As likeable as Chumbawamba, and as repetitive too. Alex James of Blur found the time to create meandering and stifled works which rely on chanting without the heart. His hand in Girls and Boys feels happenstance the more Vindaloo is listened to. The Tubthumping of the airheaded knuckle-dragger. No sense of irony or a love for the sport it so constantly references. An idle track of curry, class dress-up and chanting. Cheesemonger James gets his hands dirty in the working-class Blur was allegedly dressing up as, but at least the lyrical observations and stellar guitar work were of a truthful essence. James was the least likely of the bunch and in turn his display with the Fat Les quartet becomes a sickening and volatile piece of loser music.
The act of scoring one more goal than the opposition lingers as a Three Lions-like message. A defeatist attitude which marks a uniquely British perspective on the game. Getting it over the line with little time to spare. Their late 1990s prediction of the Golden Generation and their shortcomings seem bang on the money. But even then, it was a miserable track reliant more on the “nah, nah, nah” which oozed its way into the pop culture of the time and Waterloo references. Vindaloo is an active mockery of a bigger problem adopted and now owned by the groups being made fun of. In the instance of Fat Les, mockery and flattery are bedfellows. A disjointed simplicity to its lyrical structure and an attempt at making a chant-worthy track in the style of Ian Dury feels like a slap in the face of the great singer as Keith Allen and Guy Pratt punch down with stereotypical evaluations.
Beaten to the top spot by a re-recording of Three Lions, the further you investigate unofficial football songs the worse it gets. Vindaloo made it to number three in the charts and has an artistic naivety running through it, brought on by a vicious hatred rustled up in the backrooms of the Groucho Club. It’s not political correctness gone mad as Allen raged over but a low-brow comedy the world has moved on from. A primitive simplicity washes over the track. The crux of the joke is mockery, yet the cultural impact remains for those who missed the point and adopted it as a cheeky anthem. Nobody comes out looking all that good when listening or making Vindaloo. Beyond its rife controversies, it becomes rather apparent the lyrical acumen and instrumental flavour are taking a backseat to potshots at blank multiculturalism.
It’s nowhere close to offensive, just irritating and repetitive for the sake of a joke which barely worked at the time. Something cobbled together by three musical minds adjacent to some of the best this country had to offer. Vindaloo is not exactly their finest hour. Maybe the lack of quality is the reason the Golden Generation never amounted to anything. Fabio Capello twisting radio dials so Gary Neville and company could hear the latest efforts of James, who seemed unmoved by his experiences in Blur and instead fixated by what he deemed the fascinating culture of football. These are not people with a love for the beautiful game, hard as it may be to admit considering the same shortcomings, Baddiel and Skinner have. Within the vacuum of contempt for the sport in Vindaloo is a shoddy attempt at punching down.
