In 1995, a group of twee schoolboy punks, Polarboy, began getting firmly up the collective nose of the Nashville white-soul cognoscenti. Much more loathed than loved, and revelling in their outsider status, Polarboy attracted a dense little coterie of followers in the United States of America who duly set up a nationwide tour funded by busking, and the refrigerators of those fans' generous parents. Driven half-mental by their experiences the group came home, ditched their indie twiddling and embarked upon a new course of songwriting so sickeningly mainstream that it led to a long career being spoilt stupid by the radio and recording industries of the English speaking world. Limos to the private jet, ponds full of money, week-long parties in Beverly Hills, that sort of thing. By 2002 the thing had run it's cliched course; the group's fortunes were dwindling and, dropped by a record label that had gone out of business, the band members put the band into cryogenic suspension and set about writing two LPs; a Pol Buckingham Alone affair and an entirely different Joe Nawrocki electronic pop masterpiece.
Polarboy can currently be found airing live to pained looking crowds of people in dingy basements. When forced by penury, politeness or acute fear they can sometimes also be heard to trawl out tired versions of their withered hits. Look for Polarboy's new album due out in late 2008.
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