Robyn Writes

Review: New Alaska – The Memoir Sings

Remember the old days? Long before MTV presented punk in the form of ultra-glossy mega hits containing juvenile profanity spouted by chubby dudes in ridiculous baggy pants grasping with every morsel of energy onto the fast-fading days of their twenties. Punk, in its various guises, used to reflect the grit and everyday drudgery of reality’s often grim and banal existence. It was an outlet into which every disaffection could be spewed out in a barrage of out-of-tune guitars and phlegm-ridden shouts of anti-right-wing socio-political slogans. New Alaska are not of the current era of well-groomed Topman clothes-horses – these so-called ‘punk’ bands with all their questionable energy drink sponsorship deals and hideous Youtube lyric videos. Snotty in the extreme, the West-Midlands troupe specialise in a brand of unapologetically brash punk that clatters and splutters its way forward showing scant regard for the odd bum note or rim shot mis-hit. The Memoir Sings, their five track battle cry, very much has the distinctly scuzzy feel of being recorded live in a garage on an old crusty four track.

All five tracks boast a flurry of skewed, angular guitar riffs that characterised much of the late 80’s DC scene whilst the lead shouter sports the kind of gobby, everyman-accented vocal delivery that harks back to the days when punk was at its most subversive, outwardly obnoxious and overtly anti-authoritarian. It’s resplendent in blasts of feedback and an uncompromisingly raw production style that would get Steve Albini a little hot under the collar. ‘This Is How To Start Fires’ is a savage opener, rollicking along at blistering pace with guitarists thrashing away at their long-suffering axes. Refusing to stop their unrelenting furore until the closing squeals of feedback at the tail end of ‘International Currencies’, New Alaska come across like noise rockers Unwound reeling off Minor Threat covers. You can almost smell the stale beer of toilet venues flowing through the speakers as they deliver their collections of tumultuous barrages in quick succession, without the slightest pause for breath.

The Memoir Songs is a brilliant, no holds barred reworking of off-kilter DC punk played at a furious and commendable pace. It would fit snuggly amongst the classic Dischord catalogue, in fact it sounds as though it was recorded in the legendary basement of Dischord house rather than the confines of Stourbridge. It’s as earnest and pure as any punk record you’re likely to find. A little caustic beaut.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Of Us Giants – Nova Scotia

Of Us Giants are an ambitious bunch. They may have only just dropped their debut record, Nova Scotia, but the Californian trio have their sights set on the big leagues, eyeing up the hallowed territory of Brand New’s paradoxically arena-sized intimacy. Here, you’ll find everything that usually propels a band from lower-tier act, to the top of radio playlists and the headlining slots of pop-punk package tours sponsored by energy drink companies.

You’d be forgiven for thinking the band was comprised of a few more members than a trio such is the density and power afforded to them by some rather polished high-end production. Distorted power-chords arrive in great walls of noise, with the producer obviously taking cues from Butch Vig’s Nevermind style explosive chorus formula- throwing layer upon layer of guitars and overdubs to make an impenetrable slab of noise that seems mixed exclusively for radio play. Laying the foundations for the melodically-inclined fretwork exists that ridiculously over-processed and de-humanized drum setup, eradicating any dynamic nuance in favour of a robotic punch found ubiquitously in the world of generic metalcore. Even in more subtle tracks such as ‘Stone Hands’, there’s that humungous snare, punching its way through the mix like a classic Simple Minds 80’s power ballad, robbing songs of any delicate touch.

From the pop-punk riff that opens the album on ‘Liars’, Of Us Giants lay down the gauntlet. They want to be your favourite band. In fact, they pretty much demand it. How can you resist? Tracks like ‘Liars’ are chock full of every signifier of pure emotional vitriol associated with anthemic pop-rock. Firstly, there’s the crowd-favourite “woah-ohs”, a standard pop-punk exponent and tried-and-tested gimmick that’s sure to make any track sound epic, right? Secondly, there’s the huge emphasis on every chorus, found most overtly in ‘Take It Home’, which all but makes the verses redundant such is the amount of energy and passion exerted during those overwrought climaxes. Thankfully, there do exist some intimate moments such as the tender intro to ‘Dying’ or the folky strumming of ‘Nova Scotia’ but ultimately these somewhat inevitably segue into those huge choruses these Californian lads are so fond of. On two tracks- ‘Iron Boat’ and the title track, vocalist Dustin Andrew’s duets with the rather soothing voice of Lindsey Pavao, semi-finalist on the US version of The Voice, by the way. The result is largely successfully affecting vocal trade-off with some rather lovely harmonies although Pavao can’t resist a bout of fittingly overblown vocal showboating at the conclusion of ‘Nova Scotia’.

Despite their best intentions, there’s something a little too contrived and self-consciously anthemic about their sound. Every chorus is treated as a moment of hands in the air euphoria. It’s a bold move, treating your first album like the gateway to stadium rock hierarchy. But what Of Us Giants seem to be ignorant to, is that the allure of most of these stadium bands is the journey they took to get there, the grind of the toilet circuit and the character building it asserts, the struggle to find that unique aspect that only arrives through constant development and evolution in songwriting. Biffy Clyro went through a decade of transmuted weirdness before they started to gain even the slightest prospect of achieving the arena status they very much deserved. Brand New faced torturous writing sessions and a complete reworking of their sound before they arrived at the level of rabid devotion they now instil in a legion of sensitive souls. On Nova Scotia, Of Us Giants have prematurely declared themselves stadium bound and unleashed their big breakthrough album. In sidestepping the growing pains that define bands worthy of their arena status, Of Us Giants arrive devoid of an endearing charm.  Although there’s no doubting their ability to pen some truly monstrous and memorable rock tracks, here they’re simply trying too hard and employing every enthralling device of their heroes in a manner that is intrinsically false.

2.5 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Walleater – A Masking Aura [EP]

What if Stephen Malkmus wasn’t such an arbitrator of trashy lo-fi noise? What if, instead of fiddling around with his vintage four-track recorder, he indulged in the odd delay pedal? What if, instead of his apathetic stream-of-conscious drawl, he adopted an Ian Curtis-via-Texas partially indeterminable mumbled baritone? Well then, he’d be pretty much ripping off Walleater, that’s what. A Masking Aura is three songs, including one cover, of some darn fine mid-90’s American indie. Despite the ‘Grounded’ cover, this isn’t simply a paean to Pavement – or indeed, the fathomless quantity of obscure alternative rock acts that together formed the post-grunge US indie movement. Walleater offer much more than a dose of squalling guitar and lashings of self-conscious defeatist irony. In fact, much of their melody-driven delayed guitars place the band in an oddly similar territory to the so-called ‘Wave’ bands that brought US hardcore into a more cerebral and Tumblr-friendly state of being. Indeed, ‘Pig Pen’ would sit comfortably on an early Balance & Composure E.P with its highly emotive guitar bends and down-tempo grungey intro riff underpinned by that half-mumbled baritone. ‘Peel’ however, is all about layers of noise – great blocks of chaotic, distorted sound sliced through by the simple melody line of an exceedingly cheap synthesizer. If it weren’t for the cloud of fuzz surrounding the track, accusations of ‘tweeness’ wouldn’t be wholly ungrounded. Thankfully, there’s a solid wall of guitar noise to dispel such fears.

They may embody much of the rollicking slacker aesthetic of Pavement’s four-track indie, yet also exhibited are inklings of distinct inward-facing existential postures that characterised the moping army of effects pedal aficionados commonly referred to as the ‘Shoegaze’ movement. Projected onto ‘Grounded’, their treatment of the originally stark instrumentation is here smothered in noise, the chorus beefed-up with a great slab of distorted guitar. Elevating his baritone, the vocalist adopts his best Malkmus impression- mimicking the slacker pin-ups idiosyncratic stuttered vocal delivery on the verses as well as the wails of the expansive chorus.

Within these three tracks, Walleater exist between a number of styles and aesthetics, firmly refusing to wholeheartedly commit to any. This may leave the band as a somewhat logical amalgamation of influence, but they’re a thoroughly engrossing prospect perpetrating a dense noise-feast that doesn’t shy away from clear-cut melodies or more rocky inclinations.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Review: The Hand In The Ocean – Tree/Forts

For better or for worse, folk has emerged once again to the fore of popular music, infiltrating not just the charts but the upper echelons of rock festival line-ups and manifesting in the irksome trend for faux-Victorian apparel. A last bastion of supposed ‘authenticity’ against the convoluted sheen of the EDM behemoth, it has introduced traditional music to a whole new generation of fans otherwise beset by technology and the omnipresence of the digital. All male trio The Hand In The Ocean are yet another set of tweed loving twenty-somethings armed with banjos and a large catalogue of open tunings. Sparse in instrumentation and bearing a tumultuous emotionality, their self-recorded mini-album Tree/Forts is a highly tolerable strain of contemporary folk with a lyrical rawness that’s far removed from any of that thumping Mumford & Sons folk-pop tripe. This is far from another bandwagon jumping record, bearing little evidence of the contrivance that besets the like of chart-botherers Ben Howard and the like. Instruments meander at an often languorous pace – for the most part unaccompanied by rhythmic device in a manner that suggests a stream-of-consciousness application of finger to fretboard.Tree/Forts conjures a late night atmosphere, as if the members are expelling the last remnants of energy in carving out the intricate lead melodies before they collapse into extended slumber. It’s a rejectionist record- resisting the lumbering zeitgeist through a continuation of tradition.

Acknowledgement of quintessential 21st Century sounds make a single appearance on the record in the guise of the heavily R&B indebted hand-clap beat that closes the beautiful ‘Brackish’, a track that initially brims with a propulsive gusto before beating hasty retreat to the languid delivery that characterises the record. Existing as sole permeation of contemporary influence into their otherwise stringent traditionalism, the handclaps may initially appear incongruous but their low key delivery saves them from spoiling the bleary-eyed atmosphere the three-piece have carefully constructed.

‘Moss Wine’ is characterised by a whispered, spoken vocal indebting the listener with an immediate sense of intimacy with the protagonist’s digressions, ostensibly directed at his unnamed lover as a lone guitar delivers the most minimal of accompaniments. The segue into ‘White Noise’ is sublime, with guitar and banjo united in grainy twang before the entrance of some severely quivering vocals that sound as if the vocalists throat cannot help but buckle under the emotional weight of every melancholy phrase. A single backing baritone vocal adds a haunting quality and effective depth to the otherwise frail vocal delivery. Bringing the record to a close is the mournful ‘Porcelain’ – the achingly slow tempo leaving plenty of space for a tremolo-picked banjo and isolated xylophone to dabble in exquisite melodies over a backdrop of sampled rain. It may be sombre and emotionally pained but the closing minute or so offers glimmers of hope in the xylophones heavenly chimes and a renewed vigour that takes hold in the singer’s once fragile vocal.

Tree/Forts is a record of simplicity- exploring possibilities of just two or three instruments under a folk guise. Certainly, there are times when the record’s meandering sensibilities work against it – with the trio sticking resolutely to the same aural plain throughout. Yet, it is wonderfully earnest and exudes the favoured cabin-in-the-woods aesthetic that folkies just can’t resist. This is folk in its purest form – raw and stark yet exuding a certain alluring warmth felt only by the soul.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Elizabeth – Insomnia [EP]

From the shadow of imposing snow-capped Alpine mountains emerges Elizabeth; kicking and screaming in a tumultuous flurry of grating hardcore. The Geneva band have only been in existence since 2009 but have already built an impressive reputation as stringent road warriors, hitting clubs across a wide diaspora – from the frozen steppes of St Petersburg to the Marxist tropical time warp of Havana. On their spanking new EP Insomnia, such unwavering dedication to touring is matched by some exceedingly tight musicianship not to mention an almost unfathomable amount of focussed aggression. Insomnia is four tracks of relentless aural barbarity, thundering drums and guitar work that’s alternately abrasive and crushing. It’s an unforgiving sound that finds natural allies in a number of fellow Euro bands and takes cues from Rise & Fall; it finds an affinity in those that are able to grasp ideas from outside of the usual banal hardcore repertoire, twisting their sound into untapped forms of musical savagery.

There’s an instant vocal resemblance to the inhuman guttural bark of Converge’s Jacob Bannon, who in turn form another tangible influence on these angry boys from Geneva. ‘Cemetery Feeling’ bristles which unorthodox guitar noise. After the intro riff of muddied bass, guitarist Charly scrapes and scratches across the strings with barely comprehensible speed as the rest of the band steam along at the outer limits of their beats-per-minute capabilities. ‘Created Enemies’ is equally relentless in its propulsive drive, vocalist Javier smattering the maelstrom with specks of lung as he proceeds to shred his vocal chords into tatters. ‘Danger’ continues the destruction, upping the intensity levels with a blizzard of almost melodic guitar but the best is saved for the EP’s death throws on the sublime dynamism of ‘Ravens’. Here, clean guitar lines dance along in a way unseen since the idiosyncratic yet underachieving weird-core of the sadly defunct Crocus. A round of barbed blast-beats brings the record to a premature conclusion after a breath-taking eight minutes of precision brutality.

Elizabeth’s brand of chaotic hardcore, delivered with an inch-thick crust, may be derivative in many respects. The band however, deserve the upmost credit for their impeccable musicianship and the sheer ferocity of the unrelenting terror conjured with such finesse. Elizabeth can sit proudly amongst the ever brilliant roster of bands on Throatruiner, for Insomnia is an exemplary artefact of twisted hardcore.

4 out of 5 high fives!