"I love this album so much that I shall endeavour to spend the rest of the day purchasing cheese whilst imitating Bob Dylan."
Magic Bullet Theory – Poems and Explosions
Yeah! I fucking love this cd! It´s loud, messy, in love with the Sonics and the Monks (not to mention ACDC) and very Danish. The raison detre of Magic Bullet Theory seems to be a simple one. Angry and confrontational chaps shout and wail over catchy 60's garage grooves. Intensity and lashings of Nordic brooding keep this admittedly well-worked formula mercifully clear of irony and smugness. The band escribe themselves as ´well versed in the dirtiest and darkest realms of rock´ Well, it does get dashed gloomy up there in winter...
The opener, the aptly named ´Bring in the Band´is rather extraordinary in it's, erm, shall we say, temerity, and is a very good indication of what to expect on the rest of this cd. Lots of other tracks stand outon first listen, most notably ´21st Century Blues´; a classic case of ACDC riffery replete with shouting. And I love it. Lordy how I love it.
In fact I love it so much, I have decided, somewhat perversely, that there's no real point in going on about it in print. No point. I would be wasting too much attention on writing about Poems and Explosions instead of listening to it and (therefore) enjoying myself. Rather, I want to turn this lp up right now, if only to annoy the prissy young lawyer couple who live in the flat below. Previously I would use Raw Power or Hex Enduction Hour. Now I shall use this.
I love this album, and we've only just got acquainted....
I love it in a way that I love eating a big chicken pie on my knees whilst watching telly. I love it in the way that I love dressing in tweeds and hearing the snappy sound that my shoes make as I confidently stride down my street on my way to the pub. I love it in the way that I loved dressing up as a pantomime cow on Leazes Moor in 1990, finding, in the process, a strange fraternity in the presence of other, real cows.
I love this album so much that I shall endeavour to spend the rest of the day purchasing cheese whilst imitating Bob Dylan. Or maybe I could stand at the bus stop and confuse fellow pedestrians by shouting ´brisket, brisket´ whilst dribbling in unseemly fashion down my tank top.
I fly to Copenhagen tonight to find Magic Bullet Theory, in order to worship them in person, and to wash their feet and to administer sweet oils and balms to them.