| Melody Maker |
| Mike Keating |
|
Issue 2 1997 |
|
Somewhere close to the end of Francis Ford Coppola's classic Vietnam opus,
Marlon Brando gasps "The horror, the horror". Mr. Ryan's latest album chooses
to sample this legendary snippet of dialogue, and instead of providing an
eerie close to proceedings (as he so dearly wishes it to be), it serves
to act as a metaphor for the pretentious histrionics that precede it. Following the smug self-stylings of Mr. Ryan's last effort "Midnight at Donington ", it is hard to imagine how a pompous dickhead can become even more unbearable. With this sophomoric and soporific ramble through nothingness Ryan outdoes even his own ludicrous standards of idiocy and irritation. I tried desperately to find anything remotely interesting or redeemable about this juvenile self-serving piece of garbage but failed to find one single item of note. The entire record is also reprehensibly devoid of anything that can be described as music. Amidst cacophonies of seagulls and shattering glass, Kalle mumbles incoherent passages of Nietzsche and Byron. The horror. The horror indeed. (1/5) |