'Intelligent electro pop for a generation fed up of being force fed manufactured "bubble gum reality" pop'- (photogroupie.com)
‘treads in size tens on Morrissey’s bloated toes as the king of teenage bedroom diary angst’- (ratsontherun.wordpress.com)
The Prosaics, despite the name, is one man and a machine- A.G. Williams, who from the bleak industrial seaside towns of Medway, offers songs of romance, disappointment and a solution to vacuous pop. Wry, scornful and cripplingly English. The Prosaics' songs are far from prosaic. In fact, he's hardly prosaic at all…
The Prosaics preaches from a pulpit of keyboards, surrounded on all sides by towers of antique, quirky synthesisers. From here he croons his scathing critique of the world he sees around him- consumed by fickle television ‘idols’, political unrest and Ed Sheeran.
The sound of The Prosaics is best described as a raised eyebrow, a disapproving glance over one’s tortoiseshell spectacles, a jog around an amputee ward, a takeaway curry on a brisk walk home in November, an explicit funeral wreath or simply as something worth listening to.
For fans of: Gorillaz, John Maus, Jack Stauber, Martin L Gore (Depeche Mode), La Roux, Nick Cave, The Smiths, Portishead, The Postal Service & Pulp.