As requested, a spot of Horrors for this latest offering in which Halloween probably comes that little bit early...
With a promised new album in the works and possibly lurking ominously just around the corner perhaps this is a good a time as any to revisit their Nuggets era garage punk + ghoulish lyrics and evil riffs debut. They created quite a stir in the UK music press when they clawed their way out of whatever crypt or basement they had been lurking in and into the spotlights of the Indie scene. It would have been nice if more than half of the coverage was about the music rather than their hairstyles but hey, that's our music press at times.
As for the album, if this is your sort of thing I imagine it delivers rather pleasingly but is liable to have as many detractors as fans. Things get off to a good start with the slow building cover of Screaming Lord Sutch's 'Jack The Ripper' and once it gets going it sets the tone for much of what will come with the twisted guitar, manic vocals and sheets of Hammond organ befitting a song about a Victorian serial killer. Things go up a notch with 'Count in Fives' which wears its garage influences clearly on it's sleeve (for anyone thinking the title sounds familiar, The Count Five released the appropriately titled 'Psychotic Reaction' on you guessed it, the Nuggets compilation) and reach a peak for me with 'Gloves' and 'Sheena is a Parasite'.
Attempts to stretch beyond the high speed and feral delivery tracks have mixed results. The spoken word passages over 'Excellent Choice' which make it reminiscent of a twisted take on 'Parklife' and the slow build intensity of 'A Train Roars' are great but 'Gil Sleeping', which clocks in only a little shy of 5 minutes, doesn't manage to do anything particularly interesting with any of them and may well have you reaching for the skip button.
All in all it's an album that satisfyingly lived up to much of the hype surrounding the band when they arrived but I'll certainly be interested to see how they handle the followup, namely can they handle the followup? The pressure is on I suspect...
With a promised new album in the works and possibly lurking ominously just around the corner perhaps this is a good a time as any to revisit their Nuggets era garage punk + ghoulish lyrics and evil riffs debut. They created quite a stir in the UK music press when they clawed their way out of whatever crypt or basement they had been lurking in and into the spotlights of the Indie scene. It would have been nice if more than half of the coverage was about the music rather than their hairstyles but hey, that's our music press at times.
As for the album, if this is your sort of thing I imagine it delivers rather pleasingly but is liable to have as many detractors as fans. Things get off to a good start with the slow building cover of Screaming Lord Sutch's 'Jack The Ripper' and once it gets going it sets the tone for much of what will come with the twisted guitar, manic vocals and sheets of Hammond organ befitting a song about a Victorian serial killer. Things go up a notch with 'Count in Fives' which wears its garage influences clearly on it's sleeve (for anyone thinking the title sounds familiar, The Count Five released the appropriately titled 'Psychotic Reaction' on you guessed it, the Nuggets compilation) and reach a peak for me with 'Gloves' and 'Sheena is a Parasite'.
Attempts to stretch beyond the high speed and feral delivery tracks have mixed results. The spoken word passages over 'Excellent Choice' which make it reminiscent of a twisted take on 'Parklife' and the slow build intensity of 'A Train Roars' are great but 'Gil Sleeping', which clocks in only a little shy of 5 minutes, doesn't manage to do anything particularly interesting with any of them and may well have you reaching for the skip button.
All in all it's an album that satisfyingly lived up to much of the hype surrounding the band when they arrived but I'll certainly be interested to see how they handle the followup, namely can they handle the followup? The pressure is on I suspect...
THE HORRORS - STRANGE HOUSE
While I enjoyed the Horrors album I was less impressed with the way the UK press spent many column inches fawning over them and about how new and fresh they were when I couldn't help but feel I'd heard at least elements of them before in a band called The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster who, though garnering some impressive reviews, had never received anything like as much coverage.
The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are clearly in a hurry. Horse of the Dog lasts a scant 25 or so minutes and they don’t waste any with preamble as Celebrate Your Mother roaring from the gates - raucous and full of unspeakable libidinous intent. With the accelerator well and truly floored by the end of the first track things rarely if ever slow and like the Devil’s very own turbo-charged Hotrod, the album screams along like a dark arrow across a desert highway belching fire and brimstone into the night sky, threatening to spontaneously combust at any second.
There are echoes of the Cramps in the rockabilly twang of the guitars and lurid B-movie feel but they were never this full-on. The rhythm section remain powerful and propulsive throughout and the guitars sound ready to slash through your speakers. The frenzied solo towards the end of ‘Fishfingers’ sounds like some rapid animal trying to escape from inside the instrument and which the guitarist can barely contain before the plug is pulled. Five more seconds and he may have gone into some sort of meltdown. Guy McKnight’s Jim Morrison-esque baritone seems full of menace every step of the way and his screams and howls sound suitably manic. When he sings, ‘I drink all night, and I sleep all day’ you believe him and his howls of ‘I want to live my life making love!’ sound more a threat than a come-on.
It should be pretty clear from the above if this is going to be your proverbial cup of tea. If you’ve ever purchased an album by Coldplay or think Nickelback are the greatest rock band of all time, this is not the album for you. If, on the other hand, you know how to make a voodoo doll and can regularly be found howling at the moon, you’re probably listening to this already…
The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are clearly in a hurry. Horse of the Dog lasts a scant 25 or so minutes and they don’t waste any with preamble as Celebrate Your Mother roaring from the gates - raucous and full of unspeakable libidinous intent. With the accelerator well and truly floored by the end of the first track things rarely if ever slow and like the Devil’s very own turbo-charged Hotrod, the album screams along like a dark arrow across a desert highway belching fire and brimstone into the night sky, threatening to spontaneously combust at any second.
There are echoes of the Cramps in the rockabilly twang of the guitars and lurid B-movie feel but they were never this full-on. The rhythm section remain powerful and propulsive throughout and the guitars sound ready to slash through your speakers. The frenzied solo towards the end of ‘Fishfingers’ sounds like some rapid animal trying to escape from inside the instrument and which the guitarist can barely contain before the plug is pulled. Five more seconds and he may have gone into some sort of meltdown. Guy McKnight’s Jim Morrison-esque baritone seems full of menace every step of the way and his screams and howls sound suitably manic. When he sings, ‘I drink all night, and I sleep all day’ you believe him and his howls of ‘I want to live my life making love!’ sound more a threat than a come-on.
It should be pretty clear from the above if this is going to be your proverbial cup of tea. If you’ve ever purchased an album by Coldplay or think Nickelback are the greatest rock band of all time, this is not the album for you. If, on the other hand, you know how to make a voodoo doll and can regularly be found howling at the moon, you’re probably listening to this already…
THE EIGHTIES MATCHBOX B-LINE DISASTER - HORSE OF THE DOG
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The long-windedly monikered Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster followed up the relentless and twisted assault of their debut by unfurling their black wings on this, their follow-up album. The pace is slower and there’s a much greater light and shade in the songs when compared to Horse of the Dog which though great only really had ‘full throttle’ and ‘furiously loud’ in its arsenal. However, this is not at the expense of any of their intensity and the album rarely lets up on the pervasive atmosphere of menace that suffuses the proceedings. Though it’s a different listen, it’s just as enjoyable (if this sort of demonic psychobilly is your sort of thing that is…)
There’s something about this album that makes me think of fairy tales. Not the kind where everyone live happily ever but the kind where evil lurks in the forests and unwary children are gobbled up by things that go bump in the night - never more so than on ‘Puppy Dog Snails’ and it’s gleeful chorus of “What do we do with a boy like you? We put him in a pot and throw him on the fire!” I can almost see the band sitting around the cauldron brandishing spoons and licking their lips in anticipation.
The whole thing sounds like the soundtrack for a lurid mashup of the Brothers Grimm, the Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland and that's a compliment. 'Migrate Migraine' buzzes like an angry mosquito trapped in a jar while 'Dancing Girls' is a night out where you probably should have stayed at home. The lurching waltz of 'Drunk on the Blood' quite literally bubbles over into some sort of twisted alchemy for the quietest passage of the album before things return with 'Mr Mental' which of all the tracks on the album probably has the most in common with the furious assault of their debut. All in all, it's a great followup and I for one can't wait to hear their next full-length.
There’s something about this album that makes me think of fairy tales. Not the kind where everyone live happily ever but the kind where evil lurks in the forests and unwary children are gobbled up by things that go bump in the night - never more so than on ‘Puppy Dog Snails’ and it’s gleeful chorus of “What do we do with a boy like you? We put him in a pot and throw him on the fire!” I can almost see the band sitting around the cauldron brandishing spoons and licking their lips in anticipation.
The whole thing sounds like the soundtrack for a lurid mashup of the Brothers Grimm, the Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland and that's a compliment. 'Migrate Migraine' buzzes like an angry mosquito trapped in a jar while 'Dancing Girls' is a night out where you probably should have stayed at home. The lurching waltz of 'Drunk on the Blood' quite literally bubbles over into some sort of twisted alchemy for the quietest passage of the album before things return with 'Mr Mental' which of all the tracks on the album probably has the most in common with the furious assault of their debut. All in all, it's a great followup and I for one can't wait to hear their next full-length.
THE EIGHTIES MATCHBOX B-LINE DISASTER - ROYAL SOCIETY
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