People in indie dens probably shouldn’t throw mortars or be caught up in style over substance, but there is nowhere else to start. Bands on major labels, with managers who aren’t blind and dressing rooms which contain mirrors should no longer have such rubbish Stones-feathered haircuts done by their mums. Did seeing Jet on What Sadie Did Next teach us nothing? And to make matters slightly less bad, they hide behind some great projections because they look like sweet-bracelet wearing BiS fans who’ve grown into stage barrier hugging Cooper Temple Clause nerdlingers.

Clearly Yes and Tool DVDs taught Pure RR something or other. As did being in Barfly circuit haunters Gel. The results, however, are utterly baffling and as atrocious as bombing a city of innocents trying to kill one man whose miles away being a mole in a hole.

After the sixth minute of the first indulgence (which went on for some 10 minutes, as did the rest of it!), it’s only clear that this is the biggest waste of corporate lucre since someone signed The Datsuns for one album, for a million quid. They make pop songs, which stand no chance whatsoever of ever getting anywhere near the radio. I’m completely at a loss unless the sole reason they’ve been signed is because the a&r wants to fuck the girl singer?! Seriously, can someone out there please explain the point of big bland cheesy sounds over plagiarised prog and regurgitated post-rock, when you make music which will never make sense to any short attention span Outkast fan.

If you’re an aging rocker and fancy taking your tarty bleached biker wifey to something she might deem cool, then this band are for you, and you only. Everyone else, fear not! Count your lucky ducks as they’ll be dropped quicker than you can say Menswe@r’s second album!