Rather than some sort of placid, peer-induced demonstration record showcasing all the sounds they listen to, Cokefloat is, in fact, just like old alternative rock records used to be, especially those from the Blast First scene.
Paws can do little wrong at the moment, they get good press, people talk about their shows, and they make good records. And for once there’s very little to be suspicious about. This is a fun record, and worth a spin if you’re feeling down, despite the spiky, sarky nature of a lot of the content. The band doesn’t come across as a bunch of career heads or poseurs either, which makes this LP all the more endearing. It’s in love with the here and now, the lyrics are direct- often honest and appealing in that transparency and honesty, (as in Catherine 1956) and stuffed full of character.
Character. That’s what sets them aside from loads of similar bands who noisily blunder through a set of chords. With tracks like Homecoming, Sore Tummy or Bloodline, you get a real sense of the band as people, the songs being a soundtrack to their messy, often contradictory but very believable pronouncements. So, rather than some sort of placid, peer-induced demonstration record showcasing all the sounds they listen to, Cokefloat is, in fact, just like old alternative rock records used to be, especially those from the Blast First scene. Accessible and tough: funny and often thrilling clashes of actual sounds and intent.
The lack of pomp and circumstance is luckily not allied to a lack of focus, far too often these sorts of slacker thrash-ridden guitar records sounds half digested, sated on their own noise and lazily content to pull the wool over the most impressionable of eyes. No, this is a clear eyed demonstration of what’s on their minds. With hooks, lots of hooks. There are some bits that really catch you out: the bit on Boregasm that sounds like SLF’s Alternative Ulster had me blowing my cheeks out – abashed by its brazenness, but smiling all the same for giving a classic hook a new impetus. And Miss American Bookworm is a rollicking good track, a heart rush of guitars and attitudes, unable to contain itself through its allotted time. The guitar charge at the end is brilliant and just the sort of thing to make you skip down the street in excitement. It’s that kind of record. It keeps up the energy all the way through, actually gaining in strength towards the last few tracks – which are a blast tioo: Winners Don’t Bleed is a whole heap of screaming set to a beat, and the last Poor Old Christopher Robin is a great moan that gets supercharged with an injection of guitar amidships.
Fab stuff. Who cares if it’s nowt new?