IT was the sight of Kasabian on the telly which finally forced Discotheque into this sticky situation. There they were, a couple of callow men from Leicestershire plugging their new album, Empire, by playing a tune which sounded like every single Kasabian song you have ever had the misfortune to hear, Jim Carroll
You can probably picture it right now. The lead singer doing his best Ian-Brown-doing-an-impersonation-of-Liam-Gallagher turn. The band struggling to come up with anything remotely edible from their meat and two veg musicianship. The song sinking further and further into a murky, sticky, messy quagmire. A triumph of mediocrity in every sense.
Hah, thought Discotheque from the end of the sofa furthest away from the fire, that's truly terrible. Not an ounce of originality or verve or innovation. What kind of numptie could fall for that dog and pony show? Who in their right mind would rave about such rot? Then the fellow on the sofa began to realise he had actually written about Kasabian once or twice before. Quite complimentary things, too, which the loyal readers of this publication may well have read.
Why, he remembers, he even interviewed the band. Shared a pot of herbal tea with the lead singer in a posh hotel. Cracked jokes with him. Went to a live show and may even have said he enjoyed it.
As Kasabian continued to batter the poor song into submission, Discotheque's mind began to wander towards other musical atrocities which may well have received three out of five ratings and soft, buttery words from this quarter.
There were, he has to admit, a few others. Albums which had received the benefit of the doubt when a bullet to the head would have been more apt. Bands who didn't have the wherewithal to string more than three words together turned into coherent contenders for the purposes of a 1,000-word feature.
The time has come to own up and accept responsibility. My name is Jim and this is my mea culpa for recommending some terrible music to you.
It does sound much better in Latin, this admittance of past sins and failings. Indeed, it might have been a good idea for this week's Discotheque to have been penned entirely in Latin, the language of choice when it comes to contrition and confession. Meus nomen est Discotheque . . . and all of that. Surveys have shown that Ticket readers, like our writers, possess a great command of the aul' Latin (or at least know where to go for online translations).
Don't get us wrong here, there are times when we have hit the nail firmly on the head. The lack of Christmas cards coming our way from any number of acts are proof of that. But it's the ones we allowed through the net that are troubling our conscience today.
For instance, why did we rate Tapes 'N' Tapes when they were really Clap Your Hands Say Tape? Actually, why did we even think that Clap Your Hands were worthy of praise in the first place? That whole Nouvelle Vague thing? We were probably bored of it before we had finished writing the review.
You don't really need any more tracks or albums from the Chemical Brothers or Basement Jaxx in your life other than various Best Of collections. The return of the Prodigy was not something really worth getting excited about.
Both the Roots and Jurassic 5 only have one song, You Got Me and Concrete Schoolyard, respectively. Both Missy Elliott and Kelis, on the other hand, have two tracks apiece.
All deep house compilations are put together by a hairdresser called Miguel who lives in Jersey City. Matthew Herbert has had one really good idea (the big band album) and loads of not-so-good ones. You will not be listening to the likes of Squarepusher, Kid 606 and anyone else who hides their lack of talent under a bushel marked "experimental" in 20 years' time.
This is just the tip of the iceberg. Maybe my music-writing colleagues can share this load? It could be the start of something truly beautiful.
jimcarroll@irish-times.ie
