The Score - Opus [Album]

Self Released

They 'jus wanna turn us out

The Score might stare out of the cover shot of Opus like a crew who run 'dem corners for Marlo Stanfield, but for the avoidance of doubt they're lovers, not fighters. You don't need to listen as far as 'Chew Chew Train' to get this, but it's words are the least ambiguous; the boys tell us they just "Wanna turn you out" and more worryingly "Wanna love you from the front to the back" and as if that didn't sound painful enough they subsequently boast that the whole thing "Could last a week - or two." Ouch.

I guess those wicked editors at Altsounds.com have served up the transatlantic quintet's album sacrificially, like some kind of Pop / R'n'B hors d'oeuvres before I stuff my face on The Twilight Sad, or Lamb of God, or,or,or. But much as I resemble Jabba The Hut in music critic form sometimes, I do get context. The Score have toured with Lemar and JLS, and this is frothy, good time music for fourteen year old girls who spend their weekends hanging around in Bluewater. It even has some swearing on it, just to convince that demographic that it's really, like, from the street.

Far from being cannon fodder, most of Opus is executed pretty well, the opening bounce of 'We Got You,' the Prince inspired 'Flash' and the brash nu soul of 'Close' all sticking their metaphorical cock in your ear. There's also a cover of The Police's 'Roxanne,' the verdict of an anonymous staffer in the heavyweight regional titan The Selby Times of it being that the version "Stinks worse than a mouse under the fridge." I beg to differ though, as if nothing else it reminds us all of the inherently lunatic premise of a geordie attempting to deliver reggae in a falsetto. Although Eddie Murphy's version in 48 Hours will always be the definitive article.

The Score make like they can't beat them off with a shitty stick, but the one thing we all know about love however is that it makes for far better songwriting material when it's over, you've been dumped via a Tweet and de-Facebooked without so much as a poke. Opus' best moment accordingly is via the finger poppin, cheated bitterness of 'I Don't Want You,' presumably what happens if you fail to turn somebody out for the full week as promised. Only towards the end do things come unstuck, although the formulaic 'Patience' is a joy compared to hellish closer 'Don't Stop Believin',' complete with it's chugging by-the-numbers programming and Autotuned vocals.

I sometimes think that as time's gone by I've become numb to liking unfamiliar music. Will nothing thrill in the same way 'You Think I Ain't Worth A Dollar' or 'Hey Ya!' did that first time? Maybe not. And to be honest nothing from Opus will linger in my memory much beyond Boxing Day. But that doesn't deny it's right to exist, and in it's context it's a perfectly fine record.