Reviews

Whether this is a good thing or not is a matter of personal preference, but I’ve always felt that if the time is ripe for a Britpop revival, then the band I most certainly would not want to have at the forefront of it would be a poor man’s Northern Uproar.

I feel a bit bad being unkind about International One. Not just because they’re named after the legendary Plymouth Grove venue frequented by Madchester aficionados in the early 90s, but also because I’ve seen their ilk so many times before, practicing Stone Roses tunes in bedrooms and sheds across Manchester.

But sooner or later, you’ve really got to say enough’s enough, if only because this type of derivative plodding Manc-Rock-By-Numbers schtick is just so bloody boring nowadays, particularly when it’s fronted by yet another Ian Brown wannabe with a practiced swagger brandishing a pair of maracas.

International One will obviously have a fanbase, and a devoted one at that judging from their repeated entreaties for us all to go onto an American video website they’re currently quite popular on and vote for them so they can win $10,000 to fund their video.

And, if the worst comes to the worst, the presence of a saxophone player means they can always just market themselves as a Mancunian Zutons.

But, if you’re like me, at the end of the night you could easily be forgiven for walking away and asking yourself whether this is genuinely the best our city currently has to offer.