The Thermals
Personal Life

My cat could write a song like those by the Thermals. Do you want to have your pet compose a song at the level of those by the Thermals? Today you can do it with a few simple moves; just have your beloved pet strum the same string for eight beats, then another string for another eight beats, and now repeat the process ad infinitum.

This is the content of “Personal Life.” Guys, what a severe diarrhea, I imagine it happens to you too; it's rare for a record to piss you off. Usually, when an album is bad, you don't even have time to put it aside with nonchalance before you've already forgotten it. Not this one, unfortunately, I won't forget it; it's one of the most insipid and irritating albums I've had the chance to listen to. And it's even their fifth studio album. I decided to listen to it because I read some positive reviews (trustworthy, right?), evidently written by the band's relatives, and I feared I had missed a good rock band along the way. Not at all, a terrifying moan. Even the name is pathetic, Thermals, who are you, descendants of Diocletian?
But let's concretely discuss this torment, about which after this review I want to hear nothing more. This band dishes out a sequence of songs so predictable that a cover band is more original. The problems are everywhere starting with the genre: post-grunge, a broadly exploited territory that only makes sense to tread if one is exceptionally talented. In fact, when you put on this record, you'll hear with immense joy (NB: sarcasm) other past post-grunge bands, certainly not great ones, given that even when it was in vogue they struggled quite a bit, Bush and Silverchair above all. Now do the math, post-grunge was a bland remix of grunge, a genre that had its time and that no one dares to bring back.

But it doesn’t end here. What infuriates me the most is the constant plagiarism of Placebo. When they don't sound like Bush, the Thermals transform into a cloudy Placebo. The singer has a tone similar to Brian Molko's and furthermore insists on singing in his manner; this is a big problem, you understand me, because he isn't Brian Molko and they aren't Placebo.
I challenge you, listen to the first three (or just one) more than honest albums by Placebo, this Thermals album comes from there. It's unsettling that a band in their fifth album offers such a rancid concoction. And there's someone who produces them and someone who listens to them. Maybe I'm the biased one who doesn’t realize he's facing an honest, diligent, and modest rock band, but I'd bet my family jewels that not even on Prozac would you listen to this CD. I'm afraid of who the fans of such a non-band might be, and I envision these pimply 17-year-olds refusing Justin Bieber's checcoide conformity for the more stoner and hormone-soaked sounds of the legendary thermophiles. HELP. When it’s warranted, it's warranted, these are people who need to understand that music should be left to others, and they should go cultivate bonsai instead.

Postscript: one track stands out (if that's the case) from all the crap. It’s “I Don’t Believe You,” adolescent pop-punk, still in Placebo's realm; but it's a song that Molko could have written, a song that therefore deserves a listen.