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The Evil of Two Lessers – Travis Slagging Glasvegas

Ah, the rock ‘feud’. Is there anything so dreary as when two tiresome acts line up to define themselves by slagging each other off in the hope of garnering column inches? It’s almost as hoary an old cliché as ‘getting it together in the country’.

What’s always so sublimely depressing about these quarrels is that it is generally two deeply average bands conducting them (check out last years epoch-undefining Enemy v Courteeners spat.) For instance, you rarely hear The Flaming Lips calling The Arcade Fire a pile of wank. This latest contender (could someone please order them a one way ticket to Palookaville?) is from Neil Primrose, drummer with the stultifyingly non-dynamic rockers Travis. When asked about Glasvegas, he initially damned them with faint praise (“they are quite interesting”) before being a tad more honest (“I don’t think they’ll be about by the end of next year.”)

So many contrasting feelings for ELM. First of all, you have to question the musical authority possessed by the drummer from Travis. I mean, read that back. The DRUMMER. From TRAVIS. It’s a bit like Douglas Baader having a go at someone from Riverdance about their pirouettes. Travis have to be one of the most low-calorie, deeply anaemic bands who ever walked the Earth. The vigour shown on their early singles quickly morphed into asinine, cheap cash-register music for soulless drones. It emasculated emotion and made it something cheap, something to be commodified and sold.

They (along with David Gray) helped usher in the era of the Blunts and Morrisons, absolute generic crap stuck in a big package and flogged hard and heavy to a barely sentient audience. In short, they have no right to question anyone’s longevity.

Now, it’s no secret to regular readers that we are no fans of the humourless, one trick pony (and it is someone else’s pony) that is Glasvegas. But I’ll defend them here. You might find them a bit histrionic and a gang of kitchen-sink dramatists, but at least they are trying. Travis gave up trying to do anything of genuine interest a long time ago. But slagging off a new band just reeks of jealousy. Travis, bar the first six months or so, have never been ‘cool’, but they desperately want to be. You can spot the subtext of Primrose’s comment a mile away. It’s blatant, pining ‘why don’t you like meeee?’ whinnying.

So one hopes that Glasvegas decide not to respond in kind, justified as it may be. Simply put, it isn’t worth it. And if it saves the rest of us from months of boring back-and-forth in the press, we will be forever grateful to them.

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17 Responses

  1. They could jsut save their time and let me slag both of them.

    Travis – talentless whining twats with no tunes and a vastly over inflated sense of worth.

    Glasvegas – talentless whining twats with no tunes and a vastly over inflated sense of worth.

    Spot the fucking difference. The only main difference between them is Travis have always been generick indie rock pish for the tesco shopper. In my opinion, Glasvegas are worse because they have taken the genuinely innovative and leftfield style of TJ&MC and turned it into the sort of pish people buy with the messages. Aye, we know, he’s gone. No fucking wonder with you whining at him.

  2. I’ll say this for you GGM, you could never be accused of sitting on the fence!

    I just find the whole thing tiresome. It’s straight from rock marketing 101 – generate some publicity by slagging someone else. Which is fine, but Travis need to realise that people will still get to listen to their appalling records, which may put them off buying them. If they have working ears.

  3. I had the misfortune to be in FOPP when the tragic travis were milling about upstairs before doing an in-store appearance/gig. For some reason they were speaking wlth an LA drawl. I briefly considered pointing the absurdity out to them but decided that to avoid soiling my soul through socal intercourse with them a wiser course of action would be to ignore this unpleasant scenario.

    Well done me.

  4. Agreed Dusty, you get an ELM Cyber Gold Star for that one, though it would have been platinum had you lumped a bottle of piss at them.

  5. It had indeed crossed my mind to throw a bottle of piss at them . Unfortunately and to be frank unusually ,I was not carrying a bottle of piss – for just such an eventuality – at the time.

    However , it did also cross my mind that to have some of The Real Slim Dusty`s piss thrown over them may mark them ever so slightly with the imprimatur of my own greatness , a golden after-glow they could never deserve.

    There is also a worrying ” territorial ” aspect to this which I haven`t fully thought through yet .

  6. No, that would only have been had you pissed AROUND them. Then Travis would have been your bitches.

  7. And I SWORE I`d never reveal the true life events which inspired fran healy to write ” why does it always rain on me “.

  8. ‘Because a frightening looking man was marking his territoreeee?’

  9. I love ponies! Great blog and hope to have some time soon to come back and read more!

  10. You may all consider The Real Slim Dusty to be a reasonable and mature sort of fellow from his postings.
    I witnessed him offer to “go a head” with Marti Pellow in the Rock Garden for no reason other than he disliked his music some years ago. Being a reasonable and mature fellow, I counselled him on his behaviour. Clearly it didn’t stick.

  11. I’m right behind Dusty on that one. Though I did quite like ‘Sweet Little Mystery’, but I was 8.

  12. Good God man, will you marry me? I can just imagine us having a tranquil life filled with barbed, poisonous and vicious comments about everyone else in the world. Evenings spent planning the death of vaccuous celebs and musicians. Plotting the death of Chris Martin.
    Just think, you and I against the planet!

  13. Pellow smiled in a manner likely to cause offence ; provocation enough.

    Any court in the land would agree.

  14. Although , I still suspect the whippetmeister of slipping a couple of rohypnols in my midori and lemonade that fateful 80s night..

  15. Oh, Howlinwhippet, you old smoothy. What girl could refuse an offer like that? You buy the cyanide, I’ll get the marriage licence.

  16. Its a date, GGM. We’ll produce lots of little bile-filled ELM kids. We’ll live in a moat-surrounded evil castle and send invective-flecked epistles to the non-believers.
    I can see it all now……….

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