The second we saw a triumphant Måneskin lifting the big glass microphone in Rotterdam earlier this year we just knew that the knock on effect was that we'd be lumbered with a slew of turgid pub rock bands all thinking that they had the key to recreating that magic moment just because they had a couple of lads with thinning hair waving their hands about in front of a guitar. We just weren't expecting it so quickly. Or indeed from Bulgaria.
Mrs Apocalypse described what this was going to sound like almost note for note just from the band's somewhat pompous name alone it's that bloody predictable - right down to the first person we see in the video wearing a flipping waistcoat. And despite having the ragged contents of every middle-aged rock club on Sofia on stage the sound is as piss weak as the kind of lemon squash our mums used to make us at the last few teatimes before pay day.
We've said elsewhere that the principle difference between Rock 'n' Roll and Rock music is sex. Last year's Italian victors had sex oozing out of their every pore - and the dirtiest kind imaginable. But this dreary excuse for a song is more like prize-giving night at a rural model railway club. In January.
And the worst thing of all is that, because I'm a man of a certain age with hair of a certain length, every bleeder's going to assume that I like it. No, no, scratch that. The worst thing is that this won't be the last we see of witless grandpa guitar plod thinking that they're going to emulate the winners of last year just because they've got a Foreigner album. There's going to be bloody loads of them, aren't there - and somehow this Bulgarian drear isn't going to be the worst of it.
Mrs Apocalypse described what this was going to sound like almost note for note just from the band's somewhat pompous name alone it's that bloody predictable - right down to the first person we see in the video wearing a flipping waistcoat. And despite having the ragged contents of every middle-aged rock club on Sofia on stage the sound is as piss weak as the kind of lemon squash our mums used to make us at the last few teatimes before pay day.
We've said elsewhere that the principle difference between Rock 'n' Roll and Rock music is sex. Last year's Italian victors had sex oozing out of their every pore - and the dirtiest kind imaginable. But this dreary excuse for a song is more like prize-giving night at a rural model railway club. In January.
And the worst thing of all is that, because I'm a man of a certain age with hair of a certain length, every bleeder's going to assume that I like it. No, no, scratch that. The worst thing is that this won't be the last we see of witless grandpa guitar plod thinking that they're going to emulate the winners of last year just because they've got a Foreigner album. There's going to be bloody loads of them, aren't there - and somehow this Bulgarian drear isn't going to be the worst of it.
So our household hated this piss-poor entry from the moment we saw the YouTube thumbnail. It's just so bad I can't get over it. It's worse than The Dorians a few years back and that says something. I'm already saying it won't qualify and it might be last in the respective semi final. And that's before any other song has even been chosen!
ReplyDeleteAt least them Dorians were, for the most part, quite knowledgable about their noisy metal, and a number of them felt more than a tad embarrassed to be seen giving that song to the world. This lot look like they can't ever conceive of the idea that everyone's going to think it's weak assed shit.
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