One of the most accurately-launched gobbets of vitriol from THE CRIBS' recent "The New Fellas" album, "Martell" is a strident, sneery youth club Glam stomper aimed at the biz and its' most famous, fucked-up sons.
It opens with the aggressively sussed opening gambit of "How hard can it be to get a slap on the back from a room full of morons?/ So you hate my sunglasses? Well your precious Leeds is dead!" Ooyah! Are you reading this, Messrs. Wilson, Doherty et al? Nontheless, it develops into a snarlingly effective anthem with great, Mick Jones-style "whoa-oh-oh" backing vocals and neatly powerful production from Edwyn Collins that ensures the band's urchin-style tendencies are reined-in to near-perfection.
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This wizened and cynical writer is still not entirely convinced that this buncha Wakefield whelps are the world-beaters they're being touted as, yet for the third time in a row he finds himself being comfortably won over by an infectious slice of urgent, pogo-friendly pop that hits its' target like a good 'un. It's a pattern he's heartened to see emerging.
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