The Twang - 'Love It When It Feels Like This' (B Unique) Released 04/06/07

The vast polar opposites in opinion over The Twang is undoubtedly unprecedented in recent times. To their fervent fans they’re cheeky Brummie scallywags who concoct stirring, uplifting anthems about the gritty reality of everyday life that are the perfect soundtrack to hazy summer months. Conversely, to their detractors The Twang are a derivative, vacuous parody of vastly superior Madchester bands who have unfairly been the centre point of a white elephant of hype from a certain music weekly and the broadsheet bandwagon jumpers. Indeed, it’s hard to think of a contemporary band that stir up such genuine hatred in some quarters - The Twang’s cocky laddish arrogance fuels a loathing that’s far more deep-rooted than the flippant dismissal many have for the MOR indie troupe. 

So, the prospect of The Twang’s debut album ‘Love It When I Feel Like This’ for a journalist trying to remain neutral is a less than enticing prospect - either side of the camp will lynch you for going against their stubborn, unwavering view. The harsh reality of this album though is that it’s a bit of a disappointment for everyone concerned. Definitely on the wrong side of bad, it’s nowhere near as awful as some would have hoped, nor is it as good as their fans are no doubt deludedly proclaiming it is.

The band are clearly at the top of their game on moments like their two singles ‘Either Way’ and ‘Wide Awake’. Both are straightforward carefree blasts of plastic beer-glass-throwing positivity that are undeniably perfect for festivals. The main rub about the vast majority of the rest of the record is that it’s painfully unoriginal and unexciting in every possible sense. The pertinent observations about post-millennial city life and its sex, booze, hardships and drugs trimmings have been done countless times before and much better - they lack the lyrical dexterity of their new found chum Mike Skinner, the cutting wit of the Arctic Monkeys and the charm of the Rakes. Christ, lines like ‘Wide Awake’s very own “What was I doing with that milf? My chin is exhausted, man it was time for filth” are enough to make Little Man Tate seem like modern day poets.