Robyn Writes

Review: Walleater – s/t

Bursting from the musically fertile breeding ground of Leeds, Walleater are a burgeoning bunch of plaid-clad youngsters armed with a plethora of effects pedals and a set of musical influences that is almost exclusively based in 90’s guitar music drawn from both sides of the pond. On their debut tape release, A Masking Aura, Walleater appeared for more infatuated by the vague song-construction and slacker lo-fi aesthetic of Pavement, to the extent that the tape featured a cover of Pavement’s ‘Grounded’.

Their latest self-titled EP is a logical continuation of their first musical outing – it’s more refined, at times more muscular and alternately delicate. Yet, it also exhibits moments of introspection and outbreaks of churning noise that remains synonymous with the shoegaze brigade and its current revival. Third track ‘Glow’ opens like an early Swervedriver jam, bearing clear lineage to the Oxford band’s equally expansive take on American alt-rock. But half-way through, the otherwise delicate and resplendent instrumental is submitted to a decimating yet resplendent rapture, where guitars open up like a hole in the clouds and flooding the song with a coruscating distortion that is quite spectacular. It’s a moment of pure aural bliss that was once perpetrated by the likes of psychedelic noise-niks Spacemen 3, indicating that Walleater, consciously or not, have swapped some of their wholly American, Stephen Malkmus-indebted slackerisms for the quintessentially British counterpart.

But Walleater have far from outright abandoned the apathetic stylings of their debut tape, the remaining three tracks continue to draw kinship with the immense guitar distortion of grunge and alternately, the shy and ultra-sensitive postulations of classic emo. Opener ‘Give In To Me’, the track most comparable to their A Masking Aura tape, posits a rather twee synth line over oceanic guitar distortion- providing perhaps the neatest embodiment of Walleater’s aural aesthetic. The vocals however, maintain their dispirited baritone although subtle harmonies in much of the record’s understated choruses impart some much needed depth and dimensionality to an otherwise incoherent mumbling. ‘Just A Boy’ and seven minute closer ‘What Do You Know?’, opening with delay-ridden clean guitar intros, maintain a similar coalescence of grunge and emo that marked out Balance & Composure’s early output before they decided to gear themselves squarely towards arena rock. Both tracks are sumptuous in their intimate delicacy, the band eschewing their penchant for hiding behind a mountain of impenetrable distortion to reveal themselves in a manner that’s more subtly affecting than the noisy maelstrom of ‘Glow’ and the grungey drive of ‘Give In To Me’.

Walleater maintains a brilliant balancing act between American and British manifestations of alternative guitar noise. There’s enough raw emotional subtly, stratospheric psychedelia and propulsive grunge to appeal to fans of each sphere. However, each track seems to belong exclusively to each of these camps to the extent that they could easily be labelled as “the emo song” or “the shoegaze song”. Walleater are a band still striving for a wholly unique sound and despite their array of guitar-based influences, they’re still yet to figure out how to blend their more abstract attributes with their equally affecting emo-isms. But until then, Walleater is still a fantastic little record of hushed introspection and expansive, blissed-out empyrean clamour.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Plebeian Grandstand – Lowgazers

Do you like your metal imbued with melody? Your breakdowns coveted by harmony? Your guitar solos harmonized by gorgeous major 5ths and subtle minor 7ths? If the answer to any of these queries is yes than well, Lowgazer simply ain’t your bag.

The latest release on the consistently brilliant Throatruiner Records by French melody-detesting quartet Plebeian Grandstand is nothing short of an aural bludgeon. It’s a record brimming with such unfathomable bile that those who purchase the vinyl version will be forced to adorn themselves with health and safety garb for fear of the record stomping on them and spitting in their face before brutishly strolling off to find the next victim of its puerile rage. Lowgazers arrives defiantly devoid of the slenderest amount of melody, instead sporting more tri-tones than you can shake a stick at and scattering them with such abundance as to mock the historical belief that their inclusion in music amounted to the equivalent of installing a “devil in the music”. The Toulouse four-piece draw upon just about every gnarly and malevolent derivative of extreme metal, throwing it all together in a singular maelstrom, a swirling cyclone of violent noise. Tracks are underpinned by the frantic blastbeats of black metal, whilst the guitars administer a rather unique blend of wrist-aching black metallic speed and dissonant open notes, occasionally slackening the speed into the murky realm of sludge.

Opener ‘Thvrst’ is resplendent in its sheer vitriol, guitars making it their duty to maintain a staunch dissonance, a duty that adamantly continues for the length of the record. Vocals abound with terrifying throaty screams, slicing through the instrumental tumult with piercing shrieks that surely leave vocal chords in tatters. Somewhat inevitably, the tracks coalesce into a singular frenetic blur of blastbeats and caustic furore, with difficulty arising in recognising when some tracks begin and end, even after repeated listens. In fact, the record exists as a singular barrage of satanic sound; largely unrelenting and upholding its manic intensity until a much needed mid-section respite. ‘Relief of Troth’ provides just that: relief. The two minute track marking the midway point for the album, a track of ambient noise that although unsettling, allows for a much needed break from the aural terror. ‘Svn in Your Head’ however, throws the listener right back into the fray with doom-laden feedback and a supremely sludgy, sloth-paced riff. Things soon return to their intense disposition on ‘Aimless Roaming’ whilst the album ends in the same fashion as it opens; in a veritable flurry of apocalyptic, discordant and hate-filled metal.

Lowgazer is a record of extremely limited appeal, but its sheer uncompromising audacity and intent on carving out some of the bleakest, most grating and extreme metal around deserves due recognition. It is a rare record, solely in terms of its breath-taking intensity and focus. Plebeian Grandstand aimed to make the most ruthless record they could fathom, and all credit to them, they have done just that.

3.5 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Vales – Wilt & Rise

A few years ago, four teenagers from Cornwall’s rugged coastline set out into the UK hardcore scene in a veritable flurry of fraught screamo and a commendable work ethic that defiantly belied the group’s collective youth. Through a prolific touring schedule and consistently impassioned performances, Vales garnered a respectable following in the blogosphere. Surprisingly, the band decamped to heady climes of LA to record an eagerly awaited full-length with the same producer who previously put to tape the screamo darlings Touché Amore. The hype steadily grew, the band poised to reach greater prospects, but then … silence. Vales dropped off the map for the better part of a year, the completed album lying dormant and the buzz they had sweated and bled so hard to garner seemed on the verge of dissipation.

But sure enough, Wilt & Rise, their debut full-length, has finally emerged from hibernation and by all accounts the extended wait is well worth the reward. Through its ten song repertoire, Vales demonstrate a tantalizing ferocity that hones much of chaos and wild furore of earlier releases into a different level of anger-fuelled song-craft. It remains a fervently bleak aural accompaniment to a fractured and decimated world, devoid of hope and future, a collective howl of anguish at a bewildering and alienating modern landscape. Uncompromising and unflinching, Wilt & Rise is positively bursting at the seams with almost unfathomable levels of emotional vitriol, embodied first and foremost in the larynx-shredding screams of vocalist Chlo, whose capacity for producing such consistently terrifying vocals is rather astounding. Around her, a savage storm of semi-melodic guitar and blistering drums are repeatedly whipped into a frenzy that’s breathtakingly intense, relenting only for a brief period of introspection on ‘Katrina’, the track acting like the eye of the very storm which bears the now infamous moniker. It’s a brief moment of reflective splendour but one that is crucial to the record’s brilliance, juxtaposing the savagery with measured beauty; it’s a much required breathing space to take stock before being plunged headfirst back into the cacophony.

Benefitting from a considerably higher production value than their previous releases, Vales are afforded new levels of depth and space to explore which they take full advantage of throughout Wilt & Rise. Closer ‘Waterfalls’ is an expansive demonstration of dynamic ability, the intensity fluctuating into a climactic close that bears resemblance to former touring partners Suis La Lune and their rather grandeur version of screamo. ‘White Horse’ and ‘Wildfire’ demonstrate similar levels of epic inclination, the former acting as the records high point of which almost every track is a genuine contender, it’s outro a passage of head-banging hardcore stomp.

Wilt & Rise is a record of true uncompromising brilliance. It doesn’t quite reinvent the screamo canon, instead it injects it with a dose of intensely aggressive hardcore that’s emphatically British in its bleak outlook. Aside from its tenacious ferocity, Wilt & Rise momentarily exudes a startling beauty, demonstrating that Vales are far from a one-dimensional band of pure unbridled anger. With a full-length finally tucked under their belts, Vales can only move onto greater prospects and rise through the hardcore ranks to reach levels of devotion that they so unequivocally deserve.

Review: Manhattan Coast – This One’s For You [EP]

Bursting forth from the incredibly lucrative musical valleys of South Wales in a flurry of hooks and faux-American nasal accents is five-piece Manhattan Coast. This One’s For You is an accomplished declaration of audacious intent, their collective aim angled firmly at producing that smash hit pop-punk single that will bring them success and the subsequent ubiquitous energy drink endorsement deal. In fact, every one of the five tracks included on the EP is riddled with traits that have brought success to every high achieving contemporary pop-punk band, to the extent that ‘This One’s For You’ acts as a checklist for generic pop-punk exponents. Incredibly nasal American accents that belie the band’s true geographical locality: check. Bouncy, major-key breakdowns: check. Huge choruses that more-or-less render the rest of the song irrelevant: check. A measured dose of backing vocal “woah-oh’s”: check.

To set aside my charcoal black heart for one moment, and ignore the acidic cynicism that spews from it like an overactive geyser, This One’s For You is pop-punk in its most concentrated form. A perfect melding of driving drums and choruses that live up to their intended purpose as aural fishing nets, designed to trap impressionable teens with volleys of hooks enacted by singer and guitarist in equal measure.

What’s more, This One’s For You proves just how little pop-punk has managed to progress. Despite a few bands – Don Broco for one, that have managed to at least attempt to incorporate the slightest amount of stylistic variation into their otherwise straightforward pop-punk opus – Manhattan Coast seem irrefutably trapped in a musical void circa 2007. Images of floppy side fringes and Topman v-necks abound.

They do everything that their sub-genre demands of them, and nothing more. In this respect, This One’s For You acts as a definitive genre study; a perfect and studious amalgamation of everything that popularized pop-punk, condensed into five streamlined tracks that should attain some sort of pop-punk perfection, given the hindsight Manhattan Coast are afforded to the pop-punk discourse. It’s fervently generic, the exact same formula being peddled by countless troupes of preened and idealistic lads in the UK’s toilet venues, still holding onto the dream that they can replicate the success of such arena filling bands as You Me At Six. To their credit, Manhattan Coast possess a keen ear for a catchy melody or two, but sadly none of the songs are particularly memorable affairs, despite their best efforts to the contrary. Opener ‘War On The Weekend’ is probably the most concerted effort, its chorus a radio-friendly exhibition of vocal histrionics and simplistic guitar melodies, sure to win the hearts of a swathe of fifteen year-old girls should it be granted airplay on Radio One. The rest however, never rise above average.

If you’re an ardent fan of pop-punk, Manhattan Coast will unquestionably appeal; for others, their generic and uninspired compositions leave a bland taste in the mouth.

2 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Crash Island – Strange Shores

Strange Shores is the spanking new EP from London quartet Crash Island; a delay-soaked exhibit of gloomy indie and confident yet pensive songwriting that shows tangible desire to ascend from the drudgery of toilet venue circulation. Comprising of three original tracks, a live acoustic version and pair of remixes, Strange Shores is intended as a showcase for several aspects of the band’s potential. Led by the radio-ready ‘Loved Ones’, the three original tracks offer glimmers of brilliance, with the chorus of ‘Loved Ones’ in particular striving for the anthemic.

To its detriment, Strange Shores suffers from an over-saturation of a single track: the aforementioned ‘Loved Ones’ – obviously, the song onto which the band’s hopes are pinned. Certainly, the song exhibits all the signifiers of a truly great indie song – a moody, atmospheric synthesizer intro giving way to a jittery, syncopated guitar meandering towards a chorus that offers distinct sing-along potential. In various guises, the track appears four times throughout the six song EP, including the pair of pretty dreadful remixes which half-heartedly attempt to transform ‘Loved Ones’ into an alternately generic dub-step and drum & bass workout. The results are paltry and haphazard, with the overfamiliarity and over-reliance on the single track on Strange Shores breeding nothing but contempt. ‘Let It Rain’ and ‘Across The Skyline’ are more promising offerings of the Crash Island repertoire, the latter sticking to a familiar structure of brooding intro and a driving, stomping chorus complete with staccato guitar stabs and those once ubiquitous disco drums that characterized late noughties indie rock. ‘Let It Rain’ on the other hand, is a cautiously optimistic indie rocker that sees the band enter a more indie-disco orientated territory; offering perhaps the most “tropical” outing with the lead guitar taking upmost inspiration from the characteristic exponent of Foals and their Afrobeat indebted high-fretboard staccato guitar lines.

As an EP, Strange Shores is undone by the overwhelming emphasis placed on a single track, undermining its impact as a bona fide lead single by reducing its otherwise catchy chorus into a fathomless mush by means of endless reiteration. It bears much similarity to the act of repeating a single word until it is devoid of meaning and becomes little more than a confusing and vague noise – a redundant sound. Heard individually, ‘Loved Ones’ has all the markings of the kind of stonking indie hit that gets Fearne Cotton vigorously salivating and consumed by hyperbole. On the other hand, serving no purpose other than the annoyance of the listener, the remixes demand to be omitted in favour of more engrossing original material.

2.5 out of 5 high fives!