Aping modern music is the key to Coprophagism, which quite literally eats the shit of the pop scene, systematically re-emphasising the gap left by the lost soul of contemporary culture. Evil Dick turns processed cheese into more than a sum of its parts by adding a deliberate, ugly blue vein to the formula. But almost subconsciously, Evil Dick's parody of the modern music scene frequently goes full circle to become a deliciously enjoyable slice of the genre it attempts to imitate. Coprophagism is unlikely to find mainstream acceptance, but could well prove to be a cult classic. It's the runt of the litter, furious with itself for lacking the Neanderthal force of Oasis or the bland glitter of Morcheeba, surviving only by licking their vomit from the pavement - and liking it. For example, given the option of a sugary, prissy chord progression, Evil Dick chooses the ugly route instead. And even with the thrusting pop sensibilities of 'Council Wife', ED opts for the most unhummable pop hook in history but still manages to make it annoyingly catchy.
The album as a whole is an abhorrent combination of mismatched references. If Coprophagism could write its own CV it would list Zappa circa Civilization Phase III, the oppressive percussive tone of Nancarrow's composition, and the aggression of the Prodigy in flagrant with the tart-with-a-heart pulp gush of any girl band under hobbies/interests. It creates an unstable matter imploding under pressure, and in effect, Evil Dick starts a fire while trying to light a fart. For all the smug depreciation there is a pervading emotional compulsion behind many of the tracks which fuels the album beyond the superficial punchline. Behind the hollow laughter, there is a sense of the anguish. It's blues for Generation Y.
Musically, Coprophagism may sometimes be a little too clever for its own good. Evil Dick's production values on opening track 'Little Pink Gibson' are purposefully poor, using ill-timed, cheesy synth sounds in repetition to attack the currently uninspiring dance scene. But because of it's positioning at the beginning of the CD, some listeners may mistake Evil Dick's learyness for lack of ability. But the talent is there like the pattern on a plate of faeces, a noxious toxin that leaves the most curious of aftertastes. The influences are not obvious, but at some points you could be mistaken for thinking you're listening to late-80s Steve Vai remixed by the Chemical Brothers. Coprophagism's strength is that when it's shit, it's because it wants to be; and behind it there is a bounty of quality material to ensure that you're let in on the joke. Just don't turn your back on Evil Dick for too long, because he'll have his finger up your arse looking for nuggets before you even know you like it.