Share CHOO CHOO - Choo Choo (Irascible)
Oh, these poor sorry bastards. Why did they send this disc to The I-94 Bar? Can you imagine the kind of review that I’m going to write about these lame arsed fuckers? I put it in the player and, as the first notes sounded, my son looked at me in disbelief.
“How can you be listening to this shit?” he demanded.
It is hard to look your child in the eye when you have been caught listening to a CD this bad. There are many things you don’t want your children to see you do. Listening to this disc is perhaps the worst. It may have read “Play Loud!” on the sleeve but I felt an urgent need to lower the volume.
I tried to explain. I had been given this pile of discs to review. I felt responsibility. It was my duty.
“Just turn it off. It’s mediocre crap.”
“Son,” I said. “There’s nothing mediocre about this crap. Mediocre simply means average. This band looks up at average in awed admiration in much the same way as Europeans look up at the Alps.”
Choo Choo want to be a pop band. They want to be famous. They want the world to give them the love they didn’t receive from their parents. They write songs they hope are designed to meet these ends. Cliché follows cliché in an attempt to create an identikit hit. The text on the cover suggests they are Swiss but, if this is how they perceive popular music, the Swiss should stick to banking and cuckoo clocks.
The only thing I like about this disc is the hopelessly amateurish keyboard parts that remind me of both Question Mark and the Mysterians and the Wetsuits. That’s not enough. I like both of those bands but I do not like this. I would throw this disc in the bin without review but I feel I should warn you. It is hard to believe human beings could work together to such dire ends. The Swiss claimed neutrality because they could never work out which side they were on. Their pop music is much the same. It tries to take no side in the war against the jive.
This disc is so bad that I suspect Choo Choo are not Swiss. There is every chance they are the children of Nazi war criminals trying to avenge their defeat in the Second World War. Do not support them. Turn your back to them as they walk past. Salt the ground where their foot prints lie. Most of all, never forget. Don’t let them near a recording studio ever again. –Bob Short
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