Pitchfork

The British are coming. All over this record. Once again, their music magazines are stained with praise for another monotonous tribute act comprised of snotty white Americans. But the stakes are considerably lower with this collection of liberal-arts dilettantes, who reserve three liner-note credit slots for "wardrobe," and one each for "hair" and "stylist."

"But it's so tongue-in-cheek, Chris, how much more obvious can they make it?"

Tongue Sandwich............$7.98

This sort of fey posturing has as little place in music today as it did in 1975, but unfortunately, rampant cynicism precludes both Fischerspooner existing in 2004 and anyone caring whether or not they even still do. Lightning-fast media turnover prevents music revolutions; acts no longer require staying power and therefore cannot stagnate. This short-sighted approach causes one hit wonders and decades of bland, recycled song structures. But Fischerspooner are underground! How could that apply to them? Hey, these guys were signed for £2,000,000; don't forgive them their mediocrity just yet.

#1 is a mixture of sounds already available on many Human League, 808 State and Heaven 17 records, arranged by amateurs exploring their self-obsessed, nerdy sexuality. Their smash hit, "Emerge," is indistinguishable from a number of other tracks on the album, but for its slightly faster tempo and an actual chorus. A Roland-303 bass synthesizer cranks out the same disco throbs it was designed for in 1981, paired as always with a 606 or 808 drum machine. Shades of Kraftwerk appear in the refrain, "You don't need to/ Emerge from nothing," and genuinely make me question my relationship with pop music. The band's attitude, full of snorts and disdain, is pure Frankie Goes to Hollywood. A more cynical recycling of pop music and punk rock history is impossible; meanwhile, Alex Needham's mother wants to know what are those stains on his jeans.

"Horizon" takes us back to 1990, when four-on-the-floor electronic music was still called "rave," though the band is incapable of sculpting these familiar noises into anything likely to dilate your pupils. The swirling, messy finale only makes me yearn for Prodigy's "Charlie." "Turn On," appended to this re-release, offers artificially Chic vocals. But it's the audaciously boring rendition of Wire's "The 15th" that has most of us talking. Along with New Order, Wire remains one of the most capable, innovative bands ever to infuse traditional pop music with synthesized sound. On 154, Chairs Missing and even their lackluster later work (see "The Finest Drops" and "A Serious of Snakes"), Wire were transcendent, combining an astute appreciation of grandeur and the ridiculous. Their decades-old masterpieces are creatively deafening in comparison to the dull, digital thuds so carelessly looped on #1.

In interviews, Fischerspooner arrogantly blather on about people "not realizing the potential of technology" or "not taking it far enough." New Order and Wire changed the musical landscape forever with a fraction of the technology. A band as revelatory as My Bloody Valentine understood this and more: their rendition of Wire's "Map Ref. 41N 93W" (from the same album as "The 15th") attempts only to recreate the original, glorious guitar sounds Wire managed to produce in 1981. It is, without a doubt, the ideal copy. The geniuses in Fischerspooner instead opt to strip "The 15th" down to a simple, insistent drum machine beat, replete with heavily reverbed vocals.

I'm not going to deny that the group's visual flair rivals Peter Gabriel's in the early-80s, but they paint themselves as an "art collective," and it seems to me that art ought to do something more than mock itself. These guys are talented in only one respect, and are receiving attention in the wrong medium-- this half-hearted full-length is an excuse to push the band's studious fashion sense. You may find that intriguing and perhaps decadently irreverent; I say Michael Alig did more for music than Fischerspooner ever will.