It’s got something of that lackadaisical attitude that The Saints, Royal Trux or the Teardrop Explodes used to spread around, and should be the soundtrack to lots of bedsit rave ups.
I love records like this. I don’t care how unfashionable or unserious or unadventurous they are. Records that are spacey and messy and bug eyed enough to have a good time and worry about the ramifications later. This new LP from Blank Realm is such a hoot, and one that has such a refreshing feel to it, I really couldn’t give a shit what people think. Similar in that regard to Pinkunoizu’s last LP, Grassed Inn has the added advantage of being a totally loose party record. It’s got something of that lackadaisical attitude that The Saints, Royal Trux or the Teardrop Explodes used to spread around, and should be the soundtrack to lots of bedsit rave ups. The opener Back To The Flood is a twin cylinder garage charge that is pleasant enough but, outside of the guitar burn up at the end, maybe a little underwhelming as a curtain raiser. It doesn’t really matter as it’s lovable enough and works in a sort of “wait and see you fuckers” way. Falling Down the Stairs, on the other hand, is a heady mix of the hillbilly squat music that Camper Van Beethoven used to churn out, topped with this lovely tinny organ sound that reminds this old git of Paul Simpson era Teardrops. It’s ace. Ace. I repeat, ace.
And it doesn’t stop there. Bell Tower is a daft, lazy lament with a lovely organ part that lets us draw breath after Falling Down the Stairs, and sets us up for probably the best track on the LP, Bulldozer Love. This is a nine minute freak out that never gets out of second gear, albeit in a GOOD way; and this is where you really hear that Royal Trux sound sloshing about. If you were cheeky you could say it’s an ineptly brilliant take on the sort of querulous pomp that Marquee Moon exuded. Ah go on why not? It’s an ineptly brilliant take on the sort of querulous pomp that Marquee Moon exuded. Hot dang and no mistake. Violet Delivery gets even more out of it; courtesy of some hazy, queasy synths that brings a feel of Silver Apples to the track. It’s also slightly pompous in a gloriously deadpan way, and lots of Boss-isms get deservedly spanked. Baby Closes the Door takes the chords from Read It In Books and makes a gloopy, spooky track from it. That the vocals are sliding around like a drunk in an ice rink is neither here nor there. What else? Well, Even the Score is a lovely, sparkly, half-cut trip around the block to the offy, somehow everyone in the band get caught up in a classic rock riff and decide that it’s better to let the whole thing just take over and wreck any other plans they had for the track. Last up, Reach You On the Phone is another psyched out, druggy trot that has a sort of Mike Scott “nonsense” sprinkled about it. Albeit Scott wearing lycra and with a cocktail in his bejewelled hand. Tacky as hell, but such a laugh.
Simply the best LP of 2014 so far. Dig it.