They hail from Madrid with a name producer in tow (Paco Loco - Golden Smog, Josh Rouse) and have the casually dishevelled looks of a young Strokes to influence their quite-likely cachet of soon-come front covers. On paper it seems like LAYABOUTS have it all sewn up. Without even playing a note.
Sadly, it's when you hear them laying into their songs that the image not only cracks but soon crumbles to dust. Not that there's anything intrinsically wrong with the playing, the commitment or the enthusiasm per se. Layabouts have all three in spades and throw the kind of serrated modern-day indie shapes that are de rigeur right now. It's simply that...well, your reviewer has just heard this kind of thing done so many times before. And on so many occasions it's been done significantly better.
Take opener 'Stop The Replay', for example. The initial wibbly synths are quite interesting, but are soon bounced down to the path of well-trodden, riff-driven regulation indie. The chunky basslines, angular guitars and Jon Arias' compressed and vaguely malevolent vocals are all present and correct, but by the time the chorus has turned into full-on Killers pastiche, you're already thinking it's time to move on 'cos there's nothing new here.
And, predictably, this proves to be the case as the album opens out into a case of spot the influence from thirty paces. Yes, the energy of songs like 'Rat In A Lab' and new single 'Fine For Me' is bracing, but you don't have to be Brain of Rock to be rapidly irritated by the Franz-style disco rhythms of the former or the 'Funhouse'-xerox riffing driving the verses of the latter. Before yet another Killers rip-off chorus looms into view once again, of course.
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A ray of light permeates gamely courtesy of 'Care' where Layabouts demonstrate a better grasp of both layering and dynamics and even cock a snook respectfully towards mid-'80s New Order, but sadly it's soon extinguished by the execrable 'Song 2'-style melee of the ensuing 'Electro Rocker Move' and the wholly second-rate 'Naive'. In fact, the only other cause for mild celebration comes via the swerving riffery of the closing 'Perfect Day', but this - and the fact that it's NOT a cover of the Lou Reed song of the same name - is cold comfort and very much a case of too little too late.
Layabouts are young, excitable and - on the basis of this debut - have a relatively impeccable record collection. Sadly, though, they offer little here that's more than mere hero worship and certainly nothing with a discernible identity of its' own. I had been hoping their name might equate with 'nonchalent genius', but it's more a case of inherent laziness, despite the exuberance they display.
Back to the drawing board lads.
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