In case you've been trapped in a darkened, soundproofed room where all contact with the outside world has been prohibited for the last month, then you probably won't have heard this record so read on. The rest of you will no doubt have formed your own opinions about this song and its creators by now but here's my two pennies worth anyway.
While the rumours persist as to the authenticity of The Automatic (manufactured band, not a manufactured band, etc, etc), this song is daft, irresponsible and unforgettably irritating. Which inevitably, is what all good pop records should be like, right, otherwise we'd all may as well, give up, queue for the latest Sandi Thom/Orson/James Blunt (delete where appropriate â i.e. ALL if you have any sense or taste!) and go home, ashamed.
What the future holds for The Automatic after this is unclear, although it will probably involve countless appearances on Channel 4 pop programmes, romantic links with Fearne Cotton, and endorsements by at least one death scene in Hollyoaks. In the meantime though, the clarion cry of "Bollocks" at festivals up and down the land will this year by replaced by quadraphonic bursts of "What's that coming over the hill â is it a monster? IS IT A MONST-AHHH!!!"
You have been warned.