Keep your Zelig analogies, I call it Sublime Syndrome. When bands emulate everything they consume, success becomes a matter of taste; all derivatives are not created equal, but some are born of nobler blood. Songs become vibes and everything gets somethingified. The albums that crib most fully and unabashedly testify not as suspects but as witnesses. Sometimes we get School of Rock grads, sometimes card-carrying exoticists. Sublime drank Corona with the dullest deities in both camps, but at least they were candid. The jury appreciated that.
Worse than a poor choice of acquaintances is the extrovert's inability-- or unwillingness-- to discern at all. Surveying the 00s British house, garage, and pop schema, Audio Bullys find a lot they like. Too much, in fact. "You just can't control it," claims the title track, apparently referring to Audio Bullys eclecticist impulse. Generation would sit much better if the group focused on something in particular, whether it be "EQ'ing"'s cartoonish big-beat bash, "Shot You Down"'s pivotal Nancy Sinatra vocals, or any of the other ideas scattered throughout. Imagine a Since I Left You sans principle and precision. It's okay to artfully muss hair, less so one's vinyl collection.
A recent iPod double-bill backing Generation with Ricardo Villalobos's Ascho did not do the Bullys any favors; Villalobos made brothers-in-scratch Tom Dinsdale and Simon Franks look about as subtle as the Bloodhound Gang. But Audio Bullys don't request attention, they irrupt into your headphones like a drunk at a curry house, usually bullhorning pep rally piffle like, "You are now entering the mode of the Audio Bullys." Morally palatable as it is to hear a house record not dredged in fairy dust, Generation makes you appreciate ketamine's bottomless suction or space disco's eternal ascent. But Audio Bullys chase Bombay Sapphire, not white rabbits, tracing a pedestrian trajectory: It's all good 'till you puke or someone gets his nose hairs burnt.
Generation is a sonic mess, all weightless synth swish, dull beats, and maybe-ironic midi horns. Sample encyclopedias would be able to tag the ubiquitous chordal upbeats "Bring Light" hawks for a hook, but the watered-down post-Bangalter vibe comes across regardless. Then there's the rapping, so reliant on DJ phraseology, so devoid of the Skinner-trifles that can endear those clichés, or at least make them sufferable. After Audio Bullys drop lyrical bombs, they light a match. Here's the wanly pneumatic "Take You There" to aerosol "This Road"'s odorous droppings. There's the chummy trumpet call "Get Myself on Track", followed by a handful of fail-proof yet tacky love songs. "Generation", meanwhile, with its globby lava lamp bassline and chintzy Reason drums, may need a longer soak. Here's an idea: Wait, there it went.
