By: Hari Ashurst |
Tuesday March 21, 2006 |
Genrerock PublisherStar Time International External Links |
It should be noted that this album was originally released a year ago. This is important. Because that means for the past year Tom Vek has done nothing but
stand around in dirty clubs warbling this inane meaningless fuckwittery. Now let's consider the fetish of celebrity. How many times a day do you hear "When I'm rich and famous...?"
Well, what if - and I know this is an out there theory,so please take a moment to come out here with me - most people shouldn't be allowed any kind of public voice? What if most artists should be lobotomised and sent back to their middle class families? Ok, step one can be skipped in most cases.
I say this to dissuade those of you who are listening to Tom Vek and thinking "I'm better than this," because I'm guessing there are a lot of you. Just don't do it. Put the guitar down. Just because you're not the shortest dwarf, don't go getting any ideas.
Tom Vek spends most of the time whining his vacuous nonsense into a never-ending chasm of uselessness while backed by disgusting lo-fi noise. Lo-Fi music can be beautiful, accidental, found and lost and found again. But this sounds like a battle between an electric chair and some cardboard tubing.
And what of "Nothing But Green Lights?" Where a lack of any discernible melody is over-compensated by vile hypnotic torture sounds and out of tune bass
guitar that rumbles offensively while Vek vaguely moans about driving away from town in a Mercedes Benz. Please Mr American, I'll tell you anything, just double-flush this sonic pantload.
This album is disgusting and awful. But I feel like every time I listen to it the suffering that is inflicted absolves me of a few more sins. So for the repentant, guilty and self-loathing this is perfection. Crucify your ears, wash yourself clean, make the Tom Vek sign - you are saved.