The Hair Bore Bunch
Then, yesterday, I opened the Sun to find a photo of the boys from Kasabian walking down the street with their hero and cheerleader in chief, Noel Gallagher, of premium pub rockers Oasis, with whom they are currently schlepping round our nation’s football stadia.
And it struck me that we’re having another one of those moments. Kasabian – crazy name, utterly unremarkable guys – are currently the biggest rock band in Britain. An impressionable, good-natured bunch of blokes from Leicester, they make pedestrian guitar noises and dress like the biker Brummie in Mike Leigh’s Nuts In May.
Doubtless Kasabian imagine they are inheritors of a great British tradition. Their new release is that least preposessing of objects, a concept album. It even has a silly title, like Ogden’s Nut Gone Flake or Village Green Preservation Society. In reality, like their American equivalents, the stupendously enervating Kings of Leon, they are little more than a tribute act. A tribute to an era, a style and a sound that wasn’t all thay interesting the first time around. Their role is to provide the soundtrack to beery, lachrymose lads’ nights out in provincial market towns. Nothing wrong with that, perhaps, but don’t put it on if you’re hoping to get laid this year.
Happily, of course, they’re being handsomely outsold by the spectacular Lady GaGa. Real artiface trumps fake authenticity every time.