Monday, February 07, 2005


Okay, another single; this time a 7" (The B-Side is reviewed here):

"TKO" by Le Tigre (Christ, but you know you're off the boil when even the fucken NME covered this back in November...still, it's alright for those balding Cockney Trendies; they get stuff like this Fed-EX'd to them, gaffer-taped to the 'tits' of extremely-convincing Vietnamese Pre-op Transsexuals...they just toss it disinterestedly to one side, write a dismissive one-line review on their 100-gigahertz platinum lap-top and limply motion for another line of Paraguayan Pixie-Dust to be blown up their urethra by a Ukrainian Midget Britney Lookalike in a red-vinyl gimp-suit. These Jaded, World-Weary Groucho Club Rejects didn't have to travel up to Salisbury in a hay-cart and fight off highwaymen just to score a copy of this, so cut me some friggin' slack, eh?)

Listening to this single, for a second, I thought it was the Mid-Eighties again...obviously Parallel-Flow Post-Modernist Retro-Time has finally started to move forward again (after being temporarily jam-locked in a 1980 Post-Punk-Funk Stasis), albeit faster than our own Temporal Bubble... though I don't actually care anymore whether Product-Objects are meant to be Ironic or Post-I or Not (that whole scene only exists in the heads of Marketing Managers and Art Directors anyway) this has a heavy dose of deliberately-posed/poised Westworld/Transvision Vamp/Roxette faux-'spunkiness' which, like Fast Food, may taste good, but can't actually be any good for you, can it?

It references "Top Gun" and rhymes "Radio" with "Stereo" so unashamably and so unselfconsciously and so charmingly, cheekily radio-friendly, that...

Uh-Oh. Can Shampoo have their chorus back now, please?

Of course, I'm making this sound (a lot) worse than it is, but it's my job to do that. Tongue-in-cheek or not, this is a tasty, thick 'n' cheesy slab of Pseudo Session New-Wave that probably sounds really great if it's 85-degrees (in Old Temperature) and you're driving to San Berd'o in a T-Bird with a pneumatically-enhanced Valley-Girl.

Nah, fuck, it still sounds great on a cold February night in Yeovil. But, then, I like The Cars.