Archive for the ‘Singles and EPs’ Category

26th January 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

The Hull scene has been simmering nicely for some time, and it’s a great advertisement for deprivation and off-the-track locations being melting posts for dark underground creativity.

We may have bid farewell to Chambers and Cannibal Animal, but Hull continues to throw up a wealth of dark and noisy bands, and while Low Hummer have been making some serious headway, along with BDRMM, there’s no shortage of acts emerging behind them, with Besdit making rapid progress recently.

The name is a fair summary. Anyone who as ever endured bedsit living will relate to the claustrophobic sensation of confined living. Bedsits -appropriately – carry connotations of meagreness, of low-budget gloom, and Bedsit really do convey that sense of claustrophobia.

The four-piece’s latest offering, ‘Dead Bands’, is the lead and title track from their upcoming EP, which follows up on 2020’s Pocket Toy EP. It’s a step up from the lo-fi grunge metal production of its predecessor, and sees the band consolidated on that blueprint, leaping from rough diamonds ready for development to something lean and mean, and dense and taut and truly outstanding.

It’s not just the production: the composition, the playing, the vocals, the lot – they’ve not sold out and gone super-slick by any means, but ‘Dead Bands’ is a dark, dense amalgamation of post-punk and grunge, and while it may be a celebration of bands gone before, it sounds pretty bleak in its mid-tempo, bass-driven way, paired with baritone vocals that border on the gothic. It’s a combination of the sound of 1985 and the sound of 1993 and it’s dark and its heavy, but it’s magnificently realised with some killer riffage and some blistering, blustery guitars squall and scream their way to the end.

There’s no joy to be found here, but it’s a glorious exercise in dark nihilism that has to be my single of the year so far.

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3rd February 2023

Christopher Nosnibor

Aural Aggro regulars Sleep Kicks make a welcome return with their latest offering, ‘Words in Vain’. With a rumbling bassline and busy, effects-heavy guitars that soar tremulously, the opening bars of ‘Words in Vain’ smashes together The Fall’s take on ‘Jerusalem’ and Editors’ ‘Bullets’ – cathedrals of sound underpinned by an earthy thud, and this is one of those expansive, gut-pulling new-wave revival tunes in the vein of the early 2000s – think Interpol, Editors, White Lies – and it’s taut and evocative. There’s an emotional depth to the vocals, but there’s more than that: everything feels tightly packed and tense. And I can’t deny that I’m a sucker for that.

What is it about the post-punk template that endures? Why do these goth-tinged tunes have so much bite? It’s not simply nostalgia: hell, I was hardly born when this sound emerged in the late 70s and early 80s, and suspect that the turn of the millennium crop – the revivalists – were inspired by listening to their parents’ collections. And what goes around comes around, meaning the new bands emerging, in their twenties, have likely discovered the noughties revivalists via their own parents. But why do these cycles emerge?

I can’t help but suspect thee socio-political landscape has a fair bit to do with it. Rocketing inflation – not to mention strikes, droughts, and floods – mean parallels to the 70s are being drawn in the media, and for obvious and justified reasons. Social and economic troughs bring frustration, despondency, despair – and music which reflects that mood.

As troughs go, this is a deep one; we’re looking as escalating war and nuclear threat – same as in the early 80s – insane inflation and mass deprivation – with extreme climate, flooding, etc., etc, on top. People can’t afford to exist, let alone to live. And when things hit the bottom, art invariably rises to reflect the mood and present the voice of the zeitgeist.

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20th January 2023 – New Heavy Sounds

Christopher Nosnibor

Back in November, we showcased Death Pill’s ‘Расцарапаю Ебало’ – because it’s a killer tune. And now, ahead of the release of their eponymous debut album, out next month, the Ukrainian all-female trio have served up a second single, ‘Miss Revolt.’

There are three things which are particularly striking about it.

The first is context: the press release explains how ‘The band’s album was recorded before the war started but the majority of it was mixed while the invasion was going on and the band are also now all spread out with Mariana staying in Kyiv, while the other two are in Spain in Australia.’ This doesn’t just show a dogged determination on their part, but also highlights just how media coverage and representations of the war in Ukraine fail to convey so much of the reality of life – and how despite it all, life goes on. In the face of such adversity, and now geographical dispersement, it may seem to some that pressing on with releasing music is insane. But it makes perfect sense. Creativity for some is the only way to cling on to life and sanity. And the album is set for release on the 24th February 2023, perhaps fittingly a year to the day that Russia invaded Ukraine.

The second is content. Yes, it was recorded prior to the invasion, but ‘Miss Revolt’ is nevertheless an angry song about social rejection and the difficulties of peer groups and growing up. It’s real and it’s relatable and while I’m past that stage in my life – mostly now – thee pain of those formative years never truly leaves you, and as such, it speaks to adolescents present and past.

The third is that it’s a blistering guitar-driven punk racket absolutely popping with energy and ferocity. It’s loud, it’s abrasive, and it’s all over in under a minute and a half. It’s a raw-throated blast of roaring fury with churning guitars and drumming so fast as to cause whiplash. Hard and heavy, it’s fast, fiery, ferocious, and absolutely killer.

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Loyal Blood Records – 9th December 2022

Christopher Nosnibor

When the shit builds to a tsunami, your laptop’s fucked and all you want to do is curl into a ball and forget absolutely everything, noise is the answer. It’s not a cry for help or even a public moan as such, but sometimes it all gets a bit much. The little thing accumulate to the point where they’re a big thing. You feel weak for letting it escalate like that, but it’s sudden. One minute, everything is ok, and ticking along nicely, the next, you’re suddenly overwhelmed.

Having recently experienced a mammoth rush of excitement on discovering Mammock, I’m buzzing all over again having been introduced to another bunch of noisy fucks, namely Hammock. These guys really aren’t into slouching about, and their debut is tense, wired, and packs some furious energy.

The press release tells me that ‘They sound pissed, frustrated and rebellious, and play their instruments with a nasty intensity and nihilistic ferocity. Imagine a mix of Unsane, Chat Pile and Pissed Jeans and you’ll get a pretty good idea of how these youngsters sound like.’ Obviously, I’m sold before I hear a note, and have to say it’s a fair summary of their seven-song set (although the first and last, ‘Intro’ and ‘outro’ respectively are what their titles imply, bookending five back-to-back blasts of riotous racket, all of which clock in between two and a quarter and a fraction over three minutes. They really do keep it tight and punchy, and pack a lot of abrasive noise into those short sharp adrenaline shots.

The vocals are distorted, shouted, gritty, and are pithed against guitars that crash in from all angles – hefty slabs and thick chunks of distortion collide against scribbly, scratchy runs of broken math-rock noodles, while the bass snarls around and booms darkly and the drums roll like thunder, as exemplified on lead single ‘J.D.F.’

It’s jarring, fast-paced, and buzzes and roars, and it’s not just noise – there are some smart bits and pieces all bouncing about in the mix, often happening all at once. It is, at times, bewildering, but above all, it’s awe-inspiring.

There’s a moment around forty-five seconds into ‘Contrapoint’ where the bass and guitars both kick into a monster riff and it punches you right between the eyes as a ‘fucking yesssss!!’ moment that absolutely seals the EP as a bona fide belter.

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18th November, 2022

James Wells

Perhaps I’m sensitive. Perhaps I’m just aware, attuned. But certain phrases trip me. And on reading ‘Everything You See Is Mine’ I feel my skin crawl a little. Something about it says power trip, something about it says control, something about it says manipulation, something about it says shades of wrong. It’s not something that explicitly makes its way through the music, but then, who do you trust?

This gnarly four-tracker is a furious frenzy of high-octane, uptempo industrial that draws many cues from early NIN with snarling electronica driving things hard from the get-go, with first song, ‘Soft’ being anything but as driving electronica slams home with the kind of abrasion that blasts the chest. It’s a strong start to a release that tapers off rather after that initial blast.

‘Wasp Factory’ – which I like to think tips a nod to Ian Banks’ debut – goes a bit emo and hints a bit awkwardly at Linkin Park and then the last song, ‘Only Skin’ brings a satisfying trudging crunch but also an unexpectedly accessible vibe, as it drives the EP home to its conclusion.

It’s not as dark or hard as all that and perhaps isn’t the dominant sneer the title suggests, but Everything You See Is Mine is certainly not an entirely accessible attack either. One to explore.

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6th January 2023

James Wells

In my youth, I considered the likes of The Wonder Stuff and The Levellers to be ‘Indie Folk’, being, y’know, bands that were equal parts indie and folk, but apparently, I was mistaken, as the ever-reliable Wikipedia informs me that the former were al alternative rock band and the latter are folk rock. You live and learn, eh?

Indie folk, then, is Eliot Smith, Kristin Hersh, The Magnetic Fields, and Marc Todd. It’s a good job I did my research before making any judgement of Marc Todd, and I suppose there are hints of Magnetic Fields about ‘I Got Life’. It is, at least to my ear, more psychedelic than folk, but it’s an easy-going little tune, an easy-strumming, rolling melody with positive lyrics. There’s nothing demanding about it, but then, I guess for many, life’s demanding enough.

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Marc Todd Artwork

28th December 2022

Christopher Nosnibor

These bloody goths, still thinking it’s 1985 and all wanting to be The Sisters of Mercy, in their black garb, wide-brimmed hats, shades, mooning around in churches and graveyards, still churning out tunes with spindly guitar with loads of chorus and flange, with deep, growly vocals crawling over thumping drum machines and four-quare basslines that rip off Craig Adams. They’re all so bloody po-faced, and even when they’re being humorous or ironic they deliver it in such a straight way it’s impossible to tell if they are actually being humorous or ironic or just naff.

And that’s part of the enduring appeal of bands like Cathedral In Flames. You know what you’re going to get, within a fairly narrow margin. It wasn’t really until the 90s wave of goth emerged that this was really a thing, so many of the contemporary goth bands with an ‘old-school’ sound more as if they’re channelling the likes of Suspiria and Children on Stun than The Sister or Siouxsie, and since most can’t register the same low-end as Andrew Eldritch, end up sounding more Cark McCoy for the most part.

Genre history and pedantry aside, ‘Not Another Vampire Song’ (somewhat ironic and humorous) follows the release of their cover of Nick Cave And The Bad Seeds’ ‘The Weeping Song’ (not ironic or humorous), and ‘The lyrics poke fun at typical gothic rock themes as well as stories of closed rock clubs and churches’:

“The song is based on a memory of the nineties, when we used to travel (not only to play) around Bohemia, and after a night of drinking we would go the next morning to the only place that was open (on Saturday or Sunday) at that time, so to church.”

They’ve got John Fryer (Fields of The Nephilim, Peter Murphy, Nine Inch Nails) on board to produce this new material, and credit where it’s due, it suits it well. It’s a solid tune, too, and with its grainy, vintage-looking promo video, it does look and sound for all the world like one of those tracks from obscure 80s also- rans that crop up on compilations of The Sisters and The Mission like that started doing the rounds in about 87 or 88. It’s about as far as you can get from revolutionary, but in terms of delivering what they set out to achieve, it’s Mission accomplished.

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James Wells

You’ll always find black metallers and pagan neofolkers in the woods. I don’t mean that whenever I go for a walk in woods near me that I happen upon people in cloaks and corpse paint lumbering around clutching instruments, but how often do you see a video where they’re exploring scenes of urban squalor or even indoors? Do you think any of them would last a winter out there – or even a night? Could they construct a shelter, do you think? Could they light a fire, or spear some wild creature to feed themselves, in those threads?

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I’d wager not, but Canadian trio Hem Netjer seem more the type to venture into the woods to commune with nature than to live as part of it, and the video captures them meditative contemplative, cross-legged on a large rock.

The last single from their forthcoming debut album, The Song Of Trees, scheduled for release at the end of February 2023, ‘Elemental Cry’ is dark yet somehow celebratory, with dense synths swirling about a thumping tribal beat and overlaid with tense strings and a soaring vocal performance.

The atmosphere is thick and murky, the production favouring the lower and mid-ranged that give the track an earthy feel, and it’s bold and cinematic and it doesn’t really matter if some of it feels a shade cliché with its lyrics about death and trees and moths, because it’s a ‘big’ tune in every way, not just the fact it’s almost six minutes long, and RavenRissy’s vocals are more operatic than folk, and are outstanding and send a shiver down the spine.

A strong song with a strong message, ‘Elemental Cry’ is pretty powerful work that reaches the primal depths of the psyche and speaks to senses long lost in the name of ‘progress’.

Christopher Nosnibor

If the pandemic gave us anything other than Acute paranoia, it’s a lot of new bands. Who’d have thunk it?

This of course highlights just how different the lockdown experience was for people, dispelling the idea that we shared a collective suffering during those months. Many suffered the lack of an income, but many revelled in the newfound time available to them. Some of us, for better or for worse, got to continue to work full-time remotely while also having to squeeze in home-schooling.

Captain Zero was another band who formed during lockdown, when the tones of ‘dirty fuzz bass batterer Steve James (Geisha, Steveless) were gently dripped into the earholes of David Edgar (The Get-Outs, Superseed) and beat basher Keith Hall (Big Joan, Flag Fen)’ And the tale goes that ‘It wasn’t long before they all got in a darkened room together, turned their amps up to 6.5 and began smelting demonic demos into a fistful of filthy rock n roll bangers.’

These are the realities of forming a band and actually making music, but Captain Zero do a great job of hiding that 6.5 amp level on ‘Bullseye’, an absolutely blistering rager of a track with thick, fiery riffs and gnarly as their beards.

Bullseye’ is a dense metal trudge and grit and heft that’s a blast of blistering hardcore punk that’s got hints of 90s Ministry and the entirety of the grunge scene compressed into a nutshell. It’s a belter.

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12th December 2022

Christopher Nosnibor

The eponymous debut EP by South Carolina indie pop-rock duo The Yets is steeped in the tropes of quintessential vintage alternative pop, absorbing a range of influences, while keeping a clear eye on classic and ultimately accessible forms – embracing Fleetwood Mac and Cocteau Twins in equal measure, as the press release suggests with remarkable accuracy.

Robin Wilson has a superb voice, delicate, emotive, easy on the ear, and at the same time rich and gutsy. It’s key to the sound of The Yets, and the six songs on this debut EP really showcase both her versatility and that of their songwriting.

There’s a weird booming sound – not quite a beat, not quite a bass note – that cuts through the mellow drift of ‘Waterline’, and it’s one of those things that once you’re attuned to it, you can’t detune, like the duck in Whigfield’s ‘Saturday Night’ or the cowbell on ‘Don’t Fear the Reaper’, but if you can ignore it, it’s a superbly-executed song with a clean guitar chug that keep it moving along nicely while the lead guitar chimes and washes melodically.

‘Remember’ is perfection, a layered, easy alt-rock tune that’s Fleetwood Mac’s ‘Dreams’ and it floats along in a dreamy drift that closes out with a delicate guitar solo.

They strip things right back for ‘Lesser Evil’, which swings between brooding indie and moody post-punk with hints of Siouxsie, before spinning into ethereal shoegaze territory on the dreamy ‘Letter to a Boy’, which really does find the band revelling in the misty ethereal shadows of Cocteau Twins.

‘Fades to Grey’ makes an obvious reference to Visage, and the band’s 80s leanings are on clear display, but that’s where the connection severs: this is a smooth, atmospheric rippling piece with chiming, echo-heavy guitar that owes much to Disintegration-era Cure, and ‘Happy Now’ builds on that thickly atmospheric sound with a loping rhythm and layers of vocals that really fill out the sound as the guitars and it’s the most overtly goth song of the set.

With a broad pallet of tuneful wistfulness and textured, layered instrumentation, coupled with some smart and sensitive production, The Yets have landed with a seriously accomplished debut: there’s a lot happening here, and there’s a significant range but at the same time a cohesive feel to it.

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The Yets 4 - photo by Gordon Backman

Photo: Gordon Backman