For sale: One lame, worthless and incredibly predictable three-piece punk band. Shabby sounding with a slight tendency to slip out of time. Genuine applause and public appreciation rare. Would best suit person with a hearing deficiency. Made in the USA. Batteries not included. 

Considering the music industry is apparently so difficult to break into, it’s hard to believe how much senseless dribble manages to push it’s way through the net. I suppose nobody’s perfect, but it would be interesting to find out just what excuse the A&R man who discovered this lot of losers gives for his vast misjudgment.  

They might go for the novelty angle and try to convince us that all beer swigging, guitar swinging Yanks are, without a shadow of a doubt, completely bonkers, but us Brits are’t as stupid as we look you know. 

They take to the stage wearing some quite tasty matching black polar-necks which, quite frankly, fail to impress and make them look more like The Monkees than the weak Clash or Green Day sound-a-likes that they really are. To be honest though, they actually sound better for it when they embrace the slick sixties melodies of bands such as The Monkees, than when they thrash it out in a random dash for the finish line manner. 

Stepping away from the music for one moment though, you have to wonder who taught these guys how to dance. They seem to have pioneered an entirely new technique, which we shall simply name the Duracell battery. Like the Duracell rabbit, they spend their entire time on stage rapidly jerking up and down in a very irritating manner, and like the Duracell rabbit they have a very bad tendency to go on and on and on (and on and on etc.). 

The audience look on, unimpressed. 

You really have to question their frontman’s microphone technique too. Whilst the majority of vocalists have a purely oral relationship with their microphone and its accompanying stand, The Interpreters verge on the downright pervertedly physical. And on his quest to find the microphone stand that refreshes parts that other microphone stands just can’t reach, he seems sadly determined to horizontally explore every last inch of the dance floor too.  

The dwindling audience look on, still unimpressed. Some bands would have taken the hint, but it appears that The Interpreters are stupid as well as talentless.