Hype, ladies and gentlemen, is a bit like a very elaborate and effusive menu: the word-pictures breed a great expectancy, an anticipation that such meer linguistic insubstantialites will be gloriously realised.
If Wales' Terris were on a menu fifteen months ago, they'd have made the special chef's special - joyously described in prose so purple it could have come out of Prince's wardrobe. Didn't we hear the thunder of 'rock revolution', the stamp of 'musical anarchy'? When only about three people had heard them, Terris were apparently going to save our souls, with their Manics-baiting comments and stage-trashing intensity. NME even made them cover stars before they'd even released a proper single.
And then, The Wait. Apart from the punk bopalong single 'Cannibal Kids' and a few shows, Terris went quiet, leaving the hype to wander off into the wings while they prepared their long playing rock'n'roll (in)delicacy. And, here it is finally, served up on a bed of hope and impatience.
After a brief sampling, it becomes clear that what was described as a confit of incendiary fervour with an attitude coulis turns out to be underflavoured, bland stodge. Ageing pub rock designed for background listening, low on musical complexity and innovation (so you can air guitar to it after ten pints), high on repetition and choruses that aspire to make you punch the air but aren't really enough for a limp-wristed wave.
And it's all topped off - and any redeeming features ruined - by frontman Gavin Goodwin's nagging American rock rasp. With an effort (see current, and unrepresentatively half-decent, single 'Fabricated Lunacy') it could share a section of vocal chord with Prince, but he prefers to cultivate its unlimited Bon Jovi/Def Leppard potential - you know, the sort of tones that come with poodle perm flying.
Handily, its the perfect accompaniment to the late '80s goth jig of 'Lost October' (hark at those Celtic chords!), the stonewashed jeans-wearing 'Deliverance', which sounds like it came straight from a Friday night in a smalltown Wales local and 'Midnight Sun' which goes on about demons in a kind of anthemic stylee.
If you go back for seconds (be warned: asking for more never did anyone any good), you begin to realise that 'Beneath The Belt' is actually AC/DC's 'Highway To Hell' after being set upon by Toploader. In fact, much of the rest of it could be Toploader in a depression. Clearly, 'Cannibal Kids' was a lucky accident.
