Every once in a while, Primal Scream perform their Grand Theft Audio. Which is that they rubbish anything they’ve done before, steal some old Rolling Stones albums, and try to copy them. Call it a reinvention, call it what you want. But the idea of some scrawny politicised rock warrior, or whatever he’s known as, deciding he just wants to go Good Time Boogie just seems to me to be a backwards step.

Why, when you have all sonic armoury and intelligence to rely on, you want to deconmstruct, to simplify, to stupidify? “Go back to your mama, she’ll take care of you”, Gillespe advises on lead single ‘Country Girl’, which sounds oddly like 1972 at Mick Jaggers House. And that advise he has surely taken – returning to the old template of 1994, and producing an album of feelgood, straightforward, literal – and boring – rock. Sure, it’ll sound great driving down LA Freeways with the top down in the summer. But how many of us live in LA? Is this kind of escapism what we want now?

Fiddle whilst Rome burns, Bobby G. Reality plays second fiddle to Boogie Nitty Gritty with Suicide Sally and Johnny Guitar. If I wanted to hear music like this, I’d go straight to the source, crack out my old Rolling Stones CD’s, and try and get satisfaction there. Instead of this, a nostalgic, retrospective hankering for a world that doesn’t – and never did – exist, some kind of Imaginary Other World (like Morrissey’s Imaginary England), where everything is cured by guitars. Aside from the pointed, anti-Doherty protest of “Suicide Sally And Johnny Guitar”, lyrically this album is mediocre, musically tedious and fired on enthusiasm over artists expression.

Move along. Nothing to see, nothing to see.

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