De spanning stijgt als het tl-licht uitgaat en de band losgaat. De drummachine komt op gang soms strak met 3 man sterk in dezelfde maat en soms juist niet. Toch vormt het een eenheid die niet meer is te stoppen. Dat samen met de gitaristen die hun plekjes veroveren op elkaar op de kleine vierkante meters.
mildly distracting and totally unmemorable
This ain’t big and this ain’t clever but I really don’t give a toss.
somehow the album gets a strong hold of you, without you ever realizing quite how it’s done it
The only payoff for you the listener is that you really have to give this record your full attention. And does the modern world allow for that?
Whatever the band is singing about has undoubtedly left its mark on their music. Outside of the tremendous growl summoned up in DNA, they don’t sound as armour-plated as previous.
Don’t be put off by my jocular tone in this review; this is a great LP, it’s just a bit nuts: very much in the style of fellow Northern pranksters The Witch and the Robot or Ceramic Hobs.
I suppose a reference wouldn’t go amiss: musically we’re in lo-fi Tim Hecker territory, or even Earth, albeit an Earth armed solely with Casios and a bunch of pedals..
I should also mention that we were treated to a mock space battle with toy guns; (for this the hirsute and unfeasibly tall drummer placed a cardboard box on his head as a kind of robot head).
It’s an okay pop record by an act that could probably do a lot more if they tried stopping to please & used less phraseology.
I lean over to my long suffering colleagues and say “this is the best fusion of 1979 and 1989 you’ll hear” I still believe it. The set can be seen as a confirmation and a revelation, depending on how often you’d seen them.
There’s a real sureness of touch about C’Mon, which is hardly surprising I suppose…. Nothing is out of place and there’s no real rush to push the songs at the listener.
This record has all the makings of being a bloody good spacerock LP if only it let itself go, dropped its arrangements in a hedge and wildly strapped itself to a passing comet that split the ether with its playful tail.
This lad’s work is really, really great.
Kitchen sink dance music: experimental, grubby and not quite polished enough to be merely acceptable.
I’m guessing that his dad likes Jonathan Richman and lots of stuff like Joe Jackson or Beach Boys: in essence sunny and honest, open-hearted pop.
I am reminded of the words of one critic upon reviewing Joseph Heller's maddeningly magnificent mind-fuck of a novel, Catch-22. In what was intended as an insult but to me feels like an affirmation of Heller's approach the comment was made that it seemed "not so much written as shouted onto a page".
Fabulous, re-affirmative stuff and should be the sound of your summer.
This is a hell of a record: once you allow its subtleties to creep up on you, you will be addicted, mark my words.
The rule in Europe is that you finish your drink BEFORE you go into a bar. In N.A. it's the other way around. I am always amazed that such a simple change in thinking can have such a profound effect on the people you meet.