LOWFINGER Who's Got The Biscuits? (Elemental)

"Here's to the future of novelty punk rock", says an uncharacteristically exuberant NME. "Exaggerated, crotch grabbing cartoon punk rock to the power of ten", quoth the late, unlamented Melody Maker. Lowfinger's given names are Shaggy, Wally, Will, Sarah and Nobby, which suggests they deserve to be first in line when soundtrack commissions for the upcoming "Scooby Doo" film are being dished out. "Who's Got The Biscuits?" would serve admirably as an audition piece: it sounds like Soul Coughing, Garbage, Elevator Suite and The Archies strapped into a Club 18-30 coach headed for the white heat of the Ibiza experience with nothing to protect them apart from an armoury of recreational pharmaceuticals that would make Hunter S Thompson blush.

Which means that, as if you couldn't guess, I really don't like Lowfinger. They sound like a party going on in your head, where everybody's having a terrific time apart from you. They've obviously expended considerable effort on their music, which bristles with layer upon layer of samples, strangulated synths and fashionable noises, and their melodies teeter on the wrong side of memorable frequently occupied by work that's been bashed and hammered reluctantly into shape, rather than sweated through the pores in a fluid rush of creativity. But really, if any music has ever sounded as if it were genetically engineered to incur my wrath then Lowfinger's wins the prize. It's harmless, escapist, gaudily-sprayed, hedonism-addled short-shelf-life-guaranteed fluff, and in a world cruelly underpopulated by bands that at least try to matter (one pace forward Delta and Grandaddy, to highlight two random selections) I find it frankly repellent.