On paper, everything about Do Me Bad Things - starting with that name - are perfect. There's the fact that they're from Croydon, just the kind of scuzzy nothing-town that spews got-to-prove-ourselves talent. There's the fact that in a white-boy four-piece market, there's no less than nine of them. There's the fact that they boast three lead singers, including one of the freshest black soul voices to be unearthed in Britain in years and a mascara-blind, gorgeous boy-slut with a voice like a baby Bowie.
Then there's the fact that in a pop world where nearly everyone sounds like someone, Do Me Bad Things have the ambition to sound like nearly everyone. From indie boy falsettos to full-throated soul, heavy metal riffage to show tune pizzazz, they're one of the few bands who truly DO have many influences.
Perfect on paper, so what a shame they're on CD. Because the sad fact is that even the most generous spirited of listeners, perhaps fired up by the band's exhilarating, manic live shows, will be lucky to make it through "Yes!" in one sitting. It's not the fact that there's too much going on, it's the fact that too much of what's going on are dumb heavy metal power chords.
So a song like "Sprezzatura", which starts off in a delirious whirl of crunching chords and choruses, quickly stumbles into a minute and a half of mindless, widdling guitar-bothering that robs it of all energy. "Off The Hook" is happily minding its own business as a sexy, sultry soul tune when it's rudely bulldozed by a blunt Black Sabbath riff. At least those songs have something going for them in the first place - hoary nonsense like "Suburban Flame" and "Daily Grind" would shame a Robert Plant solo album.
Fortunately, the many ingredients of "Yes!" work just often enough to make it worthwhile, as on the crazed mutant funk metal of "What's Hideous" or the slinky ELO space rock of "Liv Ullman On Drums" and "Hold On". Best of all is the utterly addictive debut single "Time For Deliverance", a song which appears to have chewed up most of the best selling singles of the last thirty years and spat them out in an unholy, somehow wonderful mess. On songs like this, or the punch-drunk "The Song Rides", Do Me Bad Things are almost as good as their promise.
So there's still a vacancy for the perfect nine-piece Croydon pop band. You might want to bet on Do Me Bad Things to fill it with their second album. They have something of a headstart.
