MUSIC: INHERENTLY A BAD THING?

The following was written in May 2012; I have just found out that this truly dreadful band has broken up. While this is undoubtedly wonderful news for those of us who enjoy music, it does make this bilious tract slightly useless. But fuck it, eh? It's never too late to give something terrible a good savaging.

Today, I am a man.

Today above all, above the sexual conquests, the hair in unpalatable areas, even above the rapidly diminishing state of my follicular topiary, today I have truly become a man.

For today I discovered the almost Comic Strip Presents-like existence of a truly remarkable band. Their name is DIVE BELLA DIVE, and they are utterly, utterly abysmal. I honestly haven't felt this way about a band since The Vines put out their first record—and at least that little douchebag had the excuse that he's autistic or whatever the hell's wrong with him. These guys are just fucking idiots.

Don't look at it for too long or you'll turn to stone

It's hard to describe what the sensation of witnessing your first DBD video is like. It's almost like having sex for the first time. You're trying so hard to avoid over-thinking what's happening to you, but it simply washes over you, an irresistible force. In the very worst way. Yes, listening to DBD for the first time is like losing your virginity. To a rapist.

If you thought Wolfmother were the absolute dirt-worst at taking the very shittiest elements from rock history and gracelessly humping them into hastily-recycled, lowest-common-denominator singalong songs for the mentally challenged, you're not gonna believe this shit. My first reaction—aside from "Oh, what the fuck happened to this world?"—was that it must be some kind of gag. A rag week wheeze, perhaps. Then it became clear there was a professional stylist (possibly several) at work. Boys—more on this later—if you're trying to come across as tougher-than-thou street warriors from the wrong side of dirty, disused tracks, it's a good idea not to look like a bunch of toddlers who saw footage of Mötley Crüe's Girls Girls Girls tour and tried to emulate what they saw using dad's garage and mum's wardrobe.

Honestly. The lead yelper had feathers, a bandanna, rosaries and what looked like a small furry animal around his neck, the bass player appeared to have glow-in-the-dark typewriter keys stuck to his instrument—utterly functionless, but they give him something to focus on besides how ashamed his parents are—and all members of the band are wearing the stupidest goddamned haircuts this side of A Flock of Seagulls.

Apparently, this is rock n' roll in 2013. In related news, Ike Turner has
come back from the dead to apologise for inventing it

Then there are the lyrics—which are laughable. The boy clearly watched the Dorian Gray movie, brushed over the Wikipedia article on Oscar Wilde, and settled down to pen the following inspiring lines:

And I'll ne'er return
to the streets of old White City
All the girls, begotten and forlorn
I'll go on the road, but only to delay my living
See the world reborn

All utter bilge, of course, sure to be pored and swooned over by idiotic teenage girls too old for Bieber but too young to remember the similarly dreadful Libertines. And it's a fact that this oily little tick—name of Barnaby, by the way—will get laid because of this crap, because everybody knows that teenage girls with disposable income and a penchant for lousy music made by terrible people are the easiest fuck in the world. Fathers, protect your daughters. Use firearms if necessary.

Aside from possessing the cold and calculating mind of a date rapist, our boy Barnaby is also a pathological liar with obvious masculinity issues. "Spend the night living," he squeals, "every night, a bottle in my hand." This is clearly bluster and balderdash of the first water: the little toad isn't even old enough to go to the toilet unattended, never mind consume alcohol legally. And in that case, there are only two possible conclusions that can be drawn:

1. He's lying. He is thus an untrustworthy heap of sloth droppings, and should be beheaded, with his filthy, lying, overpreened bonce mounted on a pike in Traitors' Cloister.
2. He's telling the truth. He is thus breaking the law, which clearly states that children may not imbibe alcohol unless accompanied by their parent or legal guardian. Since I don't see Mr and Mrs Barnaby in the video, I must therefore assume they are negligent monsters, and their offspring is a delinquent ne'er-do-well who should be placed in police custody post-haste.

Protect your daughters: don't let them listen to Dive Bella Dive.

"Spend the Night Living" is the property of Island Records. I mean, come on, you don't think I'd honestly want to claim ownership of this crap, do you?