Review by Darren Kerr
I'm sure a lot of you are going to scream foul. "But you hate techno! You loath electronica! You are a dinosaur, soon to be extinct in the face of the computer revolution," you'll bellow at me, seething with rage.
Yeah, and your mama turns tricks for debit cards. I've got no quarrel with technological advances. I was into Kraftwerk, Eno, Can and Einsturzende Neubaten. I was there when Hot Butter swept the airwaves with "Popcorn." I've drank Meisterbrau.
Now is the time on Sprockets when we bitch! For a few minutes, this CD totally surprised me. The opening track unfolds with lyrical soaring guitar from Peter Weihe that made me think Jam & Spoon had kidnapped David Gilmour.
But then they push the dishwater diva button, and suddenly we're in house music pap territory. Every Beat Factory nightmare/commercial comes crashing down on you as you frantically reach for the skip button, the rest of the album alternating between new age crud and a lobotomized Tangerine Dream making porno soundtracks...
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