For the majority of people, the New Year is a time for unbridled optimism as they gaze into the star filled sky of a crisp January night and dream about all the wonderful things that the forthcoming twelve months may hold in store for them. However such notions as ‘hope’ or ‘joy’ can never hope to compete with pure, unadulterated cynicism and so I think it particularly appropriate to begin 2005 with a run-down of the final four bands who should have been lined up in front of a firing squad as part of Friday night’s festivities.
It never ceases to amaze me how really, really fucking awful metal bands can start grunting about ‘the edge’ instead of Dungeons And Dragons and instantly become deified by thousands of drooling fuckwits who consider going to gigs and wrestling each other in a strangely homo-erotic fashion a ‘lifestyle’. Hatebreed are surely the laughable epitomy of this phenomenon; I mean they’ve probably never written a song based on The Lord Of The Rings as that would require a certain degree of literacy but they have gone to admirable lengths to try and cover up the fact that they’re a really horrible metal band. Of course this whole façade is somewhat undermined by their total inability to play their instruments and the fact that really horrible metal still sounds like really horrible metal even when it claims to be hardcore. Unfortunately so long as the Boston Beatdown Crew still require a sufficiently ‘mosh-down’ soundtrack to their busy schedule of lynching black people and gays, Hatebreed will continue to delay their inevitable return to a trailer park in the Deep South.
3. Maroon 5
My first contact with this pathetic excuse for a band occurred back in February of last year; I remember the day well. I was sat in the school library innocently completing my History coursework when a guy in my class (who I won’t name in case he’s miraculously developed some taste in the interim and decides that suicide is preferable to people finding out he used to like Maroon 5) approached me with the highly suspect words
“Hey Joe, have you heard this really good indie band? They’re called Maroon 5!”
Bear in mind this guy likes Matchbox Twenty, thinks Blink 182 are “really deep” and once asked me whether My Bloody Valentine was the name of my band. Foolishly I refrained from spitting in his face and pushing him down a conveniently located flight of stairs and instead feigned interest at which point I was subjected to the most horrendously insipid white-boy funk this side of an Incubus record. Last time I try to show any social skills. In truth it’s impossible to pick out a single thing to hate about this band as they’ve somehow managed to make their whole sound so resolutely offensive that it is quite literally painful to hear. Having said that I think it’s my duty to pay special attention to frontman Adam Levine (who shall henceforth be referred to as ‘The Cunt’), seeing as he’s such an abhorrent little shit. Not only does The Cunt have a voice akin to a post-op transvestite version of Chad Kroeger, he clearly thinks his band are the new Beach Boys and should be treated as such. In fact, The Cunt’s main role appears to involve rolling around naked with random supermodels in all of the band’s videos with singing coming a clear second in terms of importance. I could go on (and believe me, I’d love to) but to be honest you should automatically hate this band just for the fact that Songs About Jane was Heat Magazine’s album of the year.
I’m not sure what I find quite so hateful about U2. Maybe it’s Bono’s holier-than-thou self-righteousness, maybe it’s the fact that they try to hide the fact they’re a piss-poor MOR rock band under layers of unnecessary production and guitar effects (not so much a case of polishing a turd as smearing it all over your face and then trying to hide the smell with a bit of Faberge) or maybe it’s just that the last band who thought it would be a good idea to open a song by counting to four in Spanish were The Offspring.
Apparently Keane invented the piano. That’s the only reason I can come up with for the baffling levels of critical acclaim heaped upon a band who are nothing more than a significantly worse version of Coldplay (and while I’m on the subject, I really fucking hate Coldplay too) minus a couple of guitar lines. If I ever find a copy of Hopes And Fears in someone’s house, I will not hesitate in taking a huge steaming dump on their Ikea coffee table, right in between the Jamie Cullum and David Gray albums that will no doubt be scattered across its surface. Keane make music for people who don’t actually like music, music for people who buy all their Cds in petrol stations and mistakenly believe being a bed-wetting, fat-faced apple scrumper is a genetic sign of musical talent. The band have said that they once their guitarist left (that doesn’t mean I absolve him of any blame) they realised their songs weren’t affected by the loss and in a sense this is true; you could smother every single one of their songs in twenty separate tracks of feedback and Keane would still sound like GIGANTIC PUSSIES. Hell, they could throw buckets of acid all over their fans and rape goats whilst juggling live grenades on stage and they’d still be the world’s most boring band.
Roll on 2005…