We wanted to like this, honest we did. Whilst we don’t precisely get tired of punk fuzz, post rock clatter, indie shuffle and acoustic lament, we do wonder sometimes what else is hiding out there in Oxford music: the worry is that this site is perceived as a rock forum, whereas it’s meant to encompass every facet of local music. Yes, even commercial dance music is fine by us, like this slightly measly one track single which has its sights set firmly on the hit parade (albeit the hit parade about 6 years ago). Trouble is, our joy at receiving a review record outside of our milieu is tempered by the fact that it’s absolute rubbish.
The delayed electric piano and the Balearic synthesised guitar intro is passable, if completely hackneyed, and we will admit to being generally well disposed to the George Street oompah of the metronomic 4/4 bass buzz that underpinned so many radio friendly club tunes a few years ago, but any semblance of dancefloor power is clinically excised from the music the second Jo Paulden’s vocals start. You can see her, dolled up and waggling her blonde locks around on their video, but like an anti-matter Susan Boyle, the noise she makes is probably one of the least emotive sounds on the planet. And, before you start reaching for the mascara and Human League albums, we don’t mean to say this is icily cool, Teutonic, robot chic, we simply mean that the singing is flat, lifeless and without the merest ounce of…oh, what’s the word? Oh yes, passion.
Passion which is “burning deep inside”, sings Paulden, but the only type of burning we can think of that would sound so singularly unexciting would be the burning of this bloody CD. Even then we’d feel a hint of guilt at wasting the world’s resources so unnecessarily, whereas Joz & DJ Marcus clearly have no communicable human emotions whatsoever. So, the track plods on, layering synths and dropping parts in and out, trying vainly to create tension, but the whole affair is dead in the water from the first few bars. We’re eager to hear from any local musicians who make commercial music, we don’t think it’s a crime per se, and we appreciate a varied scene, but please leave music as drab as this in whatever sticky pool of Bacardi Breezer it counts as home. And we do mean that passionately.