Brandon Can’t Dance, apparently. Nor, if the contents of this EP are any indication, is he any great shakes as a singer or musician either. It all starts off so promisingly with the trippy slacker pop of ‘Bathroom Cigarettes,’ a delightful, Broadcast-esque celebration of the joys of nipping off to the khazi for a cheeky fag break. Whilst it’s an exaggeration to say I had what PG Wodehouse once described as a watcher-of-the-skies-spotting-a-new-planet moment when listening to it, it was captivating enough to have me looking forward to the rest of the EP.
Sadly however, following the last bars of ‘Bathroom Cigarettes,’ Brandon embarks on a tedious, irritating journey up his own arsehole, trying his hand at tongue-in-cheek country (‘Forgot How to Cry‘); atonal noise-pop (the spectacularly pointless ‘Numb & Cold, No Shame No Guilt‘ – you should be bloody ashamed pal), infantile electronica (‘You’re All Normal‘) and being Pavement (generic grunge workout ‘17‘), failing spectacularly at all of them.
Doubtless there were large amounts of drugs involved and it was all good fun at the time, but I could say the same about my sex life (apart from the drugs), and I don’t insist on recording it and putting it out for public consumption. Not since the late 1990s, anyway.
So, is the LXVE EP the fascinating, eccentric early transmissions of a potential future musical genius, or a self-indulgent hipster wankfest? I know where my money’s going (clue: it’s not the first option).