The Rumble Strips: Welcome To The Walk Alone

Listening to The Rumble Strips newest record is much like the act of castrating oneself. 

It's painful, pointless and downright absurd, but the worst thing about it is that every moment afterwards is filled with deep, deep regret.

Moving away from ridiculous and not-at-all-autobiographical analogies, and onward with the critiquing, Welcome To The Walk Alone is not so much a record you can review as much as being one you must endure. 

New feelings and emotions awaken as the thirty minutes of forgettable indie plays out. Previously hidden depths of the human psyche are explored as waves of ferocity and distress begin to build. Hands turn green and anger levels rise to ridiculous heights as you tear out of your own clothes, biceps shredding your work shirt, thighs snapping your belt in two. Bigger you grow, bigger and greener than ever before, reaching the height of nearly three men. Chairs, SMASH, tables, SMASH, lap-top, SMASH, SMASH, SMASH. OK, seriously, enough with the ridiculous analogies. You wouldn't like us when we're angry.

Musically, the record is almost untenable and that is by no means down to the production values, no, it is one hundred and ten percent down to the sheer lack of talent by the band themselves. Please remind us when 'indie' stopped meaning independent and suddenly stood for mind-numbing incoherence. 

Examples? We're so glad you asked; Track two, London follows a restrained gallop verse rhythm followed by what is now in our top ten most laughable chorus lines of all time. "Why can't i love you in London?" the vocalist asks to no one in particular, followed by a bit of repetition for good measure; "Why can't i love you in London?" We're not sure sir, why? 

It's almost kind of embarrassing to witness them genuinely sound proud of their music as we're forced to endure nonsense followed by more nonsense but that embarrassment quickly swells violently back into the aforementioned anger and, well, green hands, bulging biceps etc.

If it seems as if we're being a bit nonchalant or dare we even say a little silly throughout this review, well, it's because we are, but before you grab your pitchforks and head to the bottom of the page for some good ol' flaming, let us explain our questionable apathy. 

Much like this review, Welcome To The Walk Alone is incoherent and lacking of anything with actual meaning or definition. It's sloppy and inconsistent, swapping tired attempts at jovial, forgettable, mainstream indie with half-assed, dumbed down balladry that fails to conjure anything but frustration at music itself. This is the type of album that highlights just what labels are willing to package to the Everyman and sell deep into the thousands.

When will we learn? When will we step back from the rose-tinted haze that smothers the current slew of ridiculous, English indie bands and realise that each and every one of them are actually nothing but talentless shells, held up by puppet strings and told how, when and what to do. Even One Night Only were better than this.