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If it was possible to coin the phrase 'mainstream indie', Nine Black Alps should be at the front of the queue collecting their badge and armband. You know you've seen them on the Peel Stage at Glastonbury. You know they aren't really manufactured guitar rock dreamed up in an EMI boardroom, but somehow you know they aren't quite 4REAL either.
They're catchy, of course, almost irritatingly so, and there is a certain charm to their lyrics - Baby come down/I'll be your friend/show you around/until the bitter end - but are they really anything more than a skinny-jeans and converse wearing Girls Aloud with slightly better riffs? We suspect not.
This does of course mean that Bitter End will probably be huge and hang around in the Top 10 for weeks. And it does deserves to, because there shouldn't be anything wrong with being commercial and catchy and perfectly crafted to eek out every bit of radio success possible. It's just muso snobbery that stops this being a great record. I should slap my wrists and let you get on with sending it platinum. At least it's not James Blunt.
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