I really dug The Cranberries back in the day (horrible cliche bitd – probably meant to signify maturity, inform the reader/listener that one has been around the block, knows one’s stuff, so to speak. Really it just strikes a cringeworthy note of wistfulness; informs all and sundry that one is an irrelevant old fart whose memory and opinions are suspect at best. But I digress (and that’s three more cliches right there – this is starting to show potential as a Pendragon lyric).
I picked up a copy of No Need To Argue from the local charity shop a while back and promptly returned it. Worst £1 I’ve spent in years. Not because it was so bad (although it was) but also because it made me realise how drunk, naive and impressionable (or some combo thereof) I must have been at all those indie nights when I shuffled around (I’ll not flatter myself with danced, or even moshed, really) to Zombie. Dolores o’ Riordan beat Cher to the punch didn’t she? She well and truly ‘out-Belieeeeeved’ her; without recourse to any studio trickery to boot. Unlistenable, anyway, or should I mention asphyxiated felines?