Last week, I thought I'd transcend my cloistered monk's existence and make a sightseeing trip to the local Virgin Megastore. I'd long been suppressing the urge to view the inspiring, world-conquering vision of balloonist/adventure-capitalist Richard Branson and the multi-level consumerist Hades he's created on our Earth. Here's an excerpt from my diary entry of December 12th:

"Walking past the Cerebus-like security guards, I'm instantly mesmerized by the in-store DJ's booming Satanic commands which echo through the product-laden aisles: 'Welcome, Virgin shopper. Check your dignity and individuality at the door. You are now hypnotized by the irresistible sounds of shameless conformity. Here's the latest from Vibrolush, called Touch and Go. Check it out.' These words put me in a deep trance. As if controlled by a force more powerful than a Robert Christgau consumer tip, I begin a slow shuffle toward the "best sellers" shelf like Frankenstein's monster, arms outstretched in front of me. 'Need mindless pop music,' I moan, as frightened shoppers rush for the apparent safety of the cappuccino bar. I snatch the Vibrolush disc from the shelf, eyeing the $1,317.99 price tag. 'Bargain,' I say."

Of course, by the time I got home, I'd regained consciousness, and reluctantly played the Vibrolush album I was somehow hypnotically coerced into buying. Of course, I felt cheated. I'd heard of Vibrolush, as they hail from my home city of New York. They took their name from a body massage vibrating unit. Funny. Probably pal around with members of the Crash Test Dummies in constant preparation for rock stardom: stiffing Abdul the cab driver $10, extinguishing cigarettes on hotel lobby couches, hassling sensitive actor-waiters in four-star restaurants. You know the drill.

These days, it's difficult to say whether the '70s are more popular than the '80s. This dilemma triggers a crazed form of stylistic schizophrenia in a commercially-minded band like Vibrolush. They figure, just to be safe, they'll sample a bit of both decades. Of course, a decidedly contempo touch is always present-- those ubiquitous pansy-ass trip-hop beats, in this case. In fact, it's amazing how bland and creatively-stifled this band is, especially considering they try and throw every sound imaginable into the mix: saccharine string sections, acoustic and electric guitar, Moog, samples, fake sitar, scratching. It's a band desperately attempting to incorporate and exploit any and all potentially marketable forms of auditory stimuli available to Mankind.

Offering about as many compositional surprises as Ricky Martin's two hit songs, most of the tracks on Touch and Go are driven by that ever-efficient droid behind the drums, always programmed for 4/4 caucasian-friendly funk rhythm. And, sadly, all too often the verse lyrics are "rapped" in that hopelessly goofy white-guy delivery, the raspy vocals themselves sounding like George Michael gettin' "Too Funky" with strep-throat. There's the simple, limp-wristed guitar strumming giving way to the odd power chord, usually signaling that there's another supersized chorus on the way.

The title track is a prime example of ridiculously hooky, easy-listening pop trash with pockets of dreamy guitars and annoying Moog sounds floating around the yeah-whatever verses leading to the sore-thumb choruses. Sadly, it more closely resembles Wham!'s Make It Big than New Order's Technique. These guys also ape a lot of guitar from early Pumpkins (specifically "Rhinoceros," from Gish-- yeah, you remember) before Billy Corgan became alternative rock's answer to Yngwie Malmsteen.

They're a little late on the '70s bandwagon here, though, as evidenced by their techno-funk re-working of Steve Miller's "The Joker," paying a loving tribute to the undying 3-D glasses-wearing poor man's Jackson Browne. Who thinks this retro-chic so-uncool-it's-cool school of thought is still, uh, cool? They also steal a title from the '80s Cure hit "Just Like Heaven." It's just another dopey, cloying tune in which someone is "lost and found," and also a "child in your arms." Of course, for all you Cars fans, you've probably already realized that the Cars had a 1980 album called Touch and Go, with a hit song bearing the same name. Boy, these Vibrolush guys really do their research, no?

Well, maybe Touch and Go will allow these gents to live a life full of major label-subsidized sloth and rock-God shiftlessness-- an existence that their 9-to-5 jobs at Tower just won't accommodate. Although, with the cost of living in yuppie-clogged New York these days, better bail Puffy outta jail, 'cause the fashionable thugs in Vibrolush will need a lot more than this one minor hit record to make the rent.

-Michael Sandlin