Forged from homage and futurism and as sonically enjoyable a
David M. Madden | salt lake, utah United States | 02/08/2010
(5 out of 5 stars)
"Reposted from my [...] review
Occasionally, you listen to a new band and the "love it, hate it" reaction can't immediately be addressed due to the music's disconcerting and ambiguous aesthetic (i.e. Bitches Brew, Portishead, Odelay, The Go! Team's Thunder, Lightning, Strike); your mental label maker overloads with "I hear this and that, though it's not quite this or that but a bit of other stuff..." and so on.
As the instruments hiccup with a prominent, pulsing pop and Malachai (formerly Malakai) vocalist Gee recites "warriors, come out to play" alongside a percussive loop of the unnerving finger-bottle clanks from the film on the opener, "Warriors." The first minute indicates this as a scratchy 33 1/3 of sessions with Hendrix on guitar, Keith Moon on drums and a reggae-induced Jack Bruce on voice/bass. You're shaken, scratch your head, then decide to just enjoy the hazy, collaged illusion that producer "Scott" permeates throughout Ugly Side of Love (Geoff Barrow, who originally released the record in late 2009 on his Invada Records, might have some influence on the Bristol duo's sound).
Complementing a foundation of clever, transparent, empowered sampling (think Madlib), hazy `60s-rock-meets-early-`70s-psychedelia-meets-Spaghetti-Western (don't think The Black Crowes), greasy production, Gee swaggers with the best singers of said era and takes on subject matter as timeless and odd as, say, Marc Bolan. It might be gibberish, invented phrases, slogans for Green Teams across the globe, pure poetry, communication with another planet - or all of the above - as when he sings, "You, you must be crazy / you, you're a blackbird / take off when you want, and don't you be back, bird / pokin' around like a needle full of hay / baby, I'm a juicer" on "Blackbird." Who knows, but the delivery exudes a collected, slightly lunatic confidence, Gee wailing and reaching for growling consonants and piercing falsettos over Scott's backwards drums, Gatling gun rolls, phasing organ drones, funk vamps and duck pond ambiance.
But enough name dropping. Gee and Scott have carved a niche, one innocent and sans gimmick, forged from homage and futurism and as sonically enjoyable as it is intriguing.
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