Showstar

The fourth album from SHOWSTAR offers up another slice of sophisticated indie pop for a generation that opts to shrug its shoulders at convention.

Despite the maturity of their sound, Showstar still refuse to grow up, sticking up two fingers to the monotony of every day existence (“Work, work, work until you die”) and idealism (“I don’t like happy endings”) and finding an odd sense of comfort in haughty social awkwardness.

Chris Danthinne’s sneering vocals are complemented by honeyed female tones; the eternally cynical geek who has managed to win over the trophy girl with his intellectual pillow talk, against all odds. His caustic messages are driven by a heavy melodic bass and jangly guitars that, on occasion, effervesce into more nervy, occasionally nauseating, ethereal kaleidoscopic riffs peppered with Beach Boys-reminiscent falsetto.

Recorded, mixed and produced by Rory Attwell on a boat in London, it’s a deliciously infectious album for the more discerning thirty-something indie kid.