Does It Offend You Yeah? You Have No Idea What You're Getting Yourself Into Review

Album. Released 2008.  

BBC Review

Like a Primark hoodie, it's immaterial whether this record will be remembered fondly...

Sophie Hammer 2008

If the doomed youth are binge drinking anti-intellectuals staggering around in stupid neon clothes, then Does It Offend You, Yeah? are another nail in their coffin. You Don't Know What You're Getting Yourself Into is the soundtrack to self-stupefaction, gorging on abrasive atonal electro clashes and intoxicated with its own sense of inaccessibility. Yet it's so gratifyingly braindead that it's impossible not to screech along in nihilistic glee.

This Reading-London assemblage describe their sound as being ''like an arcade machine thrown into a lake'', and we find them merrily splashing about in the same gene pool as Hadouken!, Late Of The Pier, and Crystal Castles. Their debut typifies a gratuitous embrace of surface sported by our achingly hip youth. No doubt if you listen hard to any episode of Skins, DIOYY will be blasting the poignancy out of a moment of emotional tenderness. It's all zeitgeisty din; an acerbic retort to the inheritance of a world living on borrowed time. With MySpace sponsoring this generation's existential angst, shrieking into the abyss via vocoder makes perfect sense. Featuring the aphorism ''will you find a time / when you're not online / standing all alone'', We Are Rockstars does just this - with synths on.

Like a Primark hoodie, it's immaterial whether this record will be remembered fondly in six months. Its resolute immediacy is its cheap thrill. Instrumental wig outs, Battle Royale and Weird Science, are explicit tributes to Daft Punk but without distractions of Gallic flair - this is simply quick and dirty, delicious noise. 60ft Octopus is like deranged squid juggling metal, electro and a DVD of Invasion Of The Bodysnatchers. At regular intervals one despairs at this industrial scale ear assault performed by sneering idiots. A bleep of a synth later though and you're lifted up into a destructive high, convinced this is post-everything genius. To paraphrase George Orwell, if you want a vision of the present, imagine a man named Morgan Yeah screaming ''Let's Make Out'' in a human face. But it won't be forever - so just suck it up and deal with it, yeah?

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