Pick the Cat's Eyes Out

I swear to God, Scottish pop is so fucking terrible right now. I hate delivering such wide-reaching damnations because there's always something that's gone uncovered, but general frustration, ennui, and the Cinematics have brought me to this precipice. I got an email today: PR for the Edinburgh band Broken Records. I listened a few times while I worked. The verdict: it's like a conflation of Sons & Daughters' boozy, frenetic energy and My Latest Novel's puffed-up emotional tropes. I got a tad excited about it, but then realized, during more fertile times this probably wouldn't even be a blip on my tartan radar.

Scotland's popsmiths are typically at their finest when reacting to England's Next Big Thing. Hear Screamadelica or If You're Feeling Sinister or, I don't know, maybe Lubricate Your Living Room. Now there's just lots of piggybacking, lots of regurgitating, lots of Scottish artists content with their neighbors to the south doing the lion's share of the work (not that they're ever-diligent at the moment either). Lampreys like the Fratellis just latch onto that giant Libertines fish and suck the body dry of all its fluids. Admittedly, I did find that Fratellis' record to be rather cheeky and fun, but again . . . fertile times, blip on radar, blah blah blah. It wasn't like the first time you heard Cocteau Twins or The Man on Your Street or Billy Mackenzie's voice. Jesus Christ -- Billy Mackenzie's fucking voice.

Right now, my favorite Scottish pop track is Frightened Rabbit's "Music Now": because its title just reeks of a product brand name being bandied about in a thickly carpeted board room; because the chanting in the background reminds of the "No more rock 'n' roll for you!" ebullience from Orange Juice's "Poor Old Soul (Part Two)"; because the lyrics ("So love London, love me / But don't love me I don't mind / You can take it or leave") make me think some Scottish acts still do care what London thinks. That it's not just about leaving Caledonia behind and moving down there (which was a big fucking deal back in the day; just ask the Jolt), but gaining acceptance. (I'm not Scottish, not of Scottish descent even, but I imagine part of being Scottish means you always have this nagging, irritating desire to be at least viewed as an "equal" by those wanker English; Rents' diatribe from Trainspotting is echoing in my brain.) And that acceptance came when a Scottish act was not only reframing the English genre/movement they were immersed in, but advancing it as well.