THE DOOMED BIRD OF PROVIDENCE – WILL EVER PRAY (FRONT AND FOLLOW)

THE DOOMED BIRD OF PROVIDENCE – WILL EVER PRAY (FRONT AND FOLLOW)

I don’t think I will ever feel at ease with Australia.  Its just too vast, just too hot.  It’s the kind of place where bad things happen beneath a tempered sun that can’t help but influence and direct a person’s behaviour in unhealthy fashion

Originally hailing from such parts The Doomed Bird Of Providence is not so much a band as it is a gang.  At last count it was five strong and growing.  With this their arsenal of instruments has grown over time and now as they present their debut album their aural vision is as clear and powerful as ever.

Boasting a previous criminal record, when the Doomed Bird Of Providence first unleashed their wares a couple of years ago with their self titled EP on Laily Recordings it was a prized eruption that contained a solid set of songs at the hands of band leader Mark Kluzek which eventually led to low level scandal regarding the selling of goods on eBay.

With Will Ever Pray the message is clear: this band is here to give you nightmares, to saddle you with guilt as the Poms must be forced to pay for previous indiscretions.

The piece opens with vocals distributed like lashes.  From here strings soon drop, sinking their claws into proceedings from where they never let go.  With this accordion then seeps in as the occasional piano keys drip like blood and guitar parts are driven and tempered.

Something of a concept album possessing a staunch inflicted narrative Will Ever Pray is a two part monster as the first four songs telling tales of early exploration and deportation by ship in and around the Australia region.  Then “the massacre of the whole of the passengers and part of the crew of The Sea Horse on her homeward passage from Sydney” consumes the following five track finale.  Naturally its downbeat content but ultimately more entertaining and accessible than watching the History Channel.  In other words this is a previously untapped fountain of information.

Comparisons do not come easy or necessarily clear in compliment.  Obviously the accordion is an instrument that does not get a lot of action in a rocking world and while hardly being Klezmar, its use and execution is somewhat more ghastly than the dark, likeable and comic Tiger Lillies.  Likewise the heavy violin strings delivered in an Australian context obviously recall The Dirty Three however when they layer in tandem and echo with guitar it feels akin to darkland Velvet Underground.  To this you can perhaps throw into the mix a sense of Tindersticks but ultimately the band is so much more as it offers a sound that it earnest and very much its own.  You won’t hear anything else that sounds like this in a hurry.

Of the first half raft it is “On The Deathbed Of Janus Weathercock” which provides the highlight with the detailed description of a man’s demise as all comes together sonically and majestically lending something of a tranquil air to anything but a peaceful demise.  The hooks here are the kind that give birth to goosebumps.  This physical reaction however may also be as result from the fact that Weathercock was a notorious poisoner.

As the second half of the record begins and the massacre ensues this chapter opens with a ten minute plus instrumental of ringing strings as a queasy sensation prevails and an eventual hook and loop that perversely reminds me of an unidentified staple from my past (sorry to be vague).  From here a clap shanty spurs the crew into action as by part 3 there is talk of “slashing throats” and “cutting out tongues” which makes for a horrific snapshot in time.  With this part 4 resumes the score motif as delicate piano ticks lend the piece a calm after the storm feel, housing a raindrop like sensation to represent the closure and conclusion of the rain in blood (reign in blood).  By the end the devastation feels like jubilation as a change in order feels very much on the cards.

To garner a full appreciation of this record it is beneficial to listen intently as the multitude of instruments all jostle for position while at the same time being given space to breathe.  This is a truly tight outfit and very talented musicians playing to their strengths and syncing in the most dogged and accomplished manner.

Curiously this makes for very good public transport music especially trips that are long haul.  While sat squashed onto a train with my fellow passengers I can’t help but empathise and liken my plight as I envisage all aboard being driven and dragged to a destination against our wills as the necessity outweighs the enjoyment of our existence and whisks us into bondage, suffering and misery.  With this I can’t but view it all as a shared experience and use it as an effective tool to combat the labour of my day.

This is the real deal.

Did ya.

Thesaurus moment: carnage.

The Doomed Bird Of Providence

The Doomed Bird Of Providence live

Front And Follow

FUNERAL PARTY – NEW YORK CITY MOVES TO THE SOUND OF L.A. (RCA/SONY MUSIC)

FUNERAL PARTY – NEW YORK CITY MOVES TO THE SOUND OF L.A. (RCA/SONY MUSIC)

I have to concede that against my better judgement I really fucking like this song.  I know its full of reckless abandon and other such professional rock clichés but the bounce to it is pure and the thrills come astonishing and genuine.  For a rare moment a new guitar band on a major label appears to have produced a song that genuinely rocks!

At the risk of having shoes thrown at me this song is how I would imagine a morphing of At The Drive-in with Nation Of Ulysses to sound.  The chanting is there, the chops are there and, most important, the passion seems there.  It’s a perpetual motion machine in the slickest manner possible.

As to what the song is actually about remains something of a mystery to me.  It could equally be about disco dancing as some kind of east coast v west coast rivalry.  However the rap wars this is not.  And thus I have to concede that it is the mystery of the intent that causes me some slight doubt towards the act.

Ultimately though I just suspect that this band is too good looking and well adjusted to be for real, to maintain such an exciting flow of music and inhabit a special place in my heart that is driven by the need for things to be pure and credible, not necessarily done in the name of money grabbing and dollar.

For now I will indulge and enjoy this song but eventually it will be forgotten, dismissed long before the band gives birth to disappointment and breaks my heart.  That makes sense, right?

This is already their funeral.

Thesaurus moment: pow.

Funeral Party

RCA

Sony Music

FRANK SIDEBOTTOM – GUESS WHO’S BEEN ON MATCH OF THE DAY (CHERRY RED)

FRANK SIDEBOTTOM – GUESS WHO’S BEEN ON MATCH OF THE DAY (CHERRY RED)

It was genuinely sad news to hear that Frank Sidebottom (or rather Chris Sievey) had lost his fight against cancer a few weeks ago. When news initially broke that he had unfortunately got the disease the fact that he was continuing to perform on the live circuit suggested that he was going steamroll and power through the illness. Sadly this was not to be.

Originally I thought Mark Radcliffe was Frank Sidebottom or vice versa but soon it became apparent that they were both birds from the same tree, from a rich Manchester scene with a staunch and glowing legacy. Frank Sidebottom was a hilarious creation, a lo-fi character that was always around but never seemed to quite get the breaks or the right vehicle with which to work his magic. Undaunted however he kept plugging away in a manner that should serve as true inspiration to anybody in either comedy or music that carries on regardless in the face of slack apathy.

Prior to this year’s World Cup beginning Frank was already pushing his World Cup single (hey, he might as well, every other schmuck was) and as soon as his passing was announced immediately people on Twitter began suggesting that his fan base get together and attempt to fire the single to the top of the charts. Quickly some kind of campaign began to take place and before long a realistic amount of followers looked in place to get the song a decent chart positioning. Unfortunately things then took a turn for the worse as it was discovered that Sievey had passed away without leaving any assets and it appeared that his family would not be able to afford a fitting funeral for such a treasured performer. With this the Twitter campaign took on a different role and within days £21,000 had been raised for his send off.

Now the time has come to release the single. Originally it was supposed to be “3 Shirts On Me Line” but I sense/fear that that song was never correctly recorded in time. Instead the good people at Cherry Red have quickly pulled together this digital single of typical Frank delivery in the style of George Formby gone chipper, Manc and mental. The song barely lasts a minute but that’s not the point, its Frank! Under such circumstances who can deny? The other track is “The Robbins Aren’t Bobbins” which is his ode to his beloved Altrincham. It sounds like it’s from a different era, which is perhaps/probably is.

Seldom do charity records feel worthwhile but for once this release does as it represents tribute to a genuine and truly entertaining individual that is a sad loss to the profession and industry. For years I have vowed never to open an iTunes shop account but especially for this release I did. With proceeds going to cancer charities here is hoping that the record places high on Sunday 11 July (World Cup Final day). It will, it really will.

Take care.

Thesaurus moment: frolic.

Frank Sidebottom
Cherry Red

MICAH P HINSON – TAKE OFF THAT DRESS FOR ME (FULL TIME HOBBY)

MICAH P HINSON – TAKE OFF THAT DRESS FOR ME (FULL TIME HOBBY)

This is something of an uncomfortable throwback. As I listen to the seven inch with the sun gloriously shining through my open window I find myself very tempted to close said window for fear of my neighbours witnessing me listening to such a song.

This is not healthy music. The singer songwriter genre is a true minefield, an area where the good is hard to distinguish from the bad because on the whole most of it sounds bad.

Micah P. Hinson is an artist I am supposed to like. In a way he is half David Berman and half Johnny Cash but beyond that there is very little to grasp onto (and nothing has got me so far).

Check out the sentiments: “take off that dress for me.” This guy is begging for sex, he is debasing himself, acting like a pussy in search of satisfying his needs. And the sad truth is that presented with this song the fevered ego from the apple of his eye will probably comply as she finds his advances charming and wayward compared to the usual alpha male route of being rutted that she is akin to. Am I wrong about this?

By now I am so fucking bored of the singer songwriter format, of the way it exposes my generation of being both po-faced and selfish, of egocentric and generally hinting of being chock full of control freaks. This is a marketplace that is drowning, filled to the brim of so many variations of the same thing with only subtle differences and certainly not enough in itself to truly stand out from the flock. Do you remember that scene in Animal House where John Belushi grabs the guitar of the prick crooning on the stairs and smashes the instrument to pieces? That should be performed on so much music right now.

I might be wrong.

Thesaurus moment: sly.

Micah P Hinson

Full Time Hobby

THE FALL – BURY (DOMINO)

THE FALL – BURY (DOMINO)

At the end of the day the sad truth/reality was that this was the only release I bought on Record Store Day that I actually wanted beforehand. And I only got it out of good fortune when one of the Rough Trade clerks happened across some copies and did a shout out to the people in the queue to see if anybody wanted one. I swear half an hour before this moment I had seen a man the age of Mark E. Smith carrying a pile of about fifteen copies of this record to the counter. That should not have been allowed but in a way it all seems apt

Despite now being on their best record label for years The Fall artwork remains wonderfully incoherent, messy and looking tossed off in seconds. There are just some things that remain reassuringly constant.

“Bury” is another great slab of vinyl. Perversely it reminds me of a lo-fi version of “No One Knows” by Queens Of The Stone Age but it is also so much more. We have a Bury here in East Anglia but it is nothing in comparison to this.

In many ways The Fall is a better act than ever. Without doubt Mark E. Smith runs a tight ship and with its revolving door of musicians these days it’s not so much a band as an outfit with a squad mentality akin to the greatest football clubs. This is the modern way of doing things, deal with it. With this process in mind you can’t help but think in another life Smith might have made for a great football manager. Maybe Manchester has a successor for Fergie after all (pending a reverse Tevez dose of treachery).

Wonderful distortion welcomes this song into the world which is then promptly pursued by a fine stomp and seemingly random musings from Mr Smith. It’s all about Mr Smith. This is the stuff of legend, it still sounds great after all these years and uses terms such as “municipal buildings” which you will be hard pressed to unearth anywhere else in music. In a time when we need this music the most it truly comes to the plate and pays off tenfold.

Thesaurus moment: reliable.

The Fall
Domino

VILLAGERS – BECOMING A JACKAL (DOMINO)

VILLAGERS – BECOMING A JACKAL (DOMINO)

Here is another limited edition release from Record Store Day. By the point of this purchase I was just snapping up any cool looking or sounding release in order to bump up my goodies and prevent the people at the counter giggling at my pathetic collection of rubbish sucker releases. I’m not so sure that this release should have made the cut however.

I have actually see Villagers and it was not an experience I would care to share or repeat. The buzz was good with them being signed to Domino and all but the reality was trite and laboured. For this I blame Bon Ivor and his log cabin bullshit.

Hailing from Ireland unfortunately this means Mr Conor J. O’Brien possesses a singing voice that reminds me of Feargal Sharkey gone through an auto tuner. And we all know what happened to that guy.

It is all very impassioned and aimed (maybe cynically) at an audience experiencing a crisis and mentally drifting off into the distance as life becomes difficult for their kind. Am I being too harsh?

Taking a deep breath and endeavouring to listen to this afresh things don’t really manage to improve as his storytelling style of lyrical narrative portrays a slow version of life that I just cannot relate to, one where a person has too long to dwell on the whimsy of life and little in the way of an arc existence. I bet skinny people have sex to this music.

I still blame The Wicker Man.

Thesaurus moment: grandiose.

Villagers

Domino

GUNS N’ ROSA PARKS – ANTIFREEZE EP (GIVE PRAISE RECORDS)

GUNS N’ ROSA PARKS – ANTIFREEZE EP (GIVE PRAISE RECORDS)

Sometimes some bands’ names are so tasteless and gauche they are pure perfection. Guns N’ Rosa Parks are such an example of this.

This is hardcore music, the kind perfectly designed to piss your neighbours off on a Saturday night when they are listening to their pop music ever so slightly too loudly for your liking and tastes.

Growing up listening to this music I have always gawped on in despair as hardcore music has slowly become more metallic and moronic as a result but thankfully here is a band just the right side of the aggression, of exciting time changes and a solid rhythm section that doesn’t get rinsed over by needless and unnecessary guitar solos.

Squeezing ten songs onto two sides of seven inch classic will never get old or boring for me and when songs possess titles such as “I Hate Assholes”, “Can’t Relate” and “Hungry Hungry Hippocrites” there is more than likely always going to be something for me to grab onto.

With a quick burst of energy now my neighbours (whoever they may be) appear to have lowered the volume on their own shitty music although the strains of “La Bamba” are decipherable in the background. This is a range war.

Guns N’ Rosa Parks can have my seat at the back of the bus any day of the week.

Thesaurus moment: much.

Guns N’ Rosa Parks
Give Praise Records

ASH – DARE TO DREAM (ATOMIC HEART RECORDS)

ASH – DARE TO DREAM (ATOMIC HEART RECORDS)

This was the final record I bought at Record Store Day, which was being pushed with the premise of being a Mogwai remix. To be buying such a seven inch for £5.99 featuring two acts that I haven’t had any interest in for years. This purchase truly represents the meltdown felt from the frenzy of Record Store Day.

Over the past year I have been watching Ash valiantly shit out regular seven inch singles attached to letters but never once have I been inspired, motivated or compelled to actually buying one of them. Today things have reached letter N (number 14) so I guess by now it is probably too late to begin my collection if I should desire so.

And I don’t. “Dare To Dream” is something of a mess. A mess with sprinkles. Even now after both acts have had their best days Ash and Mogwai make for awkward and uncomfortable bedfellows and on this release it only appears to etch out the worst elements in each band as Tim Wheeler’s silly vocals emerge very camp against a dragged out and doggy Mogwai aural drawl. In a way it sounds like Joy Division mutating into early New Order as they discover drum machines but from another perspective there is a sense of languid betrayal in how it also sounds something of a sonic abortion.

The release is a one sided affair with an etched b-side that looks relatively aesthetically pleasing. It’s all relative.

Thesaurus moment: hill.

Ash

Atomic Heart Records

FUCKED UP – DAYTROTTER (MATADOR RECORDS)

FUCKED UP – DAYTROTTER (MATADOR RECORDS)

This is a confusing release on many many levels. Firstly I experience “the Peel” in not knowing whether I am playing the seven inch at the correct speed or not. When the vocals appear on what I believe to be “David Comes To Life” I would seem that I am indeed playing the record at the wrong speed. My confusion from what the actual track is stems from the fact that the single has the b-side label on both sides of the record. Was this a mean track done playfully on purpose?

The biggest confusion for me however arises due to the fact that I just don’t get Fucked Up. I sincerely want to love them and indulge but when the record comes up to plate and faces an open goal somehow it just spoons the effort beyond the grave.

Starting again now at the correct speed the store opens up with “Magic Word” which is a mesmerising shuffle that sounds almost skiffle and strangely Ice Cream For Crow all at the same time. I think this is something Charlie Hodge would recommend to Elvis during a drinking session. Wha’ happened? Isn’t this supposed to be the current pinnacle of punk?

Listening to “David Comes To Life” at the correct speed is a far more enjoyable experience than listening to it at the wrong. Go figure, I’m an idiot. The vocals sound discerningly dub as the guitar loops all surrounding parties in unnecessary fashion.

“Crooked Head” is the track most recognisable as Fucked Up with Pink Eyes trademark artistic expression being best represented with a backbeat that feels as if it is working against him rather than with him. As with much of their material it makes for an uncomfortable sync, one that does not do as much justice to the other as should be.

Coming with a useful Fucked Up 7” list insert, this release is culled from a session at Daytrotter Studios in November 2008 and is the Fucked Up contribution to Record Store Day 2010 on many levels.

Thesaurus moment: balk.

Fucked Up

Matador Records

CHARLOTTE GAINSBOURG – SUNSET SOUND SESSION (BECAUSE MUSIC)

CHARLOTTE GAINSBOURG – SUNSET SOUND SESSION (BECAUSE MUSIC)

With Beck still in tow this is a Sunset Sound Session single released to coincide with Record Store Day 2010 of two tracks culled from said session recorded for KCRW radio in Los Angeles.

“Heaven Can Wait” is a plonking ditty that brings to mind rural green California in the late sixties just as the dream is dying and all the idealists are frantically clinging onto their dreams. In other words it is a summery sounding affair with an explicit spring in its step.

Charlotte Gainsbourg possesses a genuinely unique vocal style. By unique I mean that she often sounds male, perhaps this is the result of too much Lemon Incest (although equally this could just be the influence of Hansen). Regardless it means that her act/spiel/shtick is full of quirk and character which serves to enable her to appeal to an uncomfortable audience.

The Beck input as composer and lyricist is tangible as a bendy narrative is churned out, one that possesses the devil may care attitude of a person that no longer need worry about the world.

Roaming onto the other side things sound/become very mechanic and minimal with the frenetic rush of “IRM” that almost rides into Stereolab territory screaming of a person desperately trying to be kooky and different while running the music equivalent of an egg and spoon race.

Its all breezy and disposable stuff, material that could equally be at the beach or in the sewer come a few months time.

Thesaurus moment: spring.

Charlotte Gainsbourg

Because Music

FOALS – SPANISH SAHARA (WARNER MUSIC LTD)

FOALS – SPANISH SAHARA (WARNER MUSIC LTD)

I once saw Foals play live at Latitude Festival and unfortunately it was one of the most feeble sets I have ever witnessed from a band with such clout being pumped into and put behind them.

Its not all hate from me honestly I have genuinely liked a number of their singles but sometimes you just have to shrug and concede “I don’t get it.” I remember when I worked at the studio and how the A&R (A&E) lady was raving about in the context of all this nu-rave gimmick stuff. At this point I genuinely thought there was more to them. Then Sub Pop signed them in the US so surely there must be something there to grab hold of. So with nice looking artwork on Record Store Day as all the limited edition releases I actually want have gone to pushier individuals than myself here is me giving them another chance.

On that note I’ll be fucked if I know what they are doing on this single. For starters it is so fucking quiet and subdued. Why is this? What point are they trying to make? Is this them sounding mature? Sounding as if operating on a knife edge? Am I playing the record at the wrong speed again? (no to that last one).

So well done, once again the kids have been let down by a band claiming so much and delivering so little. How the fuck can Warners be justified in supporting this? Why are they wasting the earth’s resources on such dross?

Eventually the song crawls out of its stupor only to resemble some eighties sports television soundtrack. Can the bar be actually lowered any further?

Thesaurus moment: spoon.

Foals
Warners Music Ltd

SHE & HIM – IN THE SUN (DOMINO)

SHE & HIM – IN THE SUN (DOMINO)

For the longest time on Record Store Day 2010 I found myself wandering around with just this seven inch in my hand. Truly people were swarming all over limited edition stuff in the style of Sex And The City wannabes at a Next sale. For a moment I felt panic, I wanted out of the record shop but there was no escape. So instead I found myself just standing in a corner breathing heavily hoping to bide my time until the real goodies hidden behind the counter were to be unveiled for the patient mannered types such as myself. It didn’t happen. As I saw somebody carry off their vinyl version of the Sonic Youth Starbucks compilation for the eleventh time I knew my She & Him seven inch would not be alone in order to maintain cred as I approached the counter. From here when I finally approached the checkout with my pile of potentially mediocre vinyl, including my £6 She & Him seven inch, my pain was justified as the man smiling behind the till handed me a cloth tote bag that came exclusively with this release. Had my pain in one foul swoop suddenly been justified? I had only been in the store almost two hours by this point. Was it worth it? For £41.42 I got my record store rush.

I just dropped this record. Literally and physically, I haven’t even got around to listening to it and the corner of the spine is now already bent. The value has just gone from mint to just very good. Suddenly it doesn’t feel worth it.

She & Him feel like flavour of the month right now, which is not necessarily a band thing because Zooey Deschanel has a high level of cred right from back when she was a scene stealer in The Good Girl. That said actresses taking up indie rock has something of jaded history (Juliette Lewis and Scarlett Johansson a dubious list begins with you).

In a sad way Deschanel’s efforts remind me a bit of Reese Witherspoon in Walk The Line and as such make them DOA. In John Peel style I begin listening to the seven inch at the wrong speed (listening to it after the Factory limited edition ten inch I also got at Record Store Day). Dare I even suggest that it may sound better at such a speed (I’m down with the kids and their chopped and screwed).

I was given to believe that this would be a full on country assault but instead it is a far more sprightly affair. Her voice reminds me a lot of Tanya Donnelly, Shannon Wright and Sarah Shannon from Velocity Girl (all fantastic vocalists) but strangely the most striking aspect that grabs me is the piano line courtesy of M Ward that reminds me of the “Self Preservation Society” theme song from The Italian Job and thus it all comes full circle and the selection never escapes Hollywood.

Thesaurus moment: wrap.

She & Him
Domino

VARIOUS – FACTORY RECORDS COMMUNICATIONS (FACTORY RECORDS/RHINO)

VARIOUS – FACTORY RECORDS COMMUNICATIONS (FACTORY RECORDS/RHINO)

Released for Record Store Day 2010 this ten inch sampler features four tracks from the strongest arms in the Factory Records legacy. As ever with most Factory releases the packaging looks amazing, minimal but stark and tastefully done as in some respect/degree this release just represents the latest plundering of the Factory back catalogue.

After visiting Manchester earlier this year I now find myself with something of a larger appreciation for the place and the music that came from within it. Indeed it was watching 24 Hour Party People almost ten years ago now that snapped me with a moment of clarity that read “this is how a record label should be” and within a few weeks I had jacked in my own label Gringo Records.

Back on vinyl this music sounds better than ever. Despite the best efforts of Peter Hook to undermine their legacy a song such as “Transmission” will always represent the pinnacle of British independent music. The playing is frenetic, the intentions and message are just terrifying as it represents all things that were right with a genre that was supposed to be about disenfranchised individuals. This was the band performing at their peak.

“Ceremony” by New Order follows still enabling the dark elements of the band that they used to be. In comparison to Curtis the vocals of Sumner sound robotic by design, required to be startling and cold by necessity. In order to keep up business as usual it all had to be aloof.

Turning over The Durutti Column selection “Sketch For Summer” is a tweeting bird affair creating a casual roam for the listener as the label’s mentally challenged older brother act takes a stroll around the recesses of their own mind. It’s a window.

Smartly the Happy Mondays selection is the club mix of “Hallelujah” which serves to remind the listener that the band was not necessarily always the cartoon drug addled idiots that they resemble these days as they take their touring circus act around the globe doing the festival circuit cheapening their act with each blow. Received from its natural home on vinyl “Hallelujah” is such a sickly smooth piece of work with the best kind of grooving bassline offering the recipient the best in both worlds of beats and guitars. This still probably sounds magnificent in a club today, this has genuinely aged majestically. Well done chaps.

I’d take the exploits of Tony Wilson over Malcolm McLaren any day of the week. He was only a pretend prat.

I love ten inches.

Thesaurus moment: tool.

Joy Division
New Order
The Durutti Column
Happy Mondays
Factory Records
Rhino

TINDERSTICKS – FALLING DOWN A MOUNTAIN (4AD)

TINDERSTICKS – FALLING DOWN A MOUNTAIN (4AD)

Opening with a sense of urgency that sounds akin to a ticking time bomb, the latest offering from the Tindersticks is a wider selection of sounds than their previous album “The Hungry Saw” and for it the band appears to have taken on a new kind of persona and objective.  Whether this progression has worked its way into the actual songwriting remains open to debate but from the off it is evident that something is up, something has happened.

Emerging victorious from some kind of resurgence in recent years their influence feels wider than ever as the measured sound of Tindersticks offers a kind of indie decadence that feels somewhat more permissible in this age.  Maybe this the result of an audience maturing or perhaps just the positive affect of an industry look back to a time more tangible and analogue.

There is immediately a Lalo Schifrin feeling to proceedings as via the title track a new kind of looseness prevails as an expansive loungey sound prevails.  This dramatic and mysterious stuff, in a world where Stuart Staples appears to be harbouring a secret and a confession looks destined to follow albeit with something of a struggle.  This is sex music.  I have had a friend confide in me how he used to shag to the Tindersticks music and now it would seem that person (the receiver) is somewhat sexually damaged as result.  Where there is blame, there is a claim.

The songs on show range from the exciting to the tender but as the album reaches the fourth song it draws a real clunker as “Peanuts” plays out teasingly in the most stupid of fashion.  Yes the word “peanuts” is easily substituted for the word “penis”, it does not take a four and a half minute song to demonstrate and demonise this.  So horribly cheese, much like Staples’ cock I would imagine.

Thankfully of the ten songs on display that the one real disappointment as the lyrics remain explicit but equally amusing in thankfully not so childish a manner.  “Hubbard Hills” sounds like the closing credits music of Withnail & I while “Keep You Beautiful” is earnest in every way that is good and professional.  The single “Black Smoke” offers the biggest hook in an acceptable manner.

Of all the tracks most resolution appears to be found in “No Place So Alone” which seems to go around the houses in desperate fashion before arriving at some kind of accomplished understanding and happy outcome.

From here the remainder of the album cascades into oblivion offering the atmosphere of a beautiful ending (“Piano Music” does exactly what it says on the tin).  These are the closing credits.

Tindersticks are a great band without doubt; they just take up a bit too much time and patience on occasion.

How could something this good emerge out of Nottingham?  It’s a rotten rotten place.

Thesaurus moment: siren.

Tindersticks

4AD

THE VERMIN POETS – THE VERMIN POETS EP (SMARTGUY RECORDS)

THE VERMIN POETS – THE VERMIN POETS EP (SMARTGUY RECORDS)

Despite their garb there is something positively refreshing about The Vermin Poets.  This is an outfit seemingly brought together to produce art in an offensive manner and be suitably derided using the garage rock form.

This four song seven inch EP is the formal introduction of the latest musical outfit of Billy Childish.  For it he has teamed up with Neil Palmer, former singer and guitarist with Fire Dept.  Filling out the foursome are Wolf Howard previously seen in the Buff Medways and Childish’s wife Julie (Ju Ju Claudius) exchanging drum duties.

It begins with something of a mission statement and the track “Vermin Poets”.  If calling cards were a concept with these guys, this would be it.  Not that there’s make any sense.  The words are very self defacing, defeatist and defiant, which is a combination of attitudes and aspirations I am not necessarily convinced is a winning stroke.  At least they use the word sonnet.

In execution there is something very The Who sounding in the work.  As Palmer leads on vocals at times his strains remind of Robert Pollard in safety mode.

The second side of the record opens with an ode to Jim Morrison and “The Doors Of Perception” which feels like a total piss take of the Lizard King.  And rightfully so.

The band appears to be telling some kind of joke, one that is more likely to be on you rather than them.  After all I did pay £6.49 for a seven inch single.

Thesaurus moment: parody.

The Vermin Poets

Smartguy Records

LOS CAMPESINOS! – ROMANCE IS BORING (WICHITA RECORDINGS)

LOS CAMPESINOS! – ROMANCE IS BORING (WICHITA RECORDINGS)

This is something of a refreshing throwback to spiky and scratchy lo-fi DIY bands from a few years ago, the ones that pushed forward an idea that my own generation were able to attempt and succeed at in producing on the proviso that there was something more to it than the desire to be a star. For this a sardonic wit always felt essential, necessary with view to confuse and sometimes abuse anyone around looking to be of a discerning nature.

The most obvious reference for a single such as this is Art Brut along with the early boy girl dynamics of the Delgados before they discovered strings and bloated arrangements. In this it is obvious just where the appeal comes from, in the desire and need for the listener to hear nasty yet tuneful guitar music that doesn’t sink and drown in cliché.

Hailing from Cardiff (although without being Welsh) it is strange how so many bands are emerging from Wales at the moment. They are not necessarily all good but it does suggest something about the way boredom is being dealt with in places away from the supposed centre of the universe (London).

“Romance Is Boring” is a great sentiment, one that points at something away from Care Bears and daydreams. As ever I sense I am arriving late to the party with my enjoyment of this band but giving them the benefit of my doubts of try hard this is the kind of fun explosive indie guitar song that sadly feels rare these days.

“Too Many Flesh Suppers” on the flipside is an altogether more angular and confused state of affairs, less directed and suggestive of their appreciation/fondness for Broken Social Scene. To some ears this will sound like a mess but to others it will be gold. Sadly though it is a song that never lives up to its great title.

This won’t help me recapture my youth, nothing will.

Thesaurus moment: bellow.

Los Campesinos!
Wichita Recordings

THE DUSTAPHONICS – BURLESQUE QUEEN (DIRTY WATER RECORDS)

THE DUSTAPHONICS – BURLESQUE QUEEN (DIRTY WATER RECORDS)

Perhaps not with the smartest of reasoning I am finding myself these days purchasing a lot of seven inch singles just based on their artwork. As the format becomes sadly rarer by the week, this growing personal throwback for me presents itself more as a piece of art rather than a salient music format. This single is a very good example of this. I really hate the way the world of the single has gone now, the Sunday charts are so pathetic it is unreal and there is no way in hell that a band selling an MP3 or two on a given date will or should constitute a single release. The idea of doing an “MP3 single” is one so redundant to me. The other day I heard a pretty decent song by a band from Liverpool and I decided to check out the release date of the song I found myself faced with a two week wait to buy it from iTunes etc. I promptly laughed my fucking arse off as I found the song on seconds via Hype MP3. It is what they deserve.

This release however is the polar opposite of such backwards management. For me passion oozes from the tangibility of the release. So who the hell are The Dustaphonics? I have no idea what their music sounds like but what I do know is that they come with amazing artwork.

Looking at the sleeve alone you get the impression it is going to be dirty, like something you might find in a John Waters or Russ Meyer movie. Yes, music from a better time. The cover features a golden age comic beauty, shameless and suggestive.

Having already reviewed the record before even playing the record finally upon hearing it I find myself introduced to something that sounds akin to The Cramps fronted by Lisa from the BellRays. It is slow paced and dripping in swagger with dirty sax spewed sporadically over proceedings. This is very fun stuff.

The writing credit includes the name “T.L. Satana” which indeed does turn out to be Tura Satana, most famously the star of Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! which lends another exciting aspect to the record as it transpires that she is indeed responsible for some of the lyrics/words in some capacity (although perhaps she didn’t realise it).

Perhaps the less said about the b-side (a cover of The Jiants “Tornado”) the better.

Thesaurus moment: pine.

The Dustaphonics
Dirty Water Records

LADY GAGA – TELEPHONE (INTERSCOPE)

LADY GAGA – TELEPHONE (INTERSCOPE)

It is without doubt that the world is a better place for having Lady Gaga in it than it would be without her.  Within her little minx exterior appears to be a truly troubled space cadet, partially playing the game and partially thinking that it is all real.

Of course the fact that I even know more than five Lady Gaga songs is truly wrong and borderline weird.  This is not my music; I should not be coming or going here/there.  Everything about her is phoney.  She’s a fraud.  Its not about the music, it’s about the costumes, the persona, the act.  It’s theatre, its pop music, not high art.

“Telephone” is the big Lady Gaga song with the Beyonce guest appearance.  Beyonce is a better singer than Lady Gaga.  She is also sexier, produces better songs, is probably younger and is definitely female.  When she drops into the track she also drops a huge dollop of class onto proceedings that helps us turn a blind eye and deaf ear to the weird effects the studio have inserted into the piece with all the subtly of a sledgehammer.

It feels stupid to pretend that I am reviewing this song from the picture disc seven inch.  Who the hell am I kidding?  It is from the music video set in a prison that was launched with much hype and even more disappointment.  Within it there are lesbian overtones and a non to Kill Bill but beyond that not quite enough to paper over the cracks.  Still, people lap this up as art and who am I to belittle other people’s tastes.  Lady Gaga is just a force of nature you can only embrace and hope she does not ruin too many brain cells in the process.  Regardless of the weirdness and dress up this is not up there with Madonna in her prime.

Why I bought this record I do not know.  This is not my era and this is not my chosen style of music to listen to.  Occasionally you can masturbate to her pop videos, just not this one.

Thesaurus moment: ersatz.

Lady Gaga

Interscope

THE VERMIN POETS – POETS OF ENGLAND (DAMAGED GOODS)

THE VERMIN POETS – POETS OF ENGLAND (DAMAGED GOODS)

Featuring a band line-up photograph that would suggest medieval music, my initial concerns and reservations are soon put aside as The Vermin Poets turn out to be a much more charging rock proposition than I was expecting.  This band features Billy Childish after all.

Away from the usual Childish take on garage rock this record is something of a sumptuous hybrid of almost British Invasion bands exhibiting snide mannerisms and looping sensibilities.  In other words, individuals that dabbled in punk rock.

Fronted by his long time cohort and former Fire Dept member Neil Palmer this album sees Childish taking something of a back seat, taking on the bass duties rather than guitar, focusing more on the vocal message of proceedings, the poetry of the piece.

It is certainly a tough time to be a poet.  I cannot possibly imagine a time where derision could be any higher for artists of the form while equally the reputation of the form has been tarnished irrecoverably.  These guys truly have their work cut out for them.

The cover reads:

“Heirs of glory,

Heroes of unwritten story,

Rise like lions after slumber,

In unvanquishable number,”

And all in all that pretty sums up the attitude attached to the outfit, one where its tongue is firmly lodged in its cheek.  It’s a lark; it’s a fucking lark.  A lark with a purpose.

The twelve track album opens with “Spartan Dregg”, which already appears to be a new and forthcoming music persona for the group.  This is an act proud to be Spartan.

As the record progresses the highlights are “Baby Booming Bastards”, which is a casual rant and tirade aimed someone (the targets are never necessarily clear).  Later the flighty “She’s Got Ears” seals the deal with its subtly glorious hook and infectious glow.

Eventually the track “Vermin Poets” attempts to introduce and explain what the outfit is all about.  The facts remain clear as mud.

All in all with the injection of Palmer, this is the liveliest and most adventurous Billy Childish rock release in a long time.

Smash.

Thesaurus moment: bard.

The Vermin Poets

Damaged Goods

TINDERSTICKS – BLACK SMOKE (LUCKY DOG)

TINDERSTICKS – BLACK SMOKE (LUCKY DOG)

In a rare moment of happiness Tindersticks manage to put down a relatively upbeat tune championing the after affects of being blown out (shot down).  With it comes a pulsing and almost euphoric take on proceedings where Staples’ delivery occasionally reminds of Lou Reed’s barbed vocal method where lines sound like statements and accusations thrown out amongst the bitterness.

The Tindersticks aren’t necessarily a singles band.  Years ago Mark And Lard did a skit where they posed as the band releasing a Christmas album of pub sing-along to which the joke was not very well received.  And in many ways rightfully so as this is a band plainly with a vision and intent, a message that is pure and need not mockery as their own humility offers enough self depreciation alone.

As the protagonist talks about going to the river you begin to wonder for the wellbeing of the narrator.  The black smoke in question sounds poisonous stuff, stuff that I can very much identify with.  As the river in the story changes meaning a new degree of urgency and betrayal appears offered to the track and it begins galloping to the defeat line.  If the Velvet Underground had been from Nottingham the city would still have been a shit hole.

Towards the end as Staples tells of “making love in the afternoon” the saxophones take over adding a strange air to proceedings.  And then it is all over.  It’s a mucky mucky world that we live in.  It is not necessarily Coltrane.

On the other side of proceedings “Just Drifting” offers up the Tindersticks take on Psychic TV.  I am positive the Genesis version never sounded as silky as this.

This is the world we live in.

Thesaurus moment: burnt.

Tindersticks

Lucky Dog

JIMI HENDRIX – BLEEDING HEART (SONY MUSIC)

JIMI HENDRIX – BLEEDING HEART (SONY MUSIC)

There is a real sense of fear and reservation attached to approaching this record. For years now the vaults have been raped as the reputation of Jimi Hendrix has been kicked to death by greeding associates in the music industry skimming off any piece of work that he scratched out during his career, be it in his sleep or at the top of his game. It is going to be weird now for me to watch people from my era get treated in such a way, people such as Kurt Cobain whose career has already gone through the ringer but not to the point (yet) that 40 plus year recordings (such as this) have emerged.

At the end of the day though Hendrix was Hendrix and what that meant was here lay one of the most innovative players in the history of guitar music.

For once though his legacy (or rather scraps thereof) have been treated with a decent degree of respect, packaged in a way fitting of his talent and influence. From a hot looking record sleeve through to a decent sound actually coming from the stereo this happily for once does not feel like some kind of cynical cash in (even though at the end of the day it is).

“Bleeding Heart” is a cover of an old Elmore James number that Hendrix unsurprisingly makes his own almost immediately which he then carries for over six minutes in a beautiful fashion with his legendary warm playing and underrated vocal talents. And boy does it sound good on vinyl. Often the bluesy moments were the ones that created least ripples for Hendrix but when he got in right he had the ability the make the sun shine brighter even if it made the listener feel bleaker.

Released for the collectors and not necessarily with view of snagging anyone new into the fold “Peace In Mississippi” is a more the classic, expected fare of Hendrix, a pounding exploration into the heights of sounds that his guitar was able to bring. With Redding and Mitchell backing him up these were the moments you sensed he lived for, the spring to satisfy his artist curiosity and needs with the ability to feed and thrill the listener along the way. To see and feel this music live must have been to touch base with a higher being.

Why is it than anybody else attempting this stuff can only ever fuck it all up? Class screams right through.

Thesaurus moment: learn.

Jimi Hendrix
Sony Music

SONE INSTITUTE – CURIOUS MEMORIES (FRONT AND FOLLOW)

SONE INSTITUTE – CURIOUS MEMORIES (FRONT AND FOLLOW)

The Sone Institute are one of those acts that produce a wide series of sounds that exhibit a huge scope of imagination and lengthy influences that provide a distinct setting for the task ahead. Listened to with a clear head, yours will be a mind soon muddled and disfigured by the sounds and images imposed onto your soul.

In the past Sone Institute have displayed a talent for spilling beats over the most cautious of tones in a style similar to Broadcast while mixed with an easy listening intellect and kitsch awareness (appreciation) akin to that of Jonny Trunk. Within such a gesture there is true fluctuation of two grand and downbeat worlds convulsing and marking something wholly fresh into the ground. With Curious Memories they have expanded further on this premise extending their arsenal and truly succeeding with every avenue they visit.

The album begins with a thunder bolt followed by crazed and disorientating fairground attraction atmospherics on the wonderfully named “Inter Asylum Cross Country”. The track sounds like something RZA may have cooked up and used on one of his scores. Truly a song to come with stitches.

With “The Wind Began To Switch” the record reaches a frenzied pace as handclapping hysteria coupled with grandiose strings that sound straight out of an American television cop show from the seventies bursts onto the scene. The crazy beat sounds excessively like Lalo Schifrin’s work on Dirty Harry only now bettered to a blistering pace.

Eventually it all mellows out quite significantly, changing identity like a chameleon on a mirror, touching zones that you might expect as output from acts on labels such as Ninja Tune and Kitty-Yo. A true blissed out harvest of an experience occurs as ambience overrules the exotic early impetus of proceedings in assaulting fashion. It has to be said the swinging of systems in such schizophrenic style does make for a difficult listen.

For some reason I come away from listening to this record with the theme music from The Professionals running around in my head.

This is music for the movies.

Thesaurus moment: flick.

Sone Institute
Front And Follow

BEACH HOUSE – NORWAY (BELLA UNION)

BEACH HOUSE – NORWAY (BELLA UNION)

I used to have an online buddy hailing from Norway. In fact I feel when she disappeared from the cyber world I actually lost a potential love for in Line Larsen I truly feel I met (in an online capacity) a potential soul mate. Our interests were similar and we exchanged similar worldviews and a sense of fondness prevailed that could have remained/lasted strong for a long time. When she disappeared off the face of the internet I truly feel fearful that something bad occurred to her in real life. I really wish she would get back in touch I miss her so.

At this point the single has almost concluded as I acknowledge that the first time I am playing this seven inch I am paying absolutely no attention whatsoever to it. My bad.

Beach House appear to have come out of nowhere, they are being lauded by all quarters as a sudden stream dreamy (sometimes drippy) bands begins to overwhelm indie pop. If it were a bit louder you might compare it to the shoegazers.

It all feels rather minimal. Half the time the vocalist (I’m loathe to say singer) appears to be making up words, exchanging lyrics for noises they appear to be making up on the spot.

There appears to be a prevailing leaning towards an eighties slickness and sensibility to sound at the moment. I am truly struggling to decide whether this is a good thing or not. Here with “Norway” I am being presented with a layered set of sounds padding out a strange set of sentiments being exhibited by the frontman that be. With creeping, underlying sonics I would not be surprised if new My Bloody Valentine material were to sound like this (or at least the demos might).

Perversely this ultimately sounds to me like the singer from the Wannadies fronting the accompaniment of Ryuichi Sakamoto in “Merry Christmas, Mr Lawrence” mode with a dabble of MBV effects stirring underneath. Random.

The b-side sounds a bit like Scrawl.

They’re from Baltimore but not like in The Wire (the TV show not the magazine).

I think I missed the point.

Thesaurus moment: hut.

Beach House
Bella Union

VARIOUS – ON THE BEACH MIX CD

VARIOUS – ON THE BEACH MIX CD

On The Beach is a club night at the Buffalo Bar in Islington on everything third Friday of the month.  It plays a gross mixture of dirty underground and unpopular songs covering US indie, post punk, electronica, hardcore, grime and sometimes even pop. 

This is a compilation CD that was given away at their club night in February 2010 I believe to celebrate their tenth night.  What do I know though; when I picked up my copy of the disc I was drunk and just had a McDonalds.  It features eighteen tracks typical of what gets played at the club proving something of an eclectic soup selection.

The disc opens with “I.O.U.” by The Replacements, a thumping case of hard rocking classic American indie that people have heard of but mostly have never actually heard.  This then melds into the backwards electronic beats of Dan Deacon and my stereo player is already reeling.  You too will be reeling once you’ve had enough of that cheap Eastern European beer that the Buffalo Bar puts on as “special” on the night.

Not wishing to be too white and middle class they drop hip hop (sometimes even grime) in the form of Dominique Young and Roll Deep in addition to the classic that is “Witness (1 Hope)”.  This will help you swing your pants.

Essentially you can’t help but feel the heart of the club is in US indie being that the club features many faces that frequent All Tomorrows Parties.  This point is well made by the inclusion of Polvo, Cap’n Jazz, Ted Leo and Health, a band I defy anybody to attempt to dance to.  Good luck fucker.

Also no selection of knowing modern hipster music is complete without its silly pun band names as represented today by Hudson Mohawke and Joy Orbison.  Laugh it up.

Elsewhere “Roadrunner” by Jonathan Richman pops up at some point not feeling out of place like the scary nonce in the corner.

Then that is it.  The lights come up and it seems time to go get a kebab except I am actually here at home sat listening to this record in my pants.  Where did my life go wrong?

An education.

Thesaurus moment: promo.

On The Beach

Buffalo Bar

GRAFFITI ISLAND – PET SNAKE/DEMONIC CAT (FIN DU MONDE RECORDS)

GRAFFITI ISLAND – PET SNAKE/DEMONIC CAT (FIN DU MONDE RECORDS)

This is a terrifying seven inch that really has to be seen and touched to be believed. Housed on one-sided vinyl the reverse of the release is snakeskin seven inch. Lush. Quite frankly it makes me feel queasy to touch, sick to experience and ill to move onto my turntable. It is also a disco plate with one of those large jukebox holes. In this day and age such aching decadence is purely criminal, this is most definitely the best way to go out.

With this record Graffiti Island do it again, this is all painfully great stuff creaking like coolest hula party never assembled in a manner that should cause Calvin Johnson to reconsider his output of recent times and take pride in the fact that he has influenced so many that are now doing things so much more better.

There is a Petsmart theme to this record, a tone of affection that comes with the wrong love of having angry pets. Well, perhaps not but that is my interpretation. Sue me.

At the fear of sounding too gushing the package just turns me on with its warped Snoop Dogg crossed with Garfield gone wrong cover artwork. This is graffiti of the highest order, a demonstration of smut and angular thinking.

Returning to the music the pulse is strong with this one. The rudimentary guitars are survived by vocals ascribing major intent as an echo blossoms to scintillating and terrifying degrees. “Demonic Cat” in particular describes a high degree of mischief with its “666 lives”. The lurching motions of the song perfectly describe the movements of somebody up to no good. These songs would be perfect for the Batman TV series soundtrack. If only Adam West hadn’t already made it.

262/300

Thesaurus moment: chum.

Graffiti Island
Fin Du Monde Records

DANDY WARHOLS – THE DANDY WARHOLS COME DOWN (CAPITOL)

DANDY WARHOLS – THE DANDY WARHOLS COME DOWN (CAPITOL)

The Dandy Warhols were never cool.  Their credentials were hip and to be honest their music was never mind-blowing good.  With this their career came and went much in the same way one record chancers such as Bush would manage to etch out a career (well, income stream) in one foul swoop.  Then suddenly Dig! came out and suddenly the band were viewed in a whole new/different light.  Unfortunately it just came too late for them.

When the Dandy Warhols broke in the mainstream it was with a real sense of cashing in on the final days of cashing in on the alternative nation.  With this the band rocked a look that appeared druggy and weird and would pull stunts such as having their lesbian keyboard player perform encores topless.  What a statement, so forced.

As with bands such as The Strokes this was an “indie” act that found themselves bigger in the UK than they were in their home country.  This must be such a disorientating and polarising sense of accomplishment and the manner within which the UK music press was set up being that the coverage was weekly and actually more national than the US being a tastemaker nation if done right our scene was an easy nut to crack.

Then there was the thing with the Brian Jonestown Massacre that pretty much absolutely nobody knew about at the time.  If only Anton Newcombe’s plan to turn them into the new Blur vs Oasis had have come off what a great set of appearances on Top Of The Pops that would have produced.  Brian Jonestown Massacre didn't get the career of the Dandy Warhols but they definitely had better songs.

This was their second album and the one with the hits.  I have to concede I have great memories of getting drunk and dancing at an indie disco to “Every Day Should Be A Holiday”, a song that always for always be too closely for comfort resembled “Hungry Like A Wolf” by Duran Duran.

What always let the band down was just how weedy their guitar sound was.  This did not feel like a rock band let alone a cutting edge alternative act.  They may have had the look of something interesting and dangerous but painfully all too often that would prove to be style over substance.

Certainly the band does not help things by opening the album with seven minutes of nothing.  “Be In” is a frustrating cart of aimless noodling and gradual growth, the sort of thing that sounds great when you’re fucked up on drugs.

Then they drop the first single of the album with “Boys Better”.  Its actually a pretty decent soup of many sounds that delivers a catchy hook of empty sentiments and silly intentions.  Its vacant in exploration so it is best to just hang onto the snappy parts that glisten.  Noticeably high in the mix are the keyboards.  Pia was not to be outshined.

With “Minesotter” the band sounds like Brian Jonestown Massacre.  Whether this was intention or even maybe actually vice versa is open to debate.  Then Courtney opens his mouth and he sounds like Black Francis.  Were they going for the Pixies on downers?

“Not If You Were The Last Junkie On Earth” with hindsight now feels written directly about Anton Newcombe.  This is probably their most famous track, certainly the one with the most controversial set of lyrics although the actual message of the song is quite open to debate.  It was quite relieving to hear in Dig! that the band hated the video for the song.  Sure enough they looked like prats in it.  Then three minutes later it is over and I am none the wiser about the world and certainly far from feeling like I am under the influence.

There was always a shoegaze and psychedelic side to the band that for me would remind of Echo And The Bunnyman (certainly with “Good Morning” on this record).  Ultimately though these songs were just not catchy.

Late on the album serves up “Cool As Kim Deal” next to “Hard On For Jesus” as you can’t help but feel this was the band trying too hard, to take weird swipes at one icon while endeavouring to garner favour from another.  And vice versa.  Except the band just wasn’t in with these circles.  That said I have to express a fondness for the latter.

It all ends with “The Creep Out” as the album crumbles to a mess.  They just had too much time and budget to explore these things.

A comedian (Robin Ince) gave me this CD while he was having a clearout.  About halfway through the disc gives up the ghost as initially it repeatedly skips, and then drops out before eventually spinning to a halt.  This is a fine metaphor.

Thesaurus moment: fabricate.

Dandy Warhols

Dandy Warhols live

Capitol

SLEATER-KINNEY – SLEATER-KINNEY (MATADOR/CHAINSAW RECORDS)

SLEATER-KINNEY – SLEATER-KINNEY (MATADOR/CHAINSAW RECORDS)

The debut record from Sleater-Kinney is something of a much more blunt affair and one that comes as a surprise after hearing them be so attractively structured over the years with their almost overground nudging “hits.”

I actually wound up possessing this record by accident as it was given away free at a Robin Ince gig as he found himself having a clear out at home, disposing of records that he felt he has grown out of while freeing up space at home.

These are the real royal roots of Sleater-Kinney in Riot Grrrl.  The songs hold a subtle menace in the dark playing of guitars that appear to hover and loom over proceedings.  Even though the band were not slipping into baby doll cliché there is a shared sound in their playing that goes with early Hole and Babes Into Toyland as failing persuasion remains constant in the motored motion of their songs.  This was also a sound often executed by bands like Drive Like Jehu displaying an uncomfortable and uneasy trait.  There aren’t many laughs attached to this record.

Elsewhere there is a definite Bikini Kill and Huggy Bear vibe (especially on “Sold Out”), albeit one with as much shouting.  On the whole this was a band displaying leanings towards the smarter side of the movement.  At the end of the day though I would argue that technically this band was superior to all the female bands that came before it as they abstained from filling out their sound with bass and incorporated intricate guitar part one after the other to produced a layer sounded of hidden depths that provides many riches for those who invest a closer a ear.

Clocking in at just under 23 minutes it is almost impossible for this album to outstay its welcome.  Perhaps stifled slightly by low budget recording funds the songs take their force from other elements such as the empowering message of “The Day I Went Away” in addition to the self defensive tone of tracks such as “How To Play Dead”.  Also there is no denying the hooks of “Be Yr Mama”.

Also at this stage the vocals were still yet to manifest themselves into their later shriek and instead find themselves delivered in a more menacing mumble.

Worth noting is that Janet Weiss did not play drums on this record as instead Lora Macfarlane performed the duties.  Basically this was a band still finding their way.

The record ends in a kindly manner displaying the softer side of the band prior to one last blast of screaming offering clear demonstration that there was more to this act than was tasted here.

Way to begin!

Thesaurus moment: flourish.

Sleater-Kinney

Matador

Chainsaw Records