What could be worse than Coldplay? I’ll tell you. The sub Coldplay dirge of Roddy Hart & The Lonesome Fire. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery but I simply can’t determine the point of this, their self-titled album. Perhaps an affectionate pastiche? Probably not.
Crippled by lyrical awkwardness right from the start – did someone say that there is app for that? – and a bombastic and yet completely by the numbers production that was apparently the work of someone who actually produced Coldplay, this mish mash of third rate songs and self-indulgence once again highlights that imagination and originality is in seriously short supply in Glasgow.
As I am sinking the boot right in, special mention has to be given to the wavering vocals of our Mr Hart. I can’t really say if some sort of inappropriate processing was done in post-production but he curses each and every one of his own songs with an irritating mediocrity. Let’s face it. This album is tedious from start to finish.