Latest Reviews

26-02-2010 Liars / Sisterworld

When bands release self-titled albums, it can signify numerous things, most of them negative, such as lack of inspiration or effort (…)


26-02-2010 Marina & the Diamonds / The Family Jewels

Four years ago, Welsh-Greek warbler Marina Diamandis couldn’t play the piano. Now she’s managed to put together a whole album (…)


20-11-2009 The King Khan & BBQ Show / Invisible Girl

Filthy humour, a doo-wop sensibility and garage rock production are bound to make for a novel, if not sloppy cocktail. The third album from (…)


20-11-2009 Various Artists / Ghana Special

After Ghana achieved independence from Britain in 1957 it gradually moved into a period of relative affluence. (…)


23-09-2009 Mayer Hawthorne / A Strange Arrangement

Back in your boxes you merchants of stern and deep bass-heads, because here’s a man with a deft touch (…)


Split Gigs.com

Reviews

Women, Wavves / The Lexington, London

Wavves washed up as Women go with the tide

Words Alex Denney

A ganja leaf scrawled on a promo single first drew me to the music of Wavves. Rudely announcing itself in fat marker pen, it seemed somewhere between a puerile ‘fuck you’ and the utterly inane likeness of a cherished item, presumably settled upon after a coin toss ruled out cheese string sandwiches.

The slip case’s contents repaid curiosity, A-side ‘So Bored’ a paradoxically ferocious shoulder shrug that sprinkles drugs on its breakfast and goes straight back to bed with Pixies on full-whack. Listening to it, you might suppose Wavves would be to grunge what Times New Viking are to eighties lo-fi.

The reality’s more like middling Sebadoh. Essentially the project of San Francisco-based Nathan Williams, parts of tonight’s set sound shambling and not nearly nasty enough, although the aforementioned ode to ennui and ‘No Hope Kids’ offer compelling evidence of one well-schooled in the art of power-chord pop.

A little of Wavves’ bad-resin fumes permeate Canadian headliners Women’s outlook, but their vision is tempered by compositional flair and musicianship somewhat in advance of Señor Williams’ inchoate mumbling. Their recent, self-titled debut lingered in many a critic’s memory for its ambitious collage of art rock, noise and lush sixties pop, so expectations are understandably high tonight.

Despite the listless air of shuffling collegiate sorts we’ve become accustomed to in North American bands of late (is it possible to slope on to a stage?), the five young menfolk of Women snap into focus as they tear into material both new and old with dexterity, suggesting tracks like the Beach Boys-ish ‘Black Rice’ were no accident.

In spite of surface scuff the band performs with a restless, metronomic rigour. To this end ‘Group Transport Hall’ is transformed into a cryptic, slow grind from its rather perkier acoustic-based guise on the record, and even ‘Shaking Hand’’s giddily rushing coda seems premised on certain mathematical certainties.

The fairer sex may be nowhere to be seen among the band’s ranks, but Women are most definitely in the house.

Printer friendly version Printer friendly version