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We don’t do many single reviews here at Incendiary, but we HAD to review this.
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We don’t do many single reviews here at Incendiary, but we HAD to review this.
Waspish guitar strumming leads us into a high speed car chase. Once the vocals present themselves, you know its classic Duke Spirit, the angry sound both hinting to and masking off the very personal issues that the lyrics seem to be addressing. This is a classic game of smoke and mirrors. God, this band is bloody great. I especially love the way that The Duke Spirit keep the sound sparse and insistent. Lazier, and less clever bands would have drowned this in noise. As it is, it’s utterly addictive. And short. As soon as this song presents itself to the listener, it’s gone. Up there with all the classic singles I could, but for reasons of space won’t mention.
“You Were Born Inside My Heart” is a big contrast. Someone is beating metal pipes on a deserted building site. Slow, muted vocals follow. A harsh, wintry landscape is presented to the listener. Suddenly, a chiming looping guitar kicks in, and Liela Moss works herself up into a rage. She’s in declamatory mood, denouncing the (doubtless wilting) subject of this song whilst the guitar, like an angry spitting coal in the brazier, (we’re still on a building site, remember) spits and fizzes. Then it’s gone. Wow.
With “Boot Hill”, a muted drunk guitar squaw sets up a low chant. A feeling of utter dejection is apparent, conjouring up scenes of the rejected malformed bumpkin of the village, who has been sent packing back across the Fens to his stinking, swampy home.
Utterly removed from anything around, seemingly devoid of any need to impress or please anyone, this record is a stone classic.
Words: Richard Foster