Artist: The Hoosiers

Album: The Illusion of Safety

Reviewer: William Grant

Drowned in Sound, 2010

Writing Disorders: Scorn Disease, Jargon Palsy








Stuffiest Phrase: “an ironic stab at the vacuous nature of that which it fit into”

Spoon uppa Ass: “I by no means profess to be any sort of modern pop obsessive”




William Grant, if you’re a girl, I apologize. Jess Harvell ruined my boner when she ended up being a dude, so I’m taking names with a grain of salt these days. I can take a better stab at what’s in your pants with a picture, but more on that later. Don’t soil your ovaries if I got your gender wrong, he-man. Now let’s focus on your review.

I didn’t like it. Almost as much as you didn’t like this Hoosiers album. I’d still have beef with you giving bands the rusty trombone even if you weren’t a bad writer.  But you are a bad writer, Will, so let’s run with that:

So, with that in mind, what can be said about The Illusion Of Safety is that if you have any inclination towards the beautifully intricate synthesized pop of the Eighties, and hence a lot of modern accessible Shiny Songs, then the opening double gambit will, remarkably, make you quite happy.

So…after all that cotton, you’re saying folks who like ‘80s synth pop will like two songs on this album? I’m guessing none of your teachers ever graded for editing. Try rereading your stuff every once in a while without a hand down your waistband and you might catch the declutter bug.

You write like most other music lice in their twenties, but a couple times you broke free of the pack. That’s no compliment. Nothing blue balls my brain worse than the word “esque,” and you really took it to a whole new level of pussy footing:

Lead single ‘Choices’ has an almost Hot Chip-esque synth line

Ugh. Dude, consider what you wrote there.  Almost-esque.  You’re saying this lead single was hardly almost like something.  That’s like saying Claire Danes’ peaches are almost Heather Graham-esque.  I mean, they ARE breasts, but not quite. Consider something in the future, kid. If you’re gonna compare, try standing on a leg stronger than a used tampon.

I don’t reckon your listening rivaled the time spent making the album, but you rained down static all the same. After mentioning the first two songs, you had this to say:

Unfortunately, despite their gallant strides, the rest of the album is a chore.

So let me get this straight, Will. You’ll burn time dissecting a synth line down two levels, but 5/6 of an album of music is just a chore? Like emptying the trash or cleaning the fish tank? Thank god you explained all the lazy with a whole new paragraph. It was even 11 words longer than your opening anecdote about serving cider to men! Phew. For a minute I thought you were being lazy.

Well shit. Let’s back up the smack with some staggering William Grant prose:

as well as a a serious not to the idea of the ‘hook’.

Hold on a second while I pen a quick note. Dear Drowned in Sound editors – when one of your minions writes himself into a seizure, it’s your job to clean up the mess. Two typos in the span of three words? Put that on a resume.

Okay. Sorry about that, Will. For the love of Christ, edit your own shit, dude.

I’d wrap this up so you can go find another hobby, but I’m not going to let you off so easy. I promised more about that picture of you after all. I peed myself giddy at this new evidence suggesting Drowned in Sound writers shop at the same creepy milkman store:





Will, take a knee. Do you understand what you look like in those things?  You look like a sex offender.  I’m sure you’re just expressing yourself or something, but I don’t reckon rapist glasses are pushing you almost-esque toward a straight girl or gay man’s favor.* Men need to bang, and those things aren’t helping.

Baby steps though. Keep niggling musicians for not pleasing your ear. Can’t be making drastic change right out of the gate. I’ll be checking in.




* Or whatever combos they have these days under the T and Q.

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