No, Westlife, allow ME be Frank!

Ronan Keating's useless bunch of career-climbing proteges, or "West-Shite" as they have been dubbed by the British press, have had all the chances they ever deserved and plenty more. I have come to sorely regret the day I Napstered their 2000 Crimbo tryer "My Love" (I can explain! It was the subliminal bells that called out to me!)

They and their idiot manager have clearly been in either an ashram far far away or cryogenic freeze for the last few years (which would explain those crap covers- the musical equivalent of processed cheese) hence missing Robbie's dubious "Swing When You're Winning" short-lived streak; wherein he produced an album so unspeakably boring that listening to more than 3 tracks in a row was a better remedy than Nytol. Yep, must have been the cryogenic freeze. Else why the hell would they now be attempting to flog a- not only dead, but nay!- certifably decomposing horse? Why???


Disclaimer: The sentiments expressed in the above paragraphs do not in any way reflect the overall breadth of musical tastes of the writer. Please note that I am well-versed in "good" music, in fact have even worked as a music columnist. But what use is critical prowess if one's finger does not remain upon the pulse of popular culture? I thank you.