I can’t listen to this album unless it’s late at night or early in the morning, ’cause normal daylight doesn’t do it justice.
Re-Mit isn’t a breakthrough by anyone’s standards, but it’s something. It’s another book in the bible of The Fall.
The craziest, most brilliantly unafraid two songs I’ve heard from Australia all year. No, fuck Australia. Anywhere.
Like The Fall, Clinic is always different/always the same. You know what you’re going to get but you don’t know how you’re going to get it.
It’s as if [Steve] Malkmus had spent his college years digging the groove of [Paul] McCartney’s second solo album instead of [Mark E.] Smith’s band’s fifth one.
The anger hits; the sadness hurts. There’s nothing cute about this band, not anymore.
The fantasy world that David Thomas inhabits reeks of privilege and conceit. Perhaps I expected a bit more intelligence, a bit more individuality, a bit more adventurousness to his thinking. Then again, he is a white middle-class American male. We can’t expect too much.
Sometimes it’s just fine to have good old-fashioned fun at the seaside.
It’s hard to criticise a band that have made an art-form out of being inconsistent
I am afraid of Uncle Mark. Blatantly inebriated, this pixie-faced old man roams the stage like an imperious foreman.