Blackpool Lights This Town's Disaster by: Steve Scully Mon:13-Aug-07 Label: Curb Appeal Year: 2007 WB rating 10 out of 100

…and so the abomination, the oxymoronic beast named Pop/Punk, rears its dying head once again for one final strike. As its teeth, blunt from its long reign as tyrant over popular ears, pierce the supple, pink skin of our hero, happier places flash through one’s mind; we yearn for angst-less times.

As ‘emo’ – a tag once reserved for those whining, pseudo-punk heaps of self-denial, unhappy in their affluent, comfortable lives – has its ambit widened now to encompass truly talented musicians and genres (see Arcade Fire), it has developed a ‘supra-genre’ effect. Some, however, attempt to grasp the past close to their chests. The likes of MxPx and The Ataris, leaders of the US emo punk scene are thankfully waning, if not extinct. Blackpool Lights seem not to have noticed.

From the power-chord intro and nasal verse vocals in opening track ‘This Town’s Disaster’, to the poorly-strummed acoustic and the “now that dream is dead” lyrics of ‘Maybe Just Maybe’, Blackpool Lights excrete mediocrity from every pore. Not much about this music can be drawn out for critique, but perhaps the paradigmatic moment, the one that illustrates perfectly Blackpool Lights’ inability to create anything remotely palatable is found in mid-album, filler track ‘The Truth About Love’. Vocals and strummed acoustic open the track: “The truth about love/It’s great when you’re in it.” This is a sentiment that pervades emo pop-punk; there’s a lack of satisfaction with life, and the ‘musicians’ revel in attributing blame. A tinny drum sound accompanies the poorly-phrased vocals, telling the story of a heartbroken girl, somewhat akin to the balladry of Mrs Avril Whibley (nee Lavinge).

‘Cursed By Yourself’ is a country-esque indulgence: “Good days never seem to come/when your whole life’s a mess/and nothing seems to work out right.” There’s far too much of the ‘you’ in Blackpool Lights’ vision; there’s distinct sense that, while using the second-person pronoun to relate to their isolated listeners, the emotions evoked here are nothing short of hackneyed. Their musicianship, in a style also done to death, offers nothing revelatory. Power-chords, minimalist guitar riffs, heavy drumming and superfluous bass guitar, all make for a tired, forced feel. In ‘Unlucky’, the guitars drudge along underneath poignant lyrics: “You can’t remember names/they all look the same.” They’re poignant only in the context of the music: can you tell the difference between Simple Plan and Yellowcard? Throw Blackpool Lights in the mix, and it seems there’ll be even further confusion.

Their genre now lacks credibility; their music is no longer acceptably repetitive. The reign of pup-punk is over; don’t think that a few guys – who mistook Simple Plan’s apologetic whinge “I’m sorry I can’t be perfect” to be the voice of a generation – are at all worthy of your attention. A style of music in its death throes, moribund now with its aging stalwarts Green Day now relegated to recording songs with U2.

In another time, Blackpool Lights would get points for trying. Unfortunately, trying and failing at something pointless and meritless doesn’t garner as much praise as, say, Interpol’s recent, questionably-successful efforts to force evolution. Do we reward the footballer who fails even in kicking in the wrong direction? If a student writes a poor essay on the wrong topic, does he pass? Blackpool Lights’ is a mediocre-at-best effort at a dated, shallow, and unimpressive style of music. This Town’s Disaster is a forgettable effort.