Kasabian: s/t
1 out of 5 stars
It's hard not to do well in the UK when NME, the Isles' leading music publication, goes out of its way seemingly every month to convince people that you're the next thing since Oasis to start a new British invasion of the American Billboard charts.
Despite wrapping itself proudly in the seamy side of being lads in the industrial midlands of England, Kasabian has managed to ride a wave of critical praise to platinum record sales in its home nation, and a (barely) top-40 radio appearance here on the other side of the Atlantic. But if anything is clear from its debut album, it's that the British press is suffering from the Stockholm syndrome - Kasabian is well-known for its brash and abusive responses to interviewers' queries, inflating their hype by bashing American music as "scuzzy garage rock." Even their name is a roundabout fist in the air to the establishment that has created them, as Kasabian is the last name of Charles Manson's pregnant getaway driver.
Musically, Kasabian grew out of '90s British hardcore and the raves where trance and drum 'n' bass got their start as the refuge of disaffected teens who felt they had no stock in the pop prevalent on the airwaves, eventually flourishing into an entire underground culture. While incorporating electronica flourishes and production into their lineup of keyboards, drums and a dual guitar attack, their self-titled debut falls into the trap of being nothing more than a derivative of previous work, something Kasabian claims to avoid. Locking themselves away in an abandoned textile mill on a farm, Kasabian synthesized the last 30 years of rock 'n' roll in a way that contributes nothing more than an arrogant swagger to the genre.
Their album reflects this inability to find a unique sound, with the first track "Club Foot" nothing more than a shout-out to U2's 1997 single "Discotheque." Except where the giants of Irish rock managed a clean track that had a driving bass line, Kasabian's dissolves into siren-like strings.
"ID" manages to evoke Radiohead, as lead singer Tom Meighan does his best Thom Yorke impression, while the backing samples muddy the emotion that the band is trying to squeeze out of the swells. Meighan shows his vocal manipulation in evoking The Verve in his phrasing on "L.S.F", while the use of organ and strings fails to make the impact of "Bittersweet Symphony." Much of the rest of the album is little more than iterations of The Stone Roses and Primal Scream, proving that Kasabian could learn a thing or two from the movements in American rock instead of staying stuck tuned into 10-year-old Radio One.
If anything, Kasabian can foist its album off as the soundtrack to the next edition of Electronic Art's FIFA Soccer a la Moby, since it seems the band set out to make little more than an ambient background to slide tackles and football hoodlum fights. At its best, the album evokes Guy Ritchie's similarly unintelligible film "Snatch," encouraging bloody noses and all-night parties at the club throwing back pints and pills. Perhaps it's worth noting that its name is also Armenian for "butcher," which aptly describes how your ears will feel after a listen.