Sometimes an album lands on your lap that completely baffles you. On rare, delightful occasions, you’re baffled in a wonderful way: knocked for six by the quality of the disc afore you. All too often though, it’s a miserable confusion: you wonder who on earth would possibly enjoy this and why the hell it has to be you.
Such is the case with On Holiday by Rich Bennett. The record is awash with tuneless singing, whistling and harmonies, woozy synths and far, far too much tremolo. From the first bars of Misty Valley, which sounds like a cast-off of Mike Flowers’, to the dull, instrumental outro of Green Memories On Holiday is truly nauseating. At times (see Peak) it sounds like the soundtrack to a carousel being channeled backwards and at best it comes over as a Lynchian nightmare. To be avoided with the same verve you might try and dodge the bubonic.
Written for The Skinny