Maybe it's the perilous state of the world right now or something, but why do we tolerate a media intent on thrusting the most obviously retro of artists in our boatraces under the guise of (groan!) 'the next big thing' so readily?
The latest bunch of fresh-faced protagonists to create a spurious buzz are Dublin's THE THRILLS: a quintet with an indecent Neil Young obsession, one EP to their name and some Morrissey supports under their collective belt. Wow: such experience. And they're supposed to be world-beaters?
From this reviewer's standpoint, he'd hate to be in THE THRILLS' desert boots, as the pressure to deliver from above must be immense. Indeed, despite a packed throng of industry types out front and an unequivocal heroes' welcome, tonight is ultimately quite a depressing spectacle, as The Thrills fail significantly to transcend their record collections. Which appear to come to an abrupt end circa CSNY'S "Deja Vu," by the way.
That album's title is painfully apposite, too, as songs like the sleepy "Hollywood Kids" and "Til The Tide Comes In" almost suffocate under layers of melanoma-threatening California sun. Within seconds, bassist Padraic McMahon has produced a harmonica and it's like 1971 - never mind 1977 or 2002 for that matter - never happened.
To be fair, you can't knock The Thrills in terms of ability. All of tonight's brief, 9-song set is performed with well-drilled professionalism and a certainty few young bands can muster. Musically, too, McMahon, guitarist Daniel Ryan and keyboard player Kevin Horan know their onions. Vocally, Conor Deasy is shaky and anaemic at times (and the three-way harmonies are largely torn asunder by the acoustics), but his chiselled good looks make up for it and - besides - it's difficult to throw shapes when the drum kit's a mere centimetres behind you.
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The Thrills have a few decent songs. The single "Santa Cruz" kicks off an OK run to the tape, with an as-yet untitled new song punching through in its' wake and the Who-like energy of "One Night Stand" wrapping things up on a high note. However, it ends as soon as its' all begun and the overwhelming feeling hanging in the air is one of 'is that all?'
The Thrills possess that skinny, slightly Bohemian air that will surely attract the female of the species and it's probably grossly unfair to send down a band after one meagre EP. However, if we're talking great white hopes (and we seem to be), The Thrills don't have that indefinable something that categorically sorts the wheat from the chaff. That's a fact.
Driving home, I snap on a tape of the Kinks and am soon immersed in Ray Davies' masterful songwriting. All thoughts of The Thrills soon evaporate and I'm struggling to recall their songs the following morning. Says it all really.
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