Robyn Writes

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!

Review: Magic Eight Ball – Sorry We’re Late, But We’re Worth The Wait

I’ll admit, when the Magic Eight Ball record crossed my virtual desk, I was a little bit dismissive. For a start, whenever anything’s described as “power-pop”, I feel a bit queasy inside. The cover didn’t look as slick as the other records that’d passed through my inbox, all with big text logos and stock photography artwork. And I hadn’t checked out the video in the email, because I like to be surprised. It’s safe to say that upon hitting ‘play’, I was utterly and completely taken aback, because Sorry We’re Late, But We’re Worth The Wait is an absolute banger of a record.

The Surrey trio, who didn’t get around to putting this out for about six years after their inception, are highly accomplished musicians with a knack for killer harmonies and big rock ballads. Not that there isn’t plenty of stuff to make you want to dance, but it’s the ballad-esque epics that truly showcase just how great these guys are. Tracks like ‘Big Star’, ‘Before It Was Murder (You Got Me Talking)’ are massive tunes, with bouncy rhythms, big pop hooks and pure rock ‘n roll bravado. There’s lots of tongue-in-cheek moments, like in final track ‘Local Girls’, with its classical picking, violin, and lyrics about how it’s hard to find a decent girl in their town. But then there’s tracks like ‘Love Makes You Do Some Funny Things’ that are totally from the heart, and are guaranteed to put a huge grin on your face.

As much as I hate to say it, power-pop is the right way to put it; and Magic Eight Ball aren’t afraid to embrace that. The songs are fairly simple in structure, but this works in Magic Eight Ball’s favour, and the cheeky ‘ahh ahh!’s throughout are absolutely sublime. Lots of bands try to overcomplicate their output, but there’s a great virtue in taking a step back and just concentrating on putting out songs that are genuinely fantastic.

For those of you that are feeling a certain void since Bowling For Soup called it quits, this record is for you. It’s also for you if you like great harmonies, sweet guitar solos and vocals that could melt butter. Get in.

4 out of 5 high fives!

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: Mark McCabe – A Good Way To Bury Bad News

Mark McCabe‘s second record, released earlier this week, is the sort of album that you take with you when you go for long walks with the dog in the bracing wind and you want to feel a little bit sad. A melancholic and mostly acoustic affair, A Good Way To Bury Bad News is profound and lovely, yet totally accessible, and resonates with all of the times you’ve ever hidden under the duvet while providing a glimmer of hope through the end of it all.

A Good Way To Bury Bad News is an album of contradictions. McCabe’s songwriting style is intricate, and yet simple. The subjects of the songs are sad, but at the same time, each track tends to have an uplifting moment. McCabe’s lyrics are honest and raw throughout, a trick perhaps picked up through his association with the punk scene rather than the “new-folk” scene, and often, surprisingly witty. There are stories about clinical depression, relationships that fail due to geographical affinity, and tales of growing up. The record is filled with subtleties, from the quiet cymbals in ‘Easy For Me To Say’ to the slide guitar in ‘Crutches’, but it’s also loud and proud when it wants to be, featuring beautiful strings throughout that rise and fall perfectly with McCabe’s soft Scottish tones. For the most part, it all seems to flow nicely until it reaches the end – ‘My Disguise Is Better Than Yours’, ending on a wonderfully optimistic note, would have been better suited to the final track rather than ‘Join The Crowd, but this is neither here nor there. It just simply is, and that’s a feeling that carries on all the way through the record.

I’ll be honest, if you’re feeling fragile, this might not be the record for you. But otherwise, McCabe has a grasp on human emotion that is very rarely paralleled in this kind of genre. As frank as Elliott Smith and with far less pretension than Frank Turner, A Good Way To Bury Bad News is a beautiful and moving record.

4 out of 5 high fives!