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Having been brought up in an uninspiring satellite town north of London, this reviewer can confirm with almost unprecedented verisimilitude that nothing good ever happens in Reading, Berkshire. Apart from its football team reaching quite dizzying heights in the Premier League, the place itself is just one long stretch of Yates Wine Lodges, Greggs pasty shops and Irish theme bars.
Which is why it seems strange up-and-coming 'disco-funk-punk' band Rebus have decided to dedicate an entire single's worth of material to extolling the virtues of their hometown's nightlife. Apart from the fact that it is, well, actually a town, not a city, the only thing that burns in Reading after midnight is a reheated kebab.
Luckily, then, this effort is about as limp as the slivers of meat you find caked to your kitchen table the next morning - a horrible fusion of choppy Franz Ferdinand guitars, hackneyed lyrics and heard-it all-before 'chord change...CHORUS!' moments that make you wish The Rapture had never existed. You can't blame the lads for trying to make Reading sound sexy, but really they should try slagging the place off for once. They might enjoy it.
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