A complete backfire...

If you appreciate the output of acts like Orson, Hanson or McFly, you're an idiot. No discussion. You are in possession of a musical sensibility comparable to a tone-deaf sheep with tummy trouble. You'll probably also love 'Backfire At The Disco' (in-between mouthfuls of scabies-ridden plastic corn) and to be perfectly honest, you're welcome to it. Idiot.

Segueing neatly into the indie-pop bracket (I'm not going to massage their egos by labelling this as rock...'cause it rocks as heavy as Louis Prima in a coma), 'Backfire At The Disco' is a tale of unrequited pissed-up passion, bolted to an upbeat 'tune' that crackles along with the frenetic pace of a overactive thyroid.

Instead of feeling pity, remorse, empathy or a kindred understanding when confronted with lyrics such as "she slapped me at the disco", it's impossible not to think "good...I hope it hurt...where is she? I'd like to buy her a drink. Get the fuck outta my face".

If only this song was shorter - perhaps then I wouldn't hate it so much. At least it would be relatively quick and painless; something to consign to the back of the memory, never again to see the light of day. Instead the outro is almost as long as the tepid verses and chorus, meaning that it pisses you off all the more. It's like they did it on purpose - they must have known the song was a bag of balls so they thought they'd ratchet up the annoyance levels to excruciating intensity by making the thing drag on and on and on and on and on and on...well, you get the picture.

The Wombats obviously believe that they're Artic Monkeys. They're not. They're dirty, filthy vermin that deserve to be gassed out of existence - virtue of a monumental fart from Alice Cooper's skinny ass. They're probably also big fans of Orson, Hanson and McFly, meaning that, yep, you guessed it, they're also fucking idiots.

P.S. The only reason 'Backfire At The Disco' is getting an extra point is due to the fact that I've handed out so many bargain basement scores of late, that I'm pretty sure I'm due to get canned. It's all about self interest in this game boys and girls...

P.P.S. Yes, I swear a great deal. This doesn't mean I possess a limited vocabulary, a malformed critical brain or am suffering from Tourettes syndrome. It means I love music so much that when something as reductive, ridiculous, and to frank as pointless as this passes across my desk, I get annoyed. In fact, I get fucking pissed. Word.