What’s the point? Most pop, indie, dance music, whatever, doesn’t really have a point, it exists in the there and then, leaves maybe a drizzle of residue and life continues unhindered all around it. Pointless. Some people, like you or me probably, are affected and even defined by it, but in the scheme of things it doesn’t physically influence stuff, allow anything much to happen or change the course of history – with probably the notable exception of David Hasselhoff the Rock Star, who apparently brought the Berlin Wall crashing down under the weight of his influence alone, according to some wobbly accounts. But, often driven by the dollar, it kids itself it can. Even by those accepted standards, presuming that this is all a charade, The Boxor Rebellion are so beyond pointless, so inconsequential to their immediate environment that they may as well not exist.
All that seems to be here is a desire to make rock music. Though desire is probably too strong a word. Want may be nearer the truth, or something a bit less specific. Fancy? That’s no bad, per se, of course not, all sorts want to make rock music, it’s a genetic pre-programmed executable file that launches during the teenage years. But there is normally something more, a reason, a rhyme, an ambition, development, rebellion, exploration, a lineage continued. Anything. But this is no more innovative or exciting than, to use an American term that seems to fit, a Xerox machine. And under these circumstances, calling your band The Boxer Rebellion (go on, run along to Google now) is a case of falling about in vastly oversized boots if ever we saw one.
They try to be Radiohead, they try to be Mansun, they try to be U2 for god’s sake, but they don’t try hard enough and they’re following plans sent by facsimile anyway, mistaking the loss of quality and static for modernity. There are some acceptable, verging on enjoyable moments on here – bits of ‘Watermelon’, ‘We Have This Place Surrounded’ and ‘Lay Me Down’ which goes some way to painting a full picture – but as a rule the dynamics on this album mount up to no more than playing a chord slightly harder than before. The production is dense and gammy, the vocals are badly acted. The overall result is a black and white Cooper Temple Clause photocopy, and let’s face it, there are much better references to be had.