Silverchair are like the English Rugby Team.
Having achieved multi-million success in their early career, things have gone backwards apace for Silverchair like the England forwards in the face of another Southern Hemisphere assault. The latest offering from these Antipodean rockers is like an English back line move orchestrated by a non-existent fly half. The lack of ideas, energy and cutting edge is worthy of the Guinness Premiership in all its chest puffed out pomp. The riffs may be the size of Andrew Sheridan but they run up blind alleys with the pace of a Mike Catt line break. When, halfway through we are treated to the rhyming of day, way, say and grey you just wish that Silverchair were left to stew down under and that they took Farrell and his rugby league chums with them.
Lumbering monoliths who have regressed whilst others innovate…its not the rugby I’m talking about here, Silverchair have as much chance of regaining the popularity they once enjoyed as England have of retaining the Rugby World Cup.