Two people, two acoustic guitars, one arrow straight for the heart. No Robbie Box. The self-regarding nature of getting on new music early enough in action: Their press bit currently consists of a quote from the Guardian and a line from the NME about their getting a quote from the Guardian.
This has been around for since July, and the Books have been around for, oh, years. They should have said something earlier. It's the sort of thing that will either drive you insane with its cut and pasting around samples of kids delivering threats into tapes, or you'll put it on your next Outsider Beats compilation CDR. You know, like you make all the time.
There seem to be a few bands emerging at the moment with echoes of the Raincoats' perenially falling apart post-punk dub clash. Chapter 24 add a hint of hi-life, a soupcon of surf and an addendum of changeable artiness - we mean, *look* at that video - and produce something that's likely to take unsuspecting listeners to places far away.
That video is not for the squeamish around raw meat, let's just say that first. Named after the Shakespeare writings, but also actually from Leicester, they're here to hammer your homes down.
They've not always been the easiest band to get along with, such is the wild randomness of their relationship with melody and sensible song structure. They've self-sedated for long enough to make this carousel ride of psych shambles. It actually sounds a little like Deerhoof, albeit Deerhoof on a Fisher-Price budget.
WE GIVE IN. WE GIVE IN. (Yeah, it's basically a four to the floor Bonkers, isn't it?)
From Content, their first album in fifteen years, out in January. It sounds a bit awkward, a touch proto-modernist, but then Andy Gill's guitar tone kicks in and Jon King begins accusing, and all is right.
It sounds like the Go! Team.
Whatever rulebooks Islet had left lying around get completely thrown out by this stage of Wimmy with a track that ping-pongs from ghostly reflectiveness to scratchy Afrobeat to No Wave atonality without as much as an apology. And of course they've got to where they are without using any Internet presence at al...oh, wait.
Slight return of Norwich's least rested, here sounding like Vampire Weekend's Cousins actually was by ambitiously energetic English people rather than hoping it'd sound that way.
A make-believe spaghetti western theme, indeed. Were Red House Painters commissioned. Whyever they'd be asked to do it.
Back in the day this, we're fairly sure, was the first Sky Larkin song we ever heard. Their mates PABH give it the full screamalong guitar throttling they're justly feared for.
So, Wap Wap Wow
(NB. Rose has since clarified for us that Rhosyn is the same band, but with five members rather than nine and a new name.)
A long time since we've heard from the alehouse skank summer indiesters, and we've no idea if this is set for proper release or if there's an album imminent, but its brooding psychedelic touch suggests they're still on form. Mind you, aren't you bored of all those videos in which people drive golf balls at a burlesque dancer?
S&TW were country death folkies last time we saw them, which makes this deviation into PJ Harvey anger and big surf riffing the more surprising but no less welcoming, within reason.
More like Send's uber-distortive rush then the more straightforward Object 47, to put it in the range of Wire activity since returning at full strength, with a ranting Colin Newman to boot. Although since Bruce Gilbert is no longer involved shouldn't they be Wir again?
Plenty to be going on with as it is, we know, but a new Allo Darlin' video is never a bad thing, and after nearly a year of trying we may even be putting them on under STN Presents auspices in the new year. We've made four attempts already, it's got to happen eventually.
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