Call it intuition, but when I read the press release, I feared that this album could very much go either way. Maybe it was the referencing of Mark Ronson, comparing his 'back to the roots of 1982' approach to Duran Duran’s latest album to Love Crushed Velvet's methods for 'capturing the spirit of the time.' Ronson's approach to nostalgia always struck me as calculating more than genuinely affectionate, and besides, I still haven't forgiven him for that dreadful Smiths cover.
The name Love Crushed Velvet doesn't really have the ring of authenticity about it, either. Sure, it makes a change from the format of selecting a plural noun and random and prefixing it with the definitive article, but even so. It's not patchoulli I can smell, it's cheese.
The suggestion that 'Love Crushed Velvet reflects a unique synthesis of musical inspirations. In its juxtaposition of catchy melodies with edgy lyrics, the music resists simple categorization' doesn't bode well, and I feel as though a challenge is being set here, especially when I read that 'Love Crushed Velvet's debut album evokes the melodic atmospherics of New Wave / post-punk yet is thoroughly modern in its sensibilities... classic punk chord structures and New Wave flourishes... may recall The Clash, early U2, even the mysterious tone of a David Lynch film – simultaneously.'
So this is why I fear this album could go either way. I wish I could report that my fears were all unfounded but the sad truth id that this is a truly dismal affair. I mean, talk about getting the wrong end of the stick! The first three tracks capture the spirit of 1982 by sounding like Billy Idol. The production's full and bright and slick and completely lacking in atmosphere.
As our man A.L.X. - the sole fixed member of the band - belts out the lines 'Rape your reputation / Life with complication / Cast its spell around the confusion / Faceless human nature / Faithless is your saviour / Endlessly choosing the heat of reason' on the title track, there's a tear in my eye, and it's not of nostalgia. So this is how he articulates 'complicated emotions that we often try to hide.'
It isn't a good start, and things only get worse as the album progresses. The mid-album slump begins with a bad rehash of Primal Scream at their retro worst in the form of 'Famous' and lasts until, well, the last track, really. These tracks are neither punk nor new wave in any way shape or form. They're just bad US pop-rock, and the female backing vocals don't help one bit, while the dreadful lyrics just keep on coming. In 'Puttin' On a Weapon,' which bears a remarkable similarity to Aerosmith's 'Dream On,' I assume the lines 'Turnin' on my engines / Wearin' your heels, slip on your lace' are supposed to be 'hot,' but simply makes me think of 'Walk on the Wild Side' instead.
'Love Crushed Velvet' doesn't convey complex emotions, and instead drives at 100mph down the Boulevard of Rock Cliche with the roof down and the stereo cranked up loud as A.L.X. leers as the chicks and makes like he's being somehow ironic. It's hard to find any redeeming features in the slick stadium rock of 'Willie B' or the faux-sensitive rock ballad smooch of 'Bright Summer'. 'Heatwave' brings things to a conclusion with a reasonable degree of swagger, but again, it's not punk, it's not New Wave, and it's not actually any good other than by the abysmal standards of this album. Recommended only if you're searching for a hackeyed, lumpen example of mainstream 90s rock, I really don't love crushed velvet one little bit.
