They claim to ‘specialise’ in ‘their own unique brand of independent rock whilst drawing influences from the likes of Kasabian, The Jam, Oasis and other great luminaries from the alternate rock scene.’ Oasis, alternative? Alternative to what? Other shit pub rock bands who somehow managed to once fill stadiums with their plodding pedestrian potboilers? Like Kasabian, for example? So, at a point in musical history in which it’s pretty much all been done, and done to death, drawing from the standard generic list of influences, the chances of The Jet Reds doing anything remotely unique are smaller than a zero-hours contract paycheque.
The album’s first song, ‘Unpredictable’, is anything but. The most radical thing on offer here is a bit of brass on top of the baggy beat and gospel backing vocals. And that’s about as good as it gets. They make a fair stab at wistful on the jangly ‘Where the Sun Don’t Shine’, but then ‘The Real Thing’ might feature Neville Staple, is the kind of godawful breezy, mid-tempo cod reggae that should’ve been buried 30 years ago and is as ersatz as hell, and the shuffling psychedelic swagger of the title track is so cliché it hurts.
To be fair, it’s not shit, it’s just mediocre, and ‘What We’re Looking For’ just isn’t what we’re looking for…