When this premiered in 2005 I wrote it off as poor use of a good name, which was likely enlisted by a crew of white belt, droopy angle banged, vapid "guit as jewelry" three-day stubble Strokes apes. You know the variety: Fashion > Form & Feeling. All adorned in well-coiffed, purposeful disarray.
So this here record... yeah it snuck up on me. On a whim I gave it a shot. I'd not read a thing about it, me being typically skeptical of music made by people who were sucking their momma's dick when I first strapped on a Guild copy. Really good music is like 76% attitude. And this groop's got the tood. They're breaking no new ground musically but are honest purveyors of that giddy happiness which comes with playing your own music and they do so with a sardonic/snotty, Mark E. Smith "I-fart-in-your-general-direction" chutzpah. And often they're so dryly funny you gotta hit rewind to recap the premise to the joke.
There's hope for the kids!
(Also, can someone identify for me the imprint/publisher who used the design upon which this album cover is based for their paperbacks?)
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Pitchforkmedia: When you start to measure the amount of music you listen to in gigabytes and jumbo-size Case Logics, it's easy to forget the awesome power of the simple declarative statement. Nothing against all those 30-piece ensembles, nautically focused concept albums, intricate field-recording pastiches, and three-hour drum circles that dominate our musical neighborhood, but sometimes it's refreshing to hear a band maximally juicing a single sentiment down to two-minute concentrate. Meet South London's Art Brut: They're here to fill that vacancy.
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1 comment:
Looks like some Penguin paperbacks I have. Is there a prize?
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