So, yeah. Keane.
I was in a band that had been formed to play for the drummer's girlfriend's 30th birthday. We had a set consisting of early 90s Britpop and Madchester covers, some classics (Johnny B. Goode, that sort of thing), and some newer indie-rock stuff. In there, for some reason, was a Keane song. I forget which one.
The gig was going moderately well. I mean, as well as a gig at a party at which no-one is listening to the band and everyone is just sort of sitting around chatting to each other ever is, anyway. We were playing reasonably well and it was all okay. And then we played the Keane song. We got about two lines in before the chill descended on the room. Somehow, that one song managed to suck all the life out of the party. Our playing went to shit. We stumbled and mumbled our way to the end of the song. I may even have apologised into the mic. It was awful. And then we played Disco 2000 by Pulp, and everything was okay again. But jesus, they were the longest three-and-a-half minutes of my life.
Fuck Keane. Seriously, fuck Keane.