatar of lo-fi Wreckless Eric unexpectedly
delves into electronic
soundscaping for substantial parts of Bungalow Hi, which shares
with his earlier work a healthy, albeit probably unwise, contempt for
the commercial imperatives of pop. Songs such as "Ladypower" and "Sell-by
Date" are disconsolate surveys of contemporary mores set to windswept
electronic backdrops that do little to disguise Eric's disgust with
the way things have turned out, a pervasive theme that colours the
album a bitter beige.
Drabness is almost an infection in his world, raged against in "Local"
and "Same", in which Eric admits "I was brought up on bland, I was
schooled in mundane/ we never had fancy when we could have had plain".
But the years of torpor have clearly brought him to the end of his
tether, judging by the un-neighbourly paranoia of "Zulus" and the 11-minute
electro-dubscape of "Housewives". The best track is 33s & 45s, in which
he sifts through the wreckage of a relationship from the "blood on
the walls" to the records, shared out between the couple; it turns
into a High Fidelity apologia for a life played out at 33
and 45: "it might be just a load of old plastic to you, but it's my
life." Now where have I heard that before?
ANDY GILL
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This
is a strange review - at the start I think he's gearing up to like
it but he gets a bit pissed off towards the middle and then decides
to semi-diss it.
I
may have written about some less than fabulous situations but there's
no disgust or bitterness in there. If you want disgust and bitterness
have a look at Elvis Costello's work - and he's positively lauded
for it. All I'm doing is pointing out what's there, the pervasive theme
that colours the album a bitter beige is the reviewers own construction
- perhaps that's how he feels about the way things have turned out. The funny
thing is that I'm really quite happy-go-lucky.
It's more likely this review that's bringing me to the end of my tether.
As for years of torpor - I bet the reviewer wishes he'd spent nine
years in the French countryside in a state of bohemian bliss. And I didn't
spend that time sitting on my arse, I toured in Europe - Holland, Belgium,
Germany, Austria, Switzerland, France, Spain... they were great times, nothing
torpid about it. I gave England the by due to Thatcher and the recession.
Blood on the walls? I think he's alluding to the line fluff
on the skirting board - just when I thought he'd really been listening
to the album. High Fidelity is a bit of a problem - it's a media
understanding now that anytime records are mentioned there has to be a Nick
Hornby/High Fidelity reference just as Mark Lamarr is now the acknowledged
British expert on reggae
He's misquoted the line it may be just a load of old fucking plastic
to you but to me it's everything, partly to get rid of the F word
and possibly to suit his arguement, but perhaps I wouldn't know, not having
read High Fidelity.
I don't know where he's heard that before.
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