Celebrated writer/shampoo magnate/old gay dude Gore Vidal once said the difference between reviewers and critics is that reviewers introduce new shit; critics put that shit into historical and cultural context.

Well, if a certain tourettic detective is to be believed, context is everything. (Check out Motherless Brooklyn)

So here goes: The eighties are back in a bad way; so is disco. The white Michael Jackson is dead; the black one has been MIA for years. The world is a smaller place because of the internet; therefore, in comparison, my penis is looking bigger these days. Finally, it’s no surprise that a growing demographic of kids believe they really like music because they read blogs and because the shit they listen to has a broad “indie” stamp, when in fact, they consume and dispose of music in the same way their Top 40 peers do.

So, hey dorks, give fifteen minutes of your dwindling attention span to this summer’s Cut Copy: Empire Of The Sun! This album might’ve been released last fall, but sometimes bullshit snowballs really slowly, especially if it’s coming from Australia.

First thing’s first: These guys dance on Brokeback Mountain. You can ask Gore Vidal; it’s true. Secondly, this duo is trying to imitate MGMT’s sound and Fischerspooner’s look, but their success is partial, if only because they dimed the Shitty dial, broke it, and managed to hit twelve.

This is new territory for us.

Why these Australians decided to name themselves after that Christian Bale movie (or that J.G. Ballard book) is probably the only thing that interests me about them. But then again, I forgot what I just typed so I’m probably not being honest with myself, or with you, the reader.

I’m sorry.

Don’t expect any apologies from Empire Of The Sun, though. It’s a no-brainer bad idea when you have a band that spends more time jerking off in the mirror than paying attention to their music or lyrics. Let’s randomly pick a “song.” How about “Swordfish Hotkiss Night”?

Sample lyrics:

“Hotdog belt donut melt
Magpie knelt by itself
Monster goons magnet moves
Diamonds in a harlot douche”

Holy shit. These guys can’t even put together half a sentence. This is clinical proof that they’ve been doing a line of coke for every line of poetry they complete. If you’re going to randomly throw words together, here’s a better example you might recognize:

“A mulatto
An Albino
A mosquito
My libido”

And even better:

“Shoot speed
Kill Light”

This album is the sad sound of hipsters dancing ironically* on Blow* Mountain. They can have Empire Of The Sun. We’ll be on Party Mountain with Nick Cave, who is probably pissed off enough to record that second Grinderman man LP stat. WHOOOOOOOOO!

(*Might be redundant.)

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