Never trust people who vehemently protest they’re not this, that or the other. It usually means they’re making a big noise when in reality they’ve very little to say.
Such is the case with GOOD SHOES: a 4-piece indie guitar outfit from Morden, South London, and the place where – as those of you who know your tubes lines will point out – the southbound Northern line trains terminate.
And, while your reviewer would have loved to proceed with this analogy and say we’ve now got a reason to stay on until the train reaches its’ destination, it seems we can still alight safely somewhere in the Camberwell/ Brixton area, because Morden’s ‘finest’ are yet another bunch of herky-jerky, angular indie kids still being pumped out by a factory that should now be laying its’ staff off due to lack of public interest.
To be fair, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with the four short and snappy tunes on the “We Are Not The Same” EP, it’s just that when the new bands are aping the likes of the barely-established new guard like The Futureheads, Maximo Park and Five O’Clock Heroes (never mind the seasoned geniuses like The Gang Of Four) you know that the sponge has been squeezed dry.
And, predictably, so it goes. “We Are Not The Same” opens promisingly with some epileptic staccato guitar panning (the way the Buzzcocks used to do) and takes 40 seconds to organise itself, but is soon conforming to wiry, Futureheads-style type. “Southwest Trains” lobs some Libertines-style shamble into the plot for good measure, but despite its’ urgency breaks beggar all new ground and “May Lannoye” sets a new record by immediately parodying the two tracks that have just passed.
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Closing track “Things To Make And Do” claws a couple of brownie points back thanks to some excitable and brittle guitars and some tricky tempo-changes, but despite singer Rhys Jones’ bug-eyed pleas to viva-ing the difference (“do you believe everything you’re told? I don’t!”) it’s all very much a case of far too little too late.
It’s a strange day when someone who’s always believed in the refreshingly effective qualities of spiky indie guitar pop suddenly wants to throw in the towel when confronted by it, but this band are effectively this writer’s saturation point. Good Shoes, you say? Looks more like yet another pair of knackered Converse if you ask me.
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