No, man, I shouldn't like this as much as I do. I know this. Yet, considering I've spent the last few years of my life rallying against Britain's acceptance of Hard-Fi and Razorlight as the voice of my generation, I feel Guillemots were a dim light in the bleak, pitch black vacuum of modern not-actually-indie indie rock. This band, and this album, existed on the cusp of mainstream acceptance at the time of its release, and it should have been a revolution. All the stars were alligned; it was up for a Mercury Prize (but lost out to The Arctic Monkeys, 'cause, ya know, they needed more hype...), had the backing of the Pitchforkian forces that drive the minds of so many hipsters and, hell, this band even featured on some BBC2 program that was on after Paxman had finished bemoaning the recently-added weather section of his Newsnight show. My mind is blurred, but I believe these things happened at around the same time.
Guillemots should've been the band to break the country out of its wholesale love of the bland, mundane and uninspired. "...nothing on the radio that means that much to me"; really, Johnny Borrell, you odious twatrocker? I realise you've had Kirsten Dunst, but that doesn't give you the right to pen such hypocritical nonsense. You're part of the problem, Borrell, and you're the reason why Guillemots only slightly made it. At the very least, you owe Fyfe Dangerfield a pint, at the very best, well, how good is your knowledge when it comes to seppuku?
This should've worked. The glorious "Made Up Love Song #43" runs deep with pretentionless sentiment to what every songwriter wants to experience, if only to write a song about it. "Trains to Brazil" was, in the past, the future number one single. It even has whistles and kids voices in it, which is just the icing on this golden cake of a song. Number 36, people; that's where this charted, and you have only yourselves to blame. The strings on "We're Here" should belong on a Disney film, yet they fit perfectly in this weightless ballad of nothing. The title track even manages to venture near the crazy world of techno, yet the whole thing is still drenched in Guillemot sauce. "And if All", even if it is just a throwaway prelude to the closer, is still a stunning ambient piece when listened to alone (I once had this on repeat for like half an hour)...
"Sao Paulo"... no words.
In absolutely no way should this have changed the world, yet Guillemots' debut should've been the start of something great. And, yes, I realise that this is a completely incoherent rant that tails off madly towards the end, but sometimes I just really, really hate people.