So the first listen glances and lands its drunk blow, and every good ear that hears taps on into the tongue and asks; Who needs another The Fall? The answer is everybody. Every effin-star-Everyody. Mark E Smith was a constant, a stalwart. Reliable only in blaring Fall-esque type sounds of unreliable quality at us all in semi random intervals. He became something close dependence. So like Velvet Underground begat Lewsberg, like New York Dolls spawned Dick Venom, The Fall at least co-created Stuart Pearce. Never smarm-hate a band for their influences, love them for loving what you do.
And this release makes that easy. It’s messed up and dirt ridden, gritted by choice, lo-fo only by want and design. In spite of its spike and intentional crudeness, these songs are too easy to like. They’re quickly constructed for fast top-shelf pleasures, created for quick post-punk stimuli. But through the box-rattle clatter and dumbed-up production, there are details to grab and latch on to. This is fine noize and scrawl to rile up to.
Messy organs and synths, tin-can amped guitars, rhythms all scuzzed beyond point of return, everything needed is here. Add to this vocals that slip just like sandpaper between a bolstering half arsed and holler, and you get that familiar picture, where every off-kilter’s just wehere it should be. But again, don’t you let that distract you, there’s music and care strewn throughout. A particularly lush MC5 replication that runs through the solo of ‘Forza Garibaldi’ show these DIYs know how to play.
Damn well too and take note. It only furthers the point that an influence on sleeve is just the start point and pad to launch off from. As long as that’s known, it’s an in-joke for all, an in-joke those that care for will crave.
So grab hold of the mess and the raucous. Know what to expect and some more. Revel in Nightingale, Art Brut, and Half Man Half Biscuit legacies, and be damn glad that stuff keeps on shining…. no matter the muck it shines down on.