The Temper Trap - Fader
It's New Year's Eve, and all over the world people are preparing to gather with their loved ones and see in 2010 with that song about an old Lang and a sign and that funny crossed handshake dance. A lot of people will be making playlists for house parties, and what they will want is a collection of good songs which are neither so distracting that they drive all possible conversation from the room, or so bland that your guests will take over the stereo, or get Rock Band out.
If any of this applies to you, could I humbly suggest that you give this song a chance? It absolutely, definitely will NOT make your party worse, no matter what you're up to, and that's a cast-iron promise.*
(Here's the video. In the neon jungle no-one can hear you scream. But they can sure as heck SEE it.)
As you will see, it's less of a song and more of a four-chord churn, a kind of groove-piece which arrives and leaves agreeably, if a little anonymously, without ever raising hackles or goosebumps.
Sometimes there's a pretty whooped refrain over the top, a bit like that Klaxons song with the pretty whooped refrain in it, only shorter. Sometimes there's a clashing wall of guitars, sometimes they drop out. The fuzz bass and church organ pretty much continue throughout, and the band do their best to add stuff and take stuff away so there's always a sense of progress, even if it doesn't really go anywhere.
A good visual analogy would be driving on a motorway. At any given moment, the landscape can change from hilly and oppressive to wide and flat, or the road can be long and straight - with no exits in sight - or curvy and bumpy, with one of those bizarre surfaces that makes the car suddenly make a lot more noise for no apparent reason, and constantly flipping from three lanes to two lanes to four lanes and back, as cars arrive and leave.
However, nothing ever quite erases the essential monotony of the motorway itself. That never changes.
That's what makes this so perfect for parties. It won't clear a dancefloor or annoy the neighbours. It won't make anyone flop onto the stairs crying because of the sad memories attached to it, and best of all, it won't cause a massive row about what or what does not constitute real music.
That's what Jools Holland's Hootenanny is for, after all...
* That is not a cast-iron promise.