Rinôçérôse are that thing that possibly annoys me the most (apart from Jimmy Magee) – a mediocre to shite band that survive on remixes. Grrr. They’re also exceedingly proud of the fact that they combine (tired) rawk guitars with (tired) house beats and ideas. Yawn. The average track runs something like this: House beats. Noodly keys/FX/flutes. Break. BANG! Guitar riffage all over the shop. Don’t believe me? Listen to the godawful ‘Le Rock Summer’, ‘No, We Are Not Experienced’, ‘Music Kills Me’ (with added warbling) and the maudlin ‘B. Jones: Last Pictures’. Same formula, different ingredients, same result – Rinocerose are quite simply short on ideas and short on sounds. Only the unfussy, Balearic ‘Highway To Heaven’ and the cool, minimal house of ‘Professeur Suicide’ come out unscathed. This is a really bad album.