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Seven Seals have been compared to Roxy Music, Television,
Brian Eno, Can, Pere Ubu and The Fall. One must assume
that these comparisons have been made by the Royal National Institute for
Deaf People as there is little evidence on Loose Ends to support these
comparisons.
Hailing from the Lake District, Seven Seals take their name from a film
by Ingmar Bergman which features God playing chess with the Grim Reaper.
Armed with this knowledge, you already know that this is going to be a
frustrating listen, and sure enough, Loose Ends lives up to expectation, a
pretentious, middle-England assault on the senses by people who have read
too much Philip K Dick.
The annoying, heavily-accented vocal and wretchedly quirky lyrics bring
back memories of the thankfully-forgotten Space, rather than any
allusions to Eno or Bryan Ferry. Are we in that much of a rush for a
Space revival? Is life so futile that this is how low we have sunk? This is
astonishingly, almost frighteningly bad.
This is rubbish, utter nonsense, pretentious, wannabe-postmodernist
Dadaist fayre. It is hard to imagine who could actually enjoy this music,
other than the most annoying of cyber-geeks, the No-Girlfriend club that
play Dungeons and Dragons and can recite the dialogue to every episode of
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine on command. With ill-founded pretensions to
otherworldly intelligence, Seven Seals are a profoundly aggravating band
that quite ruined my day.
Oh, and frontman Simon Pickering sports a handlebar moustache.
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