Robyn Writes

Review: Little Big League – These Are Good People

Harking back to the US indie scene of the 1990’s, Little Big League demonstrate that there is still plenty of potential for creativity and exploration within their respective genre of raw and consistently melodic indie punk. Little Big League are riddled with quirks, manifesting in the effortless interplay between the two rough-hewn guitars- but their biggest quirk is also their most appealing and fascinating, a secret weapon of sorts that elevates the band exponentially. The focal point of Little Big League is undoubtedly Michelle Zauner’s voice – stocked with idiosyncratic tics and diametrically opposed to convention, her words leap across the aural palette to startling effect. Flitting between saccharine hushed tones and almost violent projections, she freely allows her voice to break and oscillate at will- her enchanting versatility knowing no boundary and ultimately, carrying the potential to polarize the band’s listenership. It is undoubtedly attention grasping, with Zauner’s bluesey and anguished vocal histrionics sounding like Brittany Howard of Alabama Shakes fame doing her best Patti Smith impression. For a mannerism that could all too easily eclipse any other aspect of a band’s output, the remaining members of Little Big League are still able to assert themselves against Zauner’s intimidating lung capacity, for the most part avoiding any notion of faceless backing band to her fascinating performance.

In true 90’s fashion, suspended above the rather sublimely orchestrated instrumentation, looms an air of resignation, of defeatism and surrender to oppressing forces that is so common in the psyches of young people whose idealism has been quashed by the brutal and inescapable Western capitalist syndrome. These Are Good People manages to pinpoint the moment of comprehension at the unrealised dreams of adolescence which, sadly, will remain an applicable point of strife for many. Despondent it may be, the gloom is not overwrought, embellished subtly in the minor key arrangements and existing as a lingering periphery that the band bring in to focus in affecting brilliance on tracks such as ‘Settlers’. Elsewhere a foreboding darkness is conjured at the intro to ‘Sportswriting’, looming like a distant wave of depression that is instantly vanished by the arrival of Zauner’s coruscating vocal- cleansing the music any denying darkness an opportunity to take hold.

Not until the closing section of final track ‘Never Have I Walked Away When The Time Was Right’ does the band loosen their well-honed melodic and often spritely fretwork with a thick dose of abrasive distortion that arrives as a slight shock after the lighter, more measured and melodically centred instrumentation.

Little Big League should be more than proud of their debut, a record of unorthodox beauty that despite remaining grounded in the defeatist attitudes and musical practices of their 90’s punk forbearers, contains some thoroughly unique elements: no less Zauner’s much lauded vocal. It’s a genuinely brilliant aural venture encapsulated within an endearingly punk production quality. Despite the lack of outright vitriol, the contempt for social realities is as palpable as any pissed off and downtrodden hardcore band could muster. Instead of a raucous bloody-faced affair, Little Big League subvert the punk penchant for superfluous anger, Zauner’s vocal harbouring an outrage beyond articulation, yet oddly understandable. Coherent in its overall vision and riveting in its execution.

4.5 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Senile Crocodile – s/t [EP]

From England’s post-industrial chip shop heaven of Hull emerges a strange, multi-coloured beast sporting three equally frazzled heads to whom the concept of ‘bizarre’ is an end in itself. Through every abstract hook and outlandish riff, Senile Crocodile make it impeccably clear that weird is what they strive for. Citing influences as disparate and oddball as Captain Beefheart, White Denim and, um … Gong (who are up there with the likes of Yes etc. as one of the least cool bands ever) there seems little possibility that their debut E.P would turn out to be anything other than an eyebrow-raising curiosity.

Foremost, the record exists as a refreshing blast of unrestrained musical dexterity, unperturbed by any sense of self-consciousness and wrought with an abundance of humour. It exists as the antithesis to the warbling drivel and XX derivatives that spew unceasingly from Radio One – all striving for some degree of poignancy through a trite reverb inflicted minimalism that exudes all the carefree joviality of an accountancy conference in Kettering.

At the core of Senile Crocodile’s adventurous musicality lies a paradox, a conflict of interest that exists between the two sonic palettes the trio have flung together with wild abandon and a juvenile mischief. The foundations upon which the band build their wonky, unorthodox dirges are pure garage rock – the genre that celebrates rawness and simplicity, with pretension and overt-embellishment as subject of scorn. Meanwhile, Senile Crocodile’s ingrained oppositional stance melds the rough-hewn primal howl of garage rock with prog’s excess and penchant for fantasy. The jumbled array of reference points are further twisted resiliently into a pop context that ignores traditional song-structure in favour of a songwriting approach that seems to view any repeating motifs or outright choruses as a kind of weakness.

Somewhat predictably, everything sounds incredibly disjointed, with varying sections seemingly placed next to each other on a whim, riffs pasted together, lurching between ideas. ‘Five Year Plan’ mutates from up-tempo garage pop into a psychedelic haze, the apparent quirkiness of the intro dissolving into bleary-eyed noise-gasm via a detour into off-beat indie-dance drums. ‘Voyager’ and ‘Modem’ each seem to consist of two short songs that have been unwillingly joined together- the first section a squirming pop-infliction, the second an instrumental piece that descends into expansive psychedelia. The pattern recurs on ‘Terms and Conditions’, the first section amounting to a perfect little pop tune before being subjected to Senile Crocodile’s favoured method of splicing together disparate riffs, to questionable effect.

The trio seem to suffer from a serious case of ADHD, always fiddling away and unable to focus on a particular mood or motif for longer than twenty seconds before shooting in the opposite direction in recurring bursts of energy and incomplete ideas. Senile Crocodile are certainly an acquired taste, the group’s insistence to cram as many riffs into the songs sees most of the tracks beset by exhaustive fret-based tomfoolery that yearns for an ounce of self-control to be instilled. Yet Senile Crocodile manage to remain more than simply a sum of their influences – idiosyncrasies are certainly realised, but their overall impact, coupled with their disorientating song-layout is hard to latch on to. Ultimately, a curiosity that fails to hit a nerve.

2 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Ivy League (TX) – Transparency

Transparency is the big contender for sure-fire underground punk rock hit of the year.  It comes armed to the teeth with pit-inducing riffs and a cross-over appeal that bridges the nasal tones of pop-punk and the focused aggression of hardcore.  The Boston-based punk trio of Ivy League have successfully melded together everyone’s favourite bits of two of punk’s most contemporarily popular sub-genres into one wholly unoriginal yet still enticingly visceral little gem of an album.  Crammed into its brief running time are eleven blistering punk exultations, each song a flurry of energy perfect for stage-dives with enough melody bleeding through the propulsive punk for some serious sing-along potential.

 

Gone are the band’s previous ramshackle tendencies accentuated by an endearingly rough-hewn production.  Now, bolstered by a fuller sound and pop-punk sheen courtesy of contemporary pop-punk’s go-to producer Paul Miner, Transparency showcases Ivy League as a ‘proper’ and fully rounded prospect.

 

Comparisons to acts such as The Story So Far as well as a host of American punk acts (Title Fight etc.) are inevitable, with Ivy League joining a swelling scene of sound-a-likes, each possessing a particular fondness for laying their emotional grievances on the table over fast-as-fuck tempos.  There’s little on Transparency to mark Ivy League as a fully unique act amongst a vast diaspora of bands who proliferate minute nuances on the same basic idea, yet the conviction instantly tangible in the vocalist’s quasi-melodic bite coupled with the sheer unadulterated energy that oozes from every pore of the record, marks it as one of the finest executions of the style in question.  The guitar lines such as that which make up the joyous instrumental nugget ‘Egress’ are daftly catchy whilst the intense power chord crunch that makes up the base of most tracks has enough volatility to garner the appeal of the pickiest of hardcore kids.  ‘All My Skeletons’ features a melodramatic yet interesting closing passage- hushed backing vocals offering a rare break from the group’s potent charging energy in.  What’s more, to top it all off, the lyrics are jostling to become the Tumblr fodder of many an awkward teen.

 

Ivy League have done nothing to advance the ageing sub-genre of pop-punk, they simply enact the tender lyric/hostile instrumentation juxtaposition with more finesse and intensity than most.  Despite Transparency being a thoroughly enjoyable listen, the three plucky lads will have to dig deep in future and discover musical pathways yet to be explored otherwise they are destined to remain as a second-tier act.

4 out of 5 high fives!

Review: Weathered Hands – Of All The People That I’ve Left, Each Has Died Of Loneliness

Of All The People That I’ve Left … is a short tale of two lovers beset by mental illness and its fatal manifestations, set to the soundtrack of a brand of emotional hardcore that has been simmering in the underground for several years now- a sub-genre where the band’s often fractured and conflicted emotional states are held unashamedly aloft to be ultimately turned into cute little Tumblr memes for all the kids born too late for the floppy fringed emo explosion to cry over in the comfort of their bedrooms.  For a group of hardcore lads still trying to rid themselves of the last vestiges of teenage awkwardness it is commendable that they are so clearly unperturbed by such a prickly and sensitive subject matter as mental illness- especially when many groups of a similar age are still content with songs detailing cliché ridden cautionary encounters with members of the female sex.

A single stark guitar introduces the E.P’s first track ‘Captive’, soon joined by the equally stark cries of vocalist John James and the eventual explosive entry of the remaining band members- segueing into the propulsive ‘Growth Forever’.  Comprised of some inventive arpegiated guitar work the track culminates in a decidedly bouncy pop-punk style breakdown that seems to have been thrown in with an eye towards crowd involvement in the sweaty little clubs that the band have become aquainted with.  ‘Seven Years’ kicks off in the upper reaches of the drummer’s beats-per-minute capabilities, but despite its breakneck speed and swift tempo changes it forms the least standout track on the record.  That position is held by ‘For Sharks’, a rollicking four minutes of mid-“naughties” post-hardcore guitar throwbacks in all their fiddly melodically inflicted glory.  Close your eyes and you’ll be transported back to 2005, where ‘For Sharks’ pogo-ready intro could easily be mistaken for a new Hell Is For Heroes single.  Stark guitar arpeggios make an appearance in the track’s mid-section lull, gathering breath for the stomping finale amid cries of “There is no future here!”

Weathered Hands, belying their youth through obvious dexterity with their respective instruments, have crafted a well-rounded little record which although barely pushing past ten minutes in length manages to eschew an awareness of dynamics that makes Of All The People That I’ve Left … a rewarding listen.  Transcending hardcore’s traditionally one-dimensional outbursts, the band are brimming with the potential to create some truly affecting and enjoyable hardcore tunes.

3.5 out of 5 high fives!

Only Fumes And Corpses – Selfish Act II [EP]

Still existing resolutely under the radar after a good few years of touring and recording, Only Fumes And Corpses fly in the face of convention with their latest musical “fuck you” – Selfish Act II. The record sees the Irish punks challenging not just their own musical abilities and powers of song construction but their listener’s expectations by releasing a single seventeen minute track. The release sees the band striving for longevity in their song writing, the polar opposite to 2012’s Selfish Act I which contained thirteen tracks in even fewer minutes and encompassed a staggering array of disparate elements into a selection of rollicking breakneck hardcore punk tunes. It’s refreshing and encouraging to see a band who have yet to fully assert themselves within the scene challenging themselves and looking upon compromise as a declaration of weakness; utilising unorthodoxy as an integral part of the group’s outlook and refusing to bow down to whatever pithy fad is currently being nurtured by the fickle hype machine.

Selfish Act II is all raging hardcore, underpinned by some rather ruthless drumwork with sticksman Benny deserving upmost credit for managing to keep his arms attached to his body through repeated flurries of devious fills and blastbeat workouts – cruelly denying himself any respite for the entire duration of the track. Reigning in the genre spanning intuitions of Selfish Act I, the group’s musical vision casts a smaller net than its predecessor whilst upping the intensity and brutal nature of their vast array of riffs. For a seventeen minute song, Only Fumes And Corpses aren’t keen on simply filling out time through any ambience or atmospheric interludes as would most bands undertaking a song whose length lays within the realms of prog rock territory. But once the obligatory opening wall of feedback has pricked up ours ears, the band kick into a furious demonstration of impossibly fast hardcore. The anger is still there for all to see – vocalist Momme quite clearly monumentally pissed-off like any true punk should be in these worrisome contemporary times. He rails gruffly against societal ills through thinly veiled analogies covered in a generous layer of caustic bile that will make you sympathise with his long suffering vocal chords.

A level of frantic immediacy is maintained throughout much of the self-titled track, speed injected into their playing whenever the pace begins to slack – everything careering towards cataclysm via a brief two-step friendly excerpt complete with cheeky pinch squeal for good measure. The closing minutes foreground the guitarist’s abilities. Fingers dance across the frets, apparently never keen to linger on a single chord for more than a second, instead digressing into spasmodic tremolo-picked twenty-notes-per-second runs. It’s scrappy as hell, but a million times more listenable than any Dragonforce fret wankery.

It’s disorientating at first – seventeen minutes of continuous screaming and intense hardcore clattering appears a little hard to digest. After a few listens however, structure becomes tangible and there’s a realisation that there may even exist a deceptive chorus amongst all the hell-bent ferocity. Together with the first part of Only Fumes And Corpses Selfish Act series, the Irish punks have more than proved their competence and much needed desire to suggest alternatives to homogenous hardcore and its tired clichés. If justice were always to prevail, Selfish Act II should be the release that lifts Only Fumes And Corpses from obscurity and into the hearts and minds of the multitude of pissed-off kids across the country.

4 out of 5 high fives!