The Bohicas are the perfect rock band, if a little conventional. With a sound in the tiny venn crossover of authentic and mainstream, a decent frontman and diversity – two of the band are black – The Bohicas have come fully formed out of music’s womb. They are a perfect guitar playing foursome. That’s also why they will almost certainly sink without a trace.

The assured fate of The Bohicas makes listening to them a painful experience. They simultaneously transport me back to that golden age of indie music – the mid noughties – whilst reminding me that these heights will never be reached again, at least not in commercial terms. They remind me of this because they have all the classic signs of a band bound to sink – great songs but, to be honest no originality, entirely cliched lyrics and a band name more generic than Pretty Vicious. It’s interesting how a band can be so, so perfect – almost Simon Cowell factory standard – and yet be so flawed.

Of course, the reason they are flawed is not them themselves – this song, for example, attests to that – but the context they’re trying to make a lving in. They are in entirely the wrong era. Guitar music is dead. If you don’t believe me, write a few of entirely brilliant melodies, dare to put them on guitars and watch them sink (relatively) without trace, or at least relative to if you’d stuck them on a cheap keyboard. When an instrument becomes a disadvantage to getting the music out there, it’s usefullness has surely passed.

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