Can't. Help. Feeling. Heard. It. All. Before. Is it The Jam? Is it The Clash? Might it be Echo And The Bunnymen? No, it's The Rifles. Should you care? I don't know. Do I? Not hugely. But what do I know? I'm a jaded, shriveled up miserabilist. Don't listen to me.
When I'm Alone really isn't worth a great gob of spite. It at least sounds heartfelt while clutching its shouty-along chorus close to its chest like a badge of honor, but there is just a distinct lack of anything which sparkles, anything which makes you really sit up and take notice, anything which doesn't seem to have been borrowed from someone else.
Those who can't, write. Those who can't do that, rifle (ho-ho!) through a bunch of great old records and try to pass the resultant mélange off as something revolutionary. Is that progress? Is that art? Huh. I could answer, I could give you a great answer, but rather like the one handed doctor, I don't have the patience.
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