Review Summary: An album by three men, from a country, that's in another country, but they don't play country.
It is a saturday night. Present day. 10PM. Your car/motorbike/unicycle/lawmower breaks down and it looks like you're going to need some help starting it up again. Fortunately you got lost and ended up in Wales, the country that brought you cheese on toast. Unfortunatly, the only available place to ask for help seems to be a rowdy, unkempt looking rugby pub. You tread carefully to the main entrance. A baby crashes through the window and lands in a hedge thicket, never to be seen again. A friendly intoxicated old fellow greets you with a handshake, his other hand nestles his penis while he urinates on your leg and then proceeds to talk in a language that only Jabba the Hut could understand. He then grimaces politely, falls flat on his face and goes to sleep. You take a deep breath and open the door.
The first thing that hits you is the smell. Stale cask ale, vomit and greasy chips, with a touch of second hand woodbine. Pints and bottles are hurled through the air, unintentionally skimming your face as they hit the walls. Pool balls and darts join the bottles in the same fashion. The pub is packed. Folk of all shapes and sizes condemn the floors in a gleeful manner. Everyone is too happy and merry to even notice your horrified face.
As you look around to identify which one of these folk look mechanically minded, you notice all their lips are moving in unison and they seem to be singing something. You listen more closely and you pick out a faint guitar, a drum beat and perhaps some gruff vocals. Is there a band playing somewhere? Your gaze then averts from the crowd, to an old fashioned wall affixed jukebox in the corner of the room behind the pool table. You also happen to have a telescope on you so you zoom in on the jukebox and see the words "Stereophonics - A thousand Trees - 99 plays"
With the brain that is in your head, you work out that the Stereophonics are the soundtrack to Wales' rugby clubs, and are very proud of this discovery. So proud that you walk up to the bartender. Unfortunately, you are socially untrained, so you say "Did you know, a bread-knife can also be used to cut cheese?."
The bartender, being a fellow possessing the social skills of a house-brick, replies; "Well, that is a very confienient discovery old sonny jim lad boyo sonny boy jim sonny of lads and jims alike, but what's really tickled my scrotum recently is this rock band who we've never heard before but we know all the words to their songs. And the really strange part is that we can't remember them in the morning, but then we sup a few pints of this yummy liquid and then something starts to happen and I hear them playing in my head, at least a hundred times a night, it's terrific."
"That's all a fine kettle of kittens and all," you reply, "but I did come in hear for something...... something that is really important..... somthing.... oooh, what was it?"
"Here you go Mr President," says the barkeep, "this will help you think, and It's on the house, but don't tell the barkeep."
You look at the thick black liquid as it carbonates gently in the glass, shrug, and proceed to empty its contents into your pie-hole.
Suddenly it all makes sense. The Stereophonics powerful brit-rock anthems are the perfect accompanier to your bustling rugby club. Every pub needs their music, on repeat, all night. It just feels good. If you don't like it then you are sober. What kind of a man would even consider himself a man, if he didnt try to match his vocal chords to the powerful gritty raw rough man voice of lead singer Kelly Jones? What kind of man would consider himself a man if he didn't try to air guitar along to the powerful power chords and wiggly little lead licks of guitar rock god, Kelly Jones? What kind of a man would call himself a man if he didnt pound his fists or slap his mates heads along to the tight safe beats of drum machine, Stuart Cable? And what kind of man would call himself a man if he remembered to acknowledge that somewhere on the track there is a bass guitar being played?
And more importantly, what kind of woman would call herself a woman, if she didn't fancy Kelly Jones's sexy face and chin? And what kind of child could call itself a child, if it didn't want to grow up to be a rock star like them phonics blokes?
Stereophonics are a band that got it right. They tickled the scrotums of everyone, with their anthemic soaring songs and safely placed guitar and drums. Even though their songs lack originality in the most part, the distinctive voice of singer Kelly Jones is great and separates the phonics from other bands who wouldn't appeal to a man wanting to be a man.
After this thought, the bartender offers you a sandwich. You take a bite, start to choke, and then pass out.
You wake up, and die.