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You’ll find yourself singing odd snatches of this lp as you do the shopping or whilst sneering at passers by; its a loner’s record for sure.
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You’ll find yourself singing odd snatches of this lp as you do the shopping or whilst sneering at passers by; its a loner’s record for sure.
This is one hell of an album. It is sparse, tense, full of such explosive sentiments that may induce your cd player to eject the album of its own free will. Powerful stuff indeed. It’s a damned sleazy disc, and very feline. Sonically, there’s not much to differentiate the tracks on the album outside of tempo and vocal range. The song scapes themselves are pretty consistent; bitter emotional battles belted out over acerbic guitar lines. Oh, and VV has one hell of a voice. As smooth as Cadbury’s.
Perhaps if I describe the opening (and title) track in some detail, the description itself’ll give you an indication of what to expect. A scattergun drum machine announces the song, and apart from one or two muted grumbles from a belligerent sounding guitar, is the sole accompaniment to VV’s voice. (At this point I must add that the band’s stage names are VV and Hotel.) Back to the song. Slowly, elements are added; none of which could be described as soothing – a louder, more menacing guitar line, Hotel’s sinister vocals. An emotional climax of sorts is reached amidst much sneering and pontificating, and it’s all rather fabulous.
You’ll find yourself singing odd snatches of this lp as you do the shopping or whilst sneering at passers by; its a loner’s record for sure. Or a record that’s perfect to put on if you want to spoil a posh Dutch students party or a gathering at your in-laws (not that I’m getting autobiographical here).
Get it.
Words: Richard Foster