Friends, Romans, indie kids, lend me your ears. I come to praise Bush. A bit. Not to bury them. Totally. ‘Cos some of this record rocks. It really does. Oh don’t worry, Bush fans, there’s enough wanky MTV-friendly corporate rock dross to keep you happy but, for the benert of the rest of us, Bush have gone a bit bog-eyed, spiky, alienated and paranoid-androidy and produced what is, in small parts, a brutal b*stard of a record.
The stuff on The Science Of Things that doesn’t suck is wonderfully sterile. Fantastically un-grungy. The best thing here – the crunching, howling ‘English rre’ – sounds like Napalm Death giving Prolapse a piggyback through piranha-infested molten lava. It’s f*cking awesome. No, really. And it’s also, unfortunately, the last track on the album that doesn’t sound like the Bush we’ve come to know and be utterly bored by.?Did their courage fail them?
Or were they visited by a hit man from some American record company: “Hey, guys, the honchos up at HQ are kinda worried the new record’s not lame enough to shift in the States. Could’ya, like, sh*t it up a little? After all, we got a brand identity to protect here, capiche?” Next time, Gavin, make an entire album you can be proud of.
You know you can do it.