Inside In/Inside Out
Just for dislaimer's sake, "Inside In/ Inside Out" for what it is, is a pretty okay album. For what it is. Which is overtly sugary/hooky Brit-Pop that draws equally from the "big moments" of British popular music over the last two decades in equal doses. Which is to say, the Specials, the Jam, Oasis, the Libertines. They know their way around a spiky guitar line and they've got a knack for a good chorus. But sometimes, jesus, is that really enough? Haven't we had enough of the four-five cute young blokes with super-tight jeans and elegantly mussed hair, doing that cross between Keith Richards and Pete Townshend without a bit of the danger and subversiveness of either? I'm not trying to shit on their parade or anything, they're really young and they'll hopefully develope into better songwriters, but, fuck, man. This whole thing... something's not right. Almost smells too packaged and ready for the big time. I read about them for the first time in Men's Vogue for fuck's sake. I can just imagine a bunch of exectuives sitting around bemoaning the Libertines' very unpop danger and messy demise, "Fuck, Doherty's in jail again and Barat is melting down in America! What's going to happen to our bottom line." And then this guy appears out of nowhere with a puff of brimstone in the middle of the conference room and assures them not to worry, Plan B is fully in effect. And a wall slides back to reveal the Pritchard boys and their confederates in these cloning tubes. Cut to everyone laughing in a sinister fashion. See, I said I didn't want to shit on them, and I just did.
- Matthew Moyer