- Music
- 07 Apr 01
Bless me reader for I have sinned. It has been 26 years and eight months since my last confession. I have something shameful to admit, something so heinous I fear ‘twill take more than a brace of Hail Mary’s and a muttered Glory Be… to cleanse.
Bless me reader for I have sinned. It has been 26 years and eight months since my last confession. I have something shameful to admit, something so heinous I fear ‘twill take more than a brace of Hail Mary’s and a muttered Glory Be… to cleanse. You see, I have been known, on occasion, to shake my extremely beery booty to the strains of Backstreet Boys in some of our capital’s less salubrious venues, lured by the filthy serpent of alcoholic excess and the fact that I was a horny as a toad with a coke habit.
There is something about Backstreet Boys’ music that appeals equally to prepubescent teenage girls and pissed-as-a-fart 20-something men who should know better – must be in the hormones. Black & Blue is not going to suddenly see Kevin, Howie D, AJ, Nick and Brian broadening their appeal – it has the usual quotient of dramatic keyboard-drenched floor-fillers like ‘Get Another Boyfriend’ and ‘Shining Star’, and smoochy ballads (which Westlife are doing their damnedest to replicate) like ‘It’s True’, ‘Yes I Will’ and ‘I Promise You (With Everything)’. Or else you could try the oh-so-trendy Latino influence on ‘The Call’ or the white-boys-get-soulful a cappella swing of ‘All I Have To Give’.
The harmonies, for the most part, work, although the production is so over-dramatic it verges on hilarious – imagine John Woo directing Fair City. The lyrics are wisely omitted from the sleeve – instead we get lots of glossy, moody photos of the quintet and three pages of individual thank-yous, everything from quoting the Bible to paying tribute to those who have helped to, shudder, "keep the Backstreet Pride alive".
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If you’re under 15 and female, chances are you’ll adore this album with a zealous passion unseen since The Inquisition toured Europe in the middle ages. If puberty is a distant memory though, you’ll need serious sponsorship from Arthur Guiness or Billy Durex before you’ll be tempted to bite at these particular hooks.