Have I written this review before? Have I listened to this album a dozen times already? Or is it so devoid of personality that it sounds, nay feels, like every other substandard, NME-courting, haircut sporting ‘post-hardcore’ release in the last four years? Something tells me that the latter of these options prevails. How am I supposed to write 400 words when one will do: bland?
Completely disregarding the fact that Bloc Party a) got there first, b) are fucking immense and c) actually deserve their success, This Aint Vegas are a painfully dull facsimile of everything they’ve achieved. Jagged guitars and angular time signatures set to faux-angsty lyrics, containing imagery that isn’t half as clever as it thinks it is and turning repetition into an artform. Eleven tracks fart by without a single hook, becoming background noise as soon as the album starts and yet again the question arises: why bother? Everything on display here has been done better by at least a dozen other bands and what’s most galling is that there is no recognisable point where This Aint Vegas have decided to imbue proceedings with any kind of spark, choosing instead to let their posturing precede any kind of musical merit.
Painfully derivative and deathly boring: this aint how music is meant to be.
Ben