Edge Festival @ HMV Picturehouse
24 August, 19.30
I’ve got to make this clear from the outset: I’ve never liked Starsailor, and though I went to the lovely venue with as open a mind as I could muster, the chances of me leaving impressed were as slim as singer/songwriter James Walsh’s book of ideas. See? I’ve already started. Oh well, press on.
The musical growth rate of these no-concept chumps cannot even be charted. Of their latest material, destitute two-chorder ‘All the Plans’ renders the prospect of winning hearts as romantic as a competition at the butcher’s. Treading water in a sea of retarded sexuality and bad poetry, they implore the strangely giddy crowd to sympathise with their utterly false emotional torment; projected upon us with all the energy and half the urgency of a busted minifan. The smug gurn on Walsh’s face as he tells us about their debut once being compared to ‘Thriller’ actually makes me angry. This is the kind of band that rich kids start in order to look clever, and with songs as memorable and meaningful as midgie bites, it’s frustrating to see such a lack of talent lauded.
Tonight’s pretentious, ponderous collection of formulaic half-rock whimperings is enough to prompt the question: on what day did the Lord create Starsailor, and couldn’t he have rested on that day too? Boring, retrogressive dullardry, this insults the intelligence as much as the ear. This was going to be simply a two word review, but I fear ‘twould be unprintable.