Following the departure of founding members Matt Tong and Gordon Moakes, Bloc Party could have easily called it a day, particularly after the lukewarm reception to ‘Intimacy’ and ‘Four’. Perhaps Kele Okereke felt he had something to prove then, as he remains defiant in objecting those who thought the bands original scintillating fire had diminished into a pitiful ember, and ropes in new drummer Louise Bartle and bassist Justin Harris to join himself and guitarist Russell Lissack. Unfortunately, Hymns almost makes me wish as though the band had called it quits. The sound of a band desperately striving to re-invent themselves to still appear contemporary and different, Hymns is effectively a dire synth pop record.

Personally, I felt ‘Four’ was a step in the right direction, Bloc Party delivering indie rock, ie what they do best. ‘Hymns’ shatters any chance of a return to form straight from the off with the downright irritating siren-laden catastrophe of ‘The love within’. Kele is evidently aware of the bands past, as he opens the album with “Lord give me grace//and dancing feet”, harking back to ‘The prayer’ from ‘A weekend in the city’, yet none of the vitriolic bite displayed on the first two albums seems to feature. Even from here, the impervious Matt Tong is sorely missed, no disrespect to Louise Bartle, but his are very big shoes to fill, and many of the tracks lack the drive of pre-Hymns Bloc Party. Religion is the name of the game on ‘Hymns’, taking prominence on the majority of the tracks, especially ‘Only he can heal me’, with its gospel-chant backing vocals, leading up to a bland solo from Lissack. ‘So real’ is nauseatingly poppy, and lacks the fragility and earnestness that make classics like ‘This Modern Love’ so sincere. The electronics here add nothing to the song, which is a central issue throughout the record, with many of the songs actually being held back by the bands obsession with throwing a misplaced synth in here or there.

‘The Good News’ has an interesting slide guitar, but still lacks the menace and angularity of older cuts, the tracks promise is partly ruined by the poppy instrumentation of the pre-chorus, while the rhythm section is devoid of any notion of flair or urgency. Religion implants its tendrils in Kele’s thoughts again with the notion of praying cropping up. A trap indebted synth and booming sub-bass jar with Kele’s ethereal vocals on ‘Fortress’, a song exerting every muscle in attempt sound heartfelt, but winding up sounding uninspired as Kele seems to have lost the ability to write the tender songs he used to deliver in spades. The lyrics of ‘Different Drugs’ are a return to Kele’s usual standard, “started as a joyride//just a way to let off steam//but now we’re running off the road//cos’ you’re asleep at the wheel”. These lyrics are drastically let down by the dragging, bland electronic instrumentation, that serves as a detriment to so much of the album. The intro to ‘Into the Earth’ fills the listener with slight promise, as a markedly more interesting bass and guitar lead ensue, however a disappointing chorus leaves you flat, cursing your fluttering hope that Bloc Party had turned a corner. On this track it is undeniable that the days of Bloc Party’s seething resentment of society and panic-stricken anxiety are long gone, as Kele has seriously mellowed, and lost his fire as a result.

‘My true name’ is unremarkable, save for an interesting stuttered guitar from Lissack and a space-y synthesiser. Harris’ bass finally produces something resembling purpose on ‘Virtue’, while Lissack actually delivers a guitar hook that sounds like Bloc Party, don’t get your hopes up though, a synth is preposterously inserted, ruining what could have been. A heart-provoking track of genuine apology and yearning arrives late to the party in ‘Exes’, minimal instrumentation leaving Kele to lament his previous relationships, “to all the exes//that I’ve left behind//these words will fall short//but I must try”. The less said about closer ‘Living Lux’, the better, a deeply uninteresting electronic lull, also grimacing back on Kele’s past relationships.

So, a return to form? Absolutely and categorically not. Even the better moments on the LP leave you feeling this is a second-rate Bloc Party, a different band to the one that ripped the Bush Whitehouse to tatters on ‘Silent Alarm’. Save for ‘Exes’, the album is deeply uninteresting, and plagued by electronic misfires, leaving the listener wondering where the band that burst onto the scene in 2005 have gone, and if they’ll ever return.

Listen here.

4/10

Mercurial Bristolians Robert Del Naja and Grant Marshall, AKA Massive Attack, return with their first new musical output since 2010’s ‘Heligoland’. The trip-hop legends inception in 1988 seems eons ago, thankfully they show no signs of diminished creative prowess on the wonderful ‘Ritual Spirit’.

The EP opens in unforgiving fashion, a collaboration with Roots Manuva sees a pulverising sub bass combine with Roots Manuva’s gritty vocals to produce a dark, murky animal of a track. The introspective, nocturnal onslaught Massive Attack utilise so impressively is impervious throughout, no more so than on the title track, shimmering guitars drape the intro in mystery and intrigue, as a Azekel’s ghostly falsetto rises from the mist. A lumbering drumbeat is the rigid backbone for an expressive, fluid soundscape, the instrumentation gels fantastically as the song fades from a roar into a beautiful sparsity of nothing. The group vocals of Scottish rap trio Young Fathers slide seamlessly into the urgent ‘Voodoo in my blood’, a sinister drum circle, both electronic and organic, has primitive and relentless drive, as the vocals snap “Wipe that cheeky grin from your mouth” with acerbic bite. The track swells with compelling guitars, a dread-inducing, ominous electric drumbeat while eerier synths creep in. Menace climbs to its frightening peak on final cut ‘Take it there’, a black, depthless ocean of a song featuring fellow Bristolian trip-hop pioneer Tricky. A grainy effect on the instrumentation fills the bones with uneasiness, ensuing filthy beats and a moody piano fuse with Tricky’s devilish, sneering vocals perfectly. An epic finale closes the track, and EP, a fitting omnipotent wave of darkness.

A gloriously moody, triumphant return for Massive Attack then, leaving the listener longing for more atmospheric, pensive trip-hop. A new album is desperately needed soon!

Listen here.

8/10

In the wake of David Bowie’s death, there has been widespread praise of his unparalleled musical influence. One needs to look no further for evidence of this than indie-rock stalwarts Suede. Built around the glam theatrics and androgyny of Bowie’s Ziggy days, frontman Brett Anderson is a living embodiment of Bowie’s legacy. Suede’s seventh album ‘Night Thoughts’, is a much-needed instalment of quality indie-rock. Falling somewhere between trashy debut ‘The Drowners’ and dark masterpiece ‘Dog Man Star’, ‘Night Thoughts’ fuses the two together in grandiose style.

From the moment the strings explode into life on opening track ‘When you are young’, an orchestral, lavish fire is lit, which roars through the remainder of the album. The lyrics throughout ‘Night Thoughts’ could be interpreted as some kind of mid-life crisis for Brett Anderson, sometimes lamenting his past mistakes, sometimes donning rose-tinted specs to rejoice the naïve opportunism of youth. The latter is deployed on the first track, Anderson yearning in trademark howl that: “When you are young//there is nothing right//there is nothing wrong”. Brett Anderson’s age appears to be corroding his soul on the vintage ‘No Tomorrow’, as Richard Oakes’ glammy guitar struts in, make-up and all. Brett damns his wavering thirst for life: “How long will it take//to break the plans that I never make”, before he breaks into a rallying cry against wasting your days away.

Anderson touches on his former heroin problem on the wispy ‘Pale Snow’, still haunted by his toxic former demons: “the colour of your skin//pale and paper thin”. This reflexivity continues onto ‘I don’t know how to reach you’, a dewy-eyed guitar tone evolves into an emphatic roar, as Anderson decides mistakes are better left in the past: “I turn away from my mistakes//I fold the page and close the book”, a climatic ending ensues which is possibly a tad overblown. The chorus of ‘What I’m trying to tell you’ is one of Suede’s finest sing-along moments, with a chiming synth melody setting a vivid, emotive atmosphere. The duo of ‘Tightrope’ and ‘Learning to be’ are unremarkable, steady tracks contributing to the sentiment of the LP. Suede’s love of glam is gorged upon in ‘Like Kids’, the band sounding like the secret love children of Aladdin Sane and Mark Bolan all grown up. Here Anderson is longing for the joyful carelessness “nothing matters but this moment”, and misplaced fearlessness of youth “ooh it’s all there for us//ooh it belongs to us”.

After this giddy joy, Suede hurtle back down to earth with the sobering ‘I can’t give her what she wants’, a mellow acoustic ballad facing the realisation that however undying your love, it doesn’t mask the fact that sometimes you’re just not what she wants. ‘When you were young’ sees the frontman looking back over his shoulder, in a sepia-toned slant on the opening track, anthemic strings tug at the heart, while Simon Gilbert’s crashing symbols fortify the ensuing grandeur. On such a romanticised album, ‘The Fur and the feathers’ is a predictable, fitting, coup de grâce. A wide-eyed, lovestruck piano carries the song, while Anderson delivers a touching vocal performance of vivid storytelling, encapsulating the euphoric sickness of love “on the platform you are waiting//and my breathing stops//I’m so scared of touching you//and so scared of not”.

Suede flex their tried and tested indie-rock muscles on ‘Night Thoughts’ to masterful effect, delivering a powerful LP. Emotionally atmospheric and anthemic in equal measure, Suede do not shatter any new boundaries on their seventh album, but their tried and tested formula makes for a compelling listen.

Listen here.

7/10

Drug-addled miscreants Fat White Family describe ‘Songs for Our Mothers’ as “an invitation, sent by misery, to dance to the beat of human hatred”. Cheery lyrics prevail throughout as Lias tears through drug addiction, Dr Harold Shipman and Hitler’s final hours beneath an impenetrable, hazy wall of psychedelia. A writhing anti-statement against the pristine, label-manufactured drivel such as Bastille, now spoon-fed to us as ‘the alternative’.

‘Whitest Boy on the Beach’ is draped in synth, and is the bands most danceable song to date, and a dead-ringer for Iggy Pop’s ‘Nightclubbing’. Saul Adamczewski’s guitar hacks at the barrage of noise as Lias Saudi’s lucid vocals entrance the listener into a hypnotic state of paralysis. The sultry bass riff of ‘Satisied’ lurches alongside an electric drumbeat and twangy guitar, faux-angelic harmonies litter the end of the song as Lias returns to the squalid gutter of society from which the band were spawned. A lumbered drumbeat pounds the street as dissonant guitars skulk in the back alleys of ‘Love is the Crack’, a deeply unsettling ode to drug addiction complete with singalong chorus.

Some sacrilegious gospel church is birthed from Fat White Family’s depthless pools of hate on ‘Duce’, as dense instrumentation engulfs the eardrums and some jarring effect screams like a perverse animal locked in Lias’ mind. Lias displays his finest German in ‘Lebensraum’, a tired, country ballad chronicling fascism as Fat White Family succeed in their narcissistic pursuit of the musical extremes of taste. An electric lo-fi drumbeat fuses with the airy vocals of ‘Hits Hits Hits’, perhaps the most accessible song on the album, highlighting Fat White Family’s commitment to making your skin crawl, considering the track details domestic abuse inflicted upon Tina Turner by former husband Ike. ‘Tinfoil Deathstar’ is a psychedelic, narcotic blowout, Saul’s guitar pierces like shrapnel throughout.

The atrocities of Dr Harold Shipman are professed in ‘When Shipman Decides’, despite its dark premise it manages to be one of the lighter sounding cuts on the LP. The comic horns and child-like vocal effects take the seriousness of the song away, making it all the more nauseating as the guitar drunkenly teeters from side to side. An impending sense of dread seeps into the subconscious on the dragging and droning ‘We Must Learn to Rise’. A satanic ritual of a song with crashing symbols supporting Saul’s guitar squealing in discomfort as Lias leads a dark cult uprising of “We must learn to rise”. The only logical way Fat White Family see fit to end ‘Songs For Our Mothers’ is with a lo-fi ballad describing Hitler’s final moments prior to his suicide. ‘Goodbye Goebbels’ sees a brushed acoustic guitar a sparse compliment to the harsh vocals, reminiscent of ‘Garden of the Numb’ from their debut.

‘Songs For Our Mothers’ is a slight change on the messy anarchism of ‘Champagne Holocaust’, with an increased impetus on electronic instrumentation and a focus on psychedelic jam-style songs. There are less standout songs, yet as a cohesive album it flows well. The lyrics are swallowed by the instrumentation, which does detract from many of the songs as part of Fat White Family’s genius is the obscure savagery of their lyrics. Fat White Family’s sociopathic debauchery is still toe-curling abundant, a dank light of hope in an increasingly stale era of alternative music.

Listen here.

7/10

“If you don’t love me//don’t love anybody” wails frontwoman Jehnny Beth in her earth-shattering vibrato on opener ‘The Answer’. This lyrical snippet presents the theme throughout Savages sophomore album ‘Adore Life’, the various faces of love. Their wonderful debut ‘Silence Yourself’ saw a hungry young band built around searing intensity and frenetic, reverb drenched instrumentation, promising much for the future. The question is: do they deliver on this promise? Yes… and no.

‘The Answer’ contains the same formula as Savages-of-old, with Gemma Thompson’s buzzsaw guitar jagged enough to tear off limbs, and an unrelenting aural onslaught from the unbending rhythm section of Ayse Hassan and Fay Milton. This blistering starter is followed by the quite frankly un-evil ‘Evil’. A slower, brooding song with a sinister groove, and while the lyrics are good as ever, ie “soak your actions in self-doubt”, the less abrasive approach means the song lacks passion in its delivery. The guitar throughout the album has a tendency to get lost at times throughout the album in its pursuit of angularity, not gluing with the rhythm section or vocals cohesively at times, never more-so than on the awkward ‘Evil’. Hassan’s powerful bass crushes bones on ‘Sad Person’ building to a half-hearted climax, whilst the jarring guitar partly ruins the potential of the song.

‘Adore’ is a slow burner in which the bass lurches down the street, swaying from side to side, yet the fierce roar fundamental to Savages brilliance is criminally absent until the crescendo, which is a shame with the fantastic love/hate slant on relationships within the lyrics, “If only I didn’t care so much//for the feel of your cold, cold touch”. It leaves the listener questioning why Savages must dabble in sluggish mediocrity at times. ‘Slowing down the world’ is the weakest cut on the album, seemingly lacking purpose as the song splutters along to a lacklustre chorus lacking in fluidity. A dying relationship is depicted in ‘I need something new’, “how do you get the excitement from such an empty space?” the unyielding vocals ponder, spurred on by Milton’s urgent drums until the bassline rears up savagely as Beth contemplates the ultimatum of whether to leave someone: “I need you//I need something new”. A spindly riff whirls into a frenzy to open ‘When in love’, as Milton’s cymbals storm in, while Beth grapples with the confused boundary between lust and love, “is it love?//or is it boredom?//that took me up//to your bedroom”.

‘Surrender’ is an ominous, slower tune that actually delivers. A computerised, metallic guitar rings crisply against the static wall of dissonance produced by the droning bassline, while the vocal melody grips the listener. This is followed by ‘T.I.W.Y.G’, a sonic cacophony of rage with a furious guitar riff Greg Ginn would be proud of, and a pulverising rhythm section, Beth’s shriek is spat out like wildfire. The song progresses to a brutal ending, where a colossal wave of chaos smashes over the listeners head. After the unforgiving double hit of the previous two tracks, ‘Mechanics’ is a poor song to finish the LP, yet another turgid song lacking orientation, preventing Savages from unlocking their potential.

Ultimately ‘Adore Life’ is a disappointment, not quite the howling kick-in-the-teeth of ‘Silence Yourself’, lacking the ferocity of its predecessor. Intensity is present, just in restrictive doses. The lyrical themes debate the monster of love fantastically and the rhythm section is still impervious, yet the lyrics are done a disservice by the lack of seething energy.

Listen here.

6/10

Jesu and Sun Kil Moon are intriguing partners for a collaboration. With Jesu’s crushing post-hardcore and Mark Kozelek’s mope-tinged folk apparent worlds apart. The album is very much a hit-and-miss affair, with the two artists sometimes struggling to exert their creative powers in tandem, and in these instances, failing to produce a vivid, cohesive song. When the music is fused successfully however, compelling songs are birthed.

The lyrics throughout the album read as a diary entry from the witty, moody Mark Kozelek. ‘Good morning my love’ delves through varied themes, including world harmony and a swipe at “collectors of rare vinyl”. The brooding, thick instrumentation of Jesu carries the song, whilst the melody twinkles like lights in the dark abyss. The forceful guitar swells in intensity on ‘Carondelet’ into a vicious, lumbering beast, draped in shades of Shoegaze, whilst Kozelek worries repeatedly “oh man, oh man, oh man”. The primary issue with these opening two cuts is the overly indulgent length of both songs as they roll past 8 minutes each. An electronic intro is a sucker punch for the heavy guitar that storms in on album highlight ‘A Song of Shadows’. A fragile piano melody chimes in the distance, the embodiment of the love-lorn lyrics, ie “Without you I wouldn’t have much to live for”. The lyrics here are more focused, leading to a dynamic song and a thoroughly enjoyable listen. ‘Last night I rocked the room like Elvis and had them laughing like Richard Pryor’ is a title of Sufjan Stevens-esque proportions, a rare upbeat cut from the album, driven by a snappy electronic drumbeat but lacking direction. The lyrics ramble on to namecheck numerous musicians including Jello Biafra, whilst the superfluous final minutes revolve around Kozelek’s reading of fan mail.

The ornate, acoustic instrumentation of ‘Fragile’ is another album highlight, a fascination with Neil Young evident amongst the ragged, depressing music and could easily be mistaken for a Sun Kil Moon song, showing the struggle for Jesu to operate alongside the former Red House Painters man. ‘Father’s Day’ and ‘Sally’ are mere filler that mumble along without orientation, both eminently tedious listens. The beautiful guitar melody of ‘America’s Most Wanted Mark Kozelek’ is a resolute backbone, however the exorbitant length strangles interest in the song, never more so then when the dreaded fan mail rears its ugly head. The lyrics to ‘Exodus’ are more centred again, producing an engrossing piece centred around Jesu’s sombre piano, the sobering notion of losing your children is painfully explored, focusing on numerous examples including the passing of Nick Cave’s son, to which Kozelek heart wrenchingly retorts, “For all the grieving parents, I send you my love”. ‘Beautiful You’ is a complete non-track. A bloated corpse clocking in at 14 minutes long, Kozelek rambles through endless pointless musings from his diary, as bland instrumentation wages on perpetually, composing a turgid, benign end to the album.

The collaborative pairing does make for an insightful listen in some areas. Yet, only ‘A Song of Shadows’ and ‘Fragile’ are justified in length, whilst the rest of the album is preventing from fulfilling its artistic potential by its own self-absorption, and is a chore to listen to at its worst.

Listen here.

5/10

‘Emotional Mugger’ bears the unsettling album artwork of a macabre looking doll, a perfect visual metaphor to describe the paranoid, unrelenting musical jewels contained within garage-punk-freak Ty Segall’s eerie 8^th studio album.

‘Squealer’ commences proceedings with shifting bipolar high and low fidelities, giving way to a pulverising guitar lick during the chorus before the fuzzed-up bass pushes the guitar to snap into a frenzy. This madcap guitar odyssey is pursued by sinister backing vocals, a foreboding warning of the ensuing carnage on the album. The intro of ‘California Hills’ almost lulls you into a false sense of security with sugar coated vocals, however, the filthy, prowling guitar riff exists as a reminder of the seedy underbelly of the song, and any innocent misconceptions maintained are shattered by the frenetic tempo changes culminating in the guitar whirring into meltdown. The squalid riff off the following track, ‘Emotional Mugger/Leopard Priestess’ could have been lifted straight from Josh Homme’s subconscious, progressing to Ty fervently strangling his guitar to choke out a melody whilst the droning bass guitar bares its teeth like a feral dog.

The guitar throughout the album is utterly unpredictable, continuing onto the dirge-y ‘Breakfast eggs’ with unquestionably perverse lyrics, ie. “Looking and touching her little legs”, begging questions of what atrocities may be going through Mr. Segall’s head. ‘Diversion’ is not particularly outstanding, save for the guitar solo of molten fire that erupts whilst Ty reduces the fretboard to ash and ruin. Both ‘Baby Big Man (I Want a Mommy)’ and ‘Mandy Cream’ sound positively deranged as the guitar screams like a wounded animal. Driving drums propel ‘Candy Sam’ as the guitar screeches, until the chords melt into a toxic blur, and the “la la la” school yard chants creep into the nightmare of Ty Segall’s twisted mind. Ty’s self-confessed love of T.Rex (enjoy his album of T.Rex covers here) roars though on ‘Squealer 2’, glammed up guitars accompany the weird talk-box effects, the abnormal honey-dipped vocals a wicked smile amongst the dark insanity of the song; this smile is then extinguished as the song plummets into a schizophrenic jumble of weird electronics and chilling backing vocals. The scramble of ideas ending ‘Squealer 2’ is constant on ‘W.U.O.T.W.S’, an incomprehensible mess of brainwaves crammed into a song, perfectly encapsulating the surreal nature of the album. The album closer ‘Magazine’ sees a return to the marauding bassline prevalent throughout the first half of the album, while dissonance seethes in the distance, merging with random, ill-placed handclaps, before the guitar morphs into disarray as the final cliff-dive to the aberrant picture that is ‘Emotional Mugger’.

In summary, ‘Emotional Mugger’ is a complete and utter mess. Wonderful, yet a mess nonetheless. A gripping account of off-kilter sonic madness, ripping through the eardrums and infesting the brain like a glorious, deranged parasite. There are a few misfires on the album that may dim after a few listens, however, the madness of the record shines through due to Ty’s ingenious guitar playing. Yet another solid album of depravity from Mr. Segall.

Listen here.

7/10

Newcomers WALL are a mysterious entity. Their only online presence being an eerie monochrome website named WE ARE WALL, the only information, that “WALL is a post-punk or no wave band based in New York City. This is up for discussion I guess”. This secrecy is refreshing in a modern music scene of shameless, constant self-promotion, and the cryptic nature of the website is an embodiment of their dark and curious music.

Opener ‘Cuban Cigars’ opens with a spiky guitar riff from Vince McClelland before fusing with the pulsing rhythm section and the spoken/riot-grrrl-esque vocals of Sam York as she repeats “Sitting up//Playing up//Walking in//Talking Tough” in chant like fashion, whilst the influence of groups like Wire screams out. ‘Fit the part’ is my personal favourite, opening with similar vocals to the first track, and a paranoid, claustrophobic rhythm combination from Vanessa Gomez’s brisk drums and Elizabeth Skadden’s bass guitar perfectly accompanying the frenzied, ranting lunacy of the spoken verse, recalling the Fall’s agitator in chief Mark E. Smith, with lines like “gotta fit the part to get the part”. The paranoia continues into ‘Milk’ with a brittle guitar kicking things off before the menacing bassline and foreboding drums give an impending sense of dread to the odd chorus, “The Sky opened up// Milk poured out”, culminating in the guitar spiralling into havoc and dissonance at the finale. ‘Last Date’ rounds off the EP nicely, with the same impervious rapid drums and punishing bass, whilst each line is punctuated by a jagged guitar slash. The raging, abrupt vocals expulsed from Sam York’s mouth yell “Waiting//Changing//Quickly//Aging//Washed Up//Faded//Conquered//Jaded”, while the guitar seethes, whirling into a cacophony of panic, melding perfectly with the urgent vocals.

WALL evidently take inspiration from many different bands associated with post-punk, as well as legendary fellow New York natives Sonic Youth (particularly Kim Gordon’s vocal style), to birth a short, ominous and exciting debut. WALL are well worth keeping your eye on.

Listen here.

7/10

My initial exposure to The Magic Gang, a Brighton based four piece band, was during a support slot for Wolf Alice at the Trinity centre in Bristol, April 2015. I came away thinking they had been the best band of the night and was eager to immerse myself in their recorded material. Upon hearing said recorded material, I was severely bewildered to think I had been impressed by the band live, seeing as their recorded material was so mundane and uninteresting. I had hoped this EP would be packed full of tunes to justify my initial lofty expectations. I was wrong.

The EP has a sickly, poppy nature throughout, kicking off with ‘Lady Please’, containing a shimmering guitar solo from guitarist Kristian Smith, the solitary light in the song amidst a dull sounding pristinely clean rhythm section and the nauseating, boyband-esque vocal harmonies provided by Kristian Smith and Jack Kaye. The sonic barrage of vile sweetness continues on ‘She doesn’t see’, with a crisp bassline, Weezer indebted guitar and catchy chorus, “She looks up but she doesn’t see”, yet the song is not inventive in the slightest, meaning after the initial listen, there is no desire to sit through the song again.

The Weezer fascination in their music makes them resemble a Weezer tribute act with a tenth of the song writing ability and a lack of ingenuity, this is particularly evident on the cringe-inducing ‘Jasmine’. A punchy drumbeat and dreamy guitar are carried along by a bounding bassline from bassist Angus Taylor, unfortunately (and somewhat predictably) the decent instrumentation is ruined by nonsensical childlike lyrics of yearning for a girl: “Jasmine its true//I’ve waited here for you//Without this heart of mine//You’ll be doing fine”. Jack Kaye’s whiny, americanised vocals are probably designed to be endearing, alas they are not, purely serving as an irritant. ‘Feeling better’ is slow paced and instantly forgettable, with no aspect of the song grabbing the imagination. ‘All that I want is you’ sounds like an 80’s throwback with Paeris Giles’ rolling drums and airy vocals, with the band returning to the bile-generating romanticism of ‘Jasmine’ here, with lyrics like “You’re trying to save me//but maybe all that I want is you”.

This pining for women throughout the EP is meant to sound heartfelt, but due to the weak song writing it comes off as needy and annoying. This combined with the shiny pop production and boyband vocal harmonies, makes for a bland, uninspiring and unexciting collection of songs, with few lights of inspiration amongst the dark sea of mediocrity.

Listen here.

3/10

Hinds (formerly known as Deers) are an all-female, four-piece Spanish band hailing from Madrid, Spain. Their debut album ‘Leave me Alone’ delivers on the promise of their prior single releases and sarcastically titled EP ‘Very best of Hinds so far’. Whilst not being particularly innovative, the album is a very fun listen, with a blend of indie-pop and garage rock utilised well, reminiscent of bands like Smith Westerns.

The album kicks off with ‘Garden’, a summery song released as a single last year, which sets a fast pace for the rest of the album, with it being the only song longer than four minutes. Raw production suits the album well, particularly the grainy vocals which resemble the bratty snarl of Girlpool. The lo-fi approach complements the excellent performances of vocalists Carlotta Cosials and Ana Perrote, which are a different beast all together when their voices combine. The poppy electric and acoustic guitars merge with the garage rock indebted rhythm section very nicely.

‘Fat calmed Kiddos’ and ‘Warts’ continue on in similar musical vein, with strong, classic garage rock vocal combinations and fun choruses driven by the tight rhythm section of Ade Martin on bass, and Amber Grimbergen on drums. However ‘Fat Calmed Kiddos’ contradicts the message of the LP title ‘Leave me Alone’ and betrays the upbeat instrumentation, by pleading “please don’t leave me”, hinting maybe everything isn’t so rosy after all. Themes of love and relationships are explored throughout the album, particularly on ‘Warts’ with the lyrics “don’t let her waste your time//don’t let her close your eyes”. ‘Easy’ is a slightly slower song, with a moody sounding guitar, whilst ‘Castigadas en el Granero’ has a stop-start introduction leading into a sun-flecked, surf rock verse and chorus. ‘Solar Gap’ is a slow, suitably placed instrumental track, with a woozy electric guitar tone sounding like the embodiment of summer.

The lyrics in the second half of the album all involve the minefields of romance, with ‘Chili Town’, another single released in 2015, containing the lines “I am flirting, with this guy// so you can watch my crime”, this is then altered later in the song to “I am flirting, with this guy// just to pretend I’m fine”, wonderfully describing the underlying sadness and mundanity entailed in flirting. ‘Bamboo’ is a lush, upbeat song, packed with giddy euphoria and romantic hope. ‘San Diego’ has a glorious, ramshackle feel with a simplistic ‘dah dah dah’ singalong chorus and continues where the upbeat ‘Bamboo’ left off. ‘And I will send your flowers back’ takes a break from the carefree breeziness of the rest of ‘Leave me Alone’, describing the demise of a relationship. A moody, solitary guitar backing the vocals during the intro, setting the scene for the most intimate song on the album, with Carlotta Cosials and Ana Perrote sending out a heartfelt fuck you to anyone guilty of romantic injustice, brilliantly encapsulated in three lines “And I will send your flowers back// What goes around comes around// What a fucked up mess”. The girls are then all smiles again in ‘I’ll be your man’, where soft vocals chime “I’ll make it simple// I don’t need no games”. Hinds then close on the same wide-eyed romanticism deployed on Bamboo, with the garage-rock/indie-pop combination working masterfully, finishing on the declaration that “you’re the love of my life”.

The band fully explore the peaks and troughs of romance via their bratty, almost-chant like vocals, as well as showing fragility and tenderness underneath the raw, garage-rock production. Hinds may not re-invent the wheel, but the album is a blissful, summery plethora of tunes happy and sad that make for an enjoyable listen.

Listen here.

7/10