Ladies and gentlemen, the second or third flowering of Britpop is hovering over us. (It seems like just yesterday that American schoolchildren were bitterly divided into two camps: Menswear fans versus Northern Uproar fans.) According to the U.K. dailies, Kasabian have already conquered, set fire to, defecated on, and won the hearts of Ol’ Blighty with a shaker of kula and a gleam in their tooth. Rumor has it that the late, great Brit DJ and tastemaker John Peel’s last words were: “Kasabian are without a doubt . . .” No one could pick ’em like Peely.
Still waiting for the next Lo Fidelity Allstars album? Wish there were more Stereo MC’s-like stuff in car ads? Wondering where great songwriting teams like Gallagher/Gallagher have gone? Then Kasabian were made for you! They offer all the same thrills of the aforementioned artists, and they sound like Primal Scream, too!
Kasabian also know how to mix things up. After one or two slammin’ raver bang-up mashes so infectious they could get that skull-faced monkey guy from the Happy Mondays shaking an ecstasy-crippled tail feather, it’s off to the chill-out room for 10 or 11 mid-tempo excursions into the dark soul of futurfunkatronica! You’ve been warned, America!
Advertising disclosure: We may receive compensation for some of the links in our stories. Thank you for supporting the Village Voice and our advertisers.