Record Review: The Kill Devil Hills – Man You Should Explode

7.5

Dripping with sweat, testosterone, and balls-and-all fuckin' awesomeness, Man, You Should Explode is a great Australian rock and roll album. It stands proudly alongside the recent tremendous work of The KDH's 'swamp rock' contemporaries, The Drones and The Mess Hall. And after listening to it just one time, I checked my nut sack to discover I'd grown three extra testicles.

This is a "smash a chair over the back of a cunt 'cos he looked at you the wrong way during a game of Texas Hold 'em" kinda record. Album opener It's Easy When You Don't Know How screams and rolls around the room a like mad man. It kicks your teeth in and announces that The Kill Devil Hills are here and they fuckin' own this town.

Cockfighter, (although it maybe a taboo reference these days, now that they've moved on to be U2-wannabe-cum-stains) recalls early Kings Of Leon records with a gun belt full of swagger and filthy, drawling guitar string bends.

And then BAM! The album takes the lead horse by the reins and makes a left into slow burner town with the country ballad I Don't Think I Can Take This Shit Much Longer. An unexpected manoeuvre, but this bunch of desert hell raisers don't play by nobody's rules.

Other standouts include the piano bar sing along Words From Robin To Batman (not a confession of gay love, if that's what you're thinking... not that there's anything wrong with that), the eerie When The Wolf Comes, and the boot scootin' rocker Siam.

And at the end of it all, the tender Lucy-On-All-Fours lulls you to sleep like your resting your whisky soaked head in the warm, loving arms of a gold-hearted whore.

When you've finished listening to Man, You Should Explode, you'll feel like you've been kissed by a stick of dynamite. And dat sheet feels goooood!

Originally published in Polaroids of Androids

Record Review: Bridezilla – The First Dance

7.3

Bridezilla have done more support slots in recent times than a pile of scaffolding. I haven't checked, but I wouldn't be surprised if they were supporting RZA at his upcoming Aussie shows.

And listening to their debut LP, The Last Dance it's easy to understand why they've scored so many great gigs. In fact, before listening to this album, I'd always dismissed Bridezilla as one of those ‘hype bands' that pop up every few years, support a shitload of acts on tour, put out one mediocre record and then fade into nothingness.

Only thing is Bridezilla haven't put out a mediocre record. They've put out a really great one that does an amazing job of melding their fucked up mix of instruments (guitar, vox, drums, saxophone and violin), without making them sound like a bunch of pretentious wank biscuits.

The saxophone (normally my most hated of instruments) and the violin work together to create a droning, haunting sound that permeates and adds depth to all their songs (see in particular Lunar Eclipse and Beaches).

Meanwhile, the guitar riffs are classic, especially the opening lick on Tailback. And of course Holiday Sidewinder's vocals add hundreds and thousands to the cake - breathily hovering through the music while simultaneously slinging a giant set of cahones.

The Last Dance is also an album that doesn't pigeon hole the band to any particular kind of musical slot. Perhaps that's why they are so adaptable when it comes to support gigs. They worked really well as an opener for prog-folkers The Decemberists' recent tour, and I'm sure they'll rip the nut sacks off a few punters on their upcoming warm up spots for The Cribs and The Mess Hall on their respective national tours.

In an Australian musical landscape where successful female musicians are as boring and similar as bread sandwiches (go hi-five yourselves Sarah Blasko and Lisa Mitchell) Bridezilla stand out like marmalade – a sexy and unique condiment, bursting with flavour. And The Last Dance is a particularly tasty jar of marmalade.

Originally published in Polaroids of Androids

Record Review: Beach House – Teen Dream

7.8

If voices were fuckable, I'd be balls deep in Victoria Legrand from Beach House's sultry, sensual siren calls. It hazily wafts it's way through your ears, juicy with cigarettes, red wine and sex - leaving you feeling like you've smashed a bottle of claret while wading through a hot spa.

And its Legrand's vocals that truly stand out on Beach House's new record, Teen Dream. Where their earlier albums relied on her voice being drenched in reverb to induce a dreamy, lullaby sound that has become their signature, Teen Dream has seen them wring out the reverb and let the sickly sweet tones reign supreme on their own.

This could be to do with the fact that Teen Dream is their first album on Sub Pop, the pioneer grunge label that has transformed into a home for off-beat indie pop. With a bigger label comes a bigger budget, and with said budget Beach House were able to enlist the skills of producer Chris Coady (who's worked with Yeah Yeah Yeahs, TV On The Radio and Grizzly Bear to name but a few) to help them extend the canvas for which they could work upon. And Coady has enabled Beach House to paint a beautiful picture.

Put frankly, Teen Dream is a fantastic record. Opener Zebra announces the album in true Beach House-style. Alex Scally delicately plucks guitar notes; the drumbeat dribbles into the mix; the organ and two-part harmonies fall into place; before finally Legrand's vocals swoon and deliver their perfect pop lines.

The stunning Silver Soul follows it, before the humming organ introduces Norway, a song I'm recommending as a contender for POA's already growing list of songs of 2010.

As the tracks continue, you realise each song is as strong as it's predecessor. It's no wonder the album is fast becoming both a critical and fan favourite. I wouldn't be surprised if it ends up on many 'best of' lists at the end of the year.

Beach House may have named this record Teen Dream, but to me it sounds more adult than anything they've done before.

Originally published in Polaroids of Androids

Interview: 10 Questions With the Kill Devil Hills

We fire ten 'hot ones' at Brendon Humphries of Western Australian band The Kill Devil Hills and he politely returns serve with some responses that give a lil' insight as to what peeps attending shows on their upcoming national tour should maybe expect.

1. Describe The Kill Devil Hills in five words (swearing permitted).

Brendon, Steve, Alex, Steve, Ryan.

2. What kind of cocktail should one consume while attending a KDH gig and can you supply a recipe?

Claret mixed with Emu Export, never fails.

3. Why does Freemantle kick the shit out of Perth?

Most places kick the shit out of Perth, it's not that hard.

4. How many Kill Devil Hills does it take to change a light bulb?

We've got road crew for that.

5. Which Aussie artist would you like to collaborate with / give a squeezer to?

Not quite sure what a squeezer is but we would like to collaborate with Icehouse.

6. Do you want longer lasting sex?

What, more than 3 hours?

7. Vampires are all the rage at the moment, what's with that?

It's a good way to market jeans I guess...

8. I really like this girl at school, but every time I try to talk to her nothing comes out. What should I do?

Stalk her with your mobile like all your friends do. Or you could turn into a vampire and then she'd want to fuck you.

9. What's the secret to growing a rollicking good beard?

Longer lasting sex.

10. What surprises can audiences expect from The Kill Devil Hills' February national tour (eg have you added samplers and floor toms to the line up)?

We've got a choreographed dance and light spectacular now, with 250 people on stage... no miming either.

Originally published in Polaroids of Androids

Live Review: The Decemberists, The Virgin Mobile Metro Theatre 19/01/2010

I rocked up to The Decemberists' Virgin Mobile (shudder) Metro gig, just in time to catch the end of Bridezilla's support slot. They seemed to have the audience in rapture with tracks from their tops new record, The First Dance. I caught a sweet soundingHeart You Hold, before they awkwardly maneuvered from the stage.

Thirty minutes and $13 for two cans of VB (FARK!) later, The Decemberists made their way on stage, lead by a bearded Colin Meloy. Now, I wasn't the biggest fan of their 2009 album, Hazards Of Love, and was a bit apprehensive that their Virgin Mobile (shudder) Metro gig's set list would be dominated by it. But to my surprise the band opened with the two opening tracks from their phenomenal 2006 album, The Crane Wife - The Crane Wife 3 and The Island: Come And See, The Landlord's Daughter, You'll Not Feel the Drowning.

For the rest of the night, the band waltzed their way through a 'best of' set list that featured tracks from The Crane Wife and 2005's Picaresque. In fact the only song they busted out from Hazards Of Love was a ball tearing rendition of The Rake's Song, clearly the standout piece of the night.

However, the most intriguing element of the evening was the sheer list of instruments the band went through, including:

• a lute
• an acoustic guitar
• a 12 string acoustic
• a hurdy gerdy
• a banjo
• a mandolin
• 2 keyboards
• 4 electric guitars
• a 12 string electric guitar
• a piano accordion
• 2 xylophones
• a melodica
• drums
• 2 extra floor toms (apparently everyone's fucking doing it these days)
• a bass
• a double bass
• a tambourine
• shakers

I have to say though, changing electric guitars two or three times during a song is fucking excessive. Jog on guys.

Despite this wankiness, Colin Meloy kept the audience of indie kids, Josh Pyke fans and dudes that had been dragged there by their hippy girlfriends happy with jokes and witty banter.

To finish off the night, the band played a polite, but unrehearsed rendition of the Go Betweens' Bye, Bye Pride, before sending us onto the streets of ol' Sydney town with a singalong of Sons And Daughters.

All in all it had been a fun night. But seriously... $13. Fuck off.

Originally published in Polaroids Of Androids

Record Review: The Mess Hall – For The Birds

8.2

Burke Reid poos gold and jizzes rainbows. I'm not sure what his sexual preference is, but I can tell you this much - the guy's a fuckin genius at fiddling with knobs.

Not only did he produce what is arguably the greatest Australian album of the last decade (The Drones' Havilah), as well as a number of other great local releases in recent years, he's now whipped out his magic wand and gone *POOF* all over The Mess Hall's latest LP, For The Birds.

I've never really been into The Mess Hall. I just thought they were part of the whole 'blues rules/bass blows' crowd. But I had a throbbing rager goin' when I heard that Optimus Reid had produced their latest effort. That coupled with my first listen to the lead single, Bell, clued me onto the fact that The Mess Hall had made a major sonic shift since their previous recordings.

Like a couple of notable American two pieces before them, The Mess Hall have decided to move on from their simplistic guitar and drum set up, and to incorporate moody keys and organs to alter their sound.

And what a fucking amazing sound it is. The whole album is a deep, dark and twisted groove session. Delta blues, funk, soul, swamp rock and every other badass, swaggering kind of sub genre of music you can think of has been rolled up, beaten over the head with a 2x4, run over, soaked in bourbon and set alight - all to produce a sound that has been done so many times before, but for some reason still sounds totally fresh here.

This is where Burke Reid's influence kicks in. There always seems to be twelve instruments playing at once, but none of them ever take the limelight over the others. The album's also been mixed in a way so that when you sit there with phones on, it sounds like shit is being thrown at you from all side of the room. And that shit sounds rad.

Fuzzed out guitar; percussion that sounds like it's been chewed up and spat out; haunting backing vocals; throbs of organ; reverbed hand claps; tickles of piano; all serve to reinforce Jed Kurzel's slacker vocals. He never bothers to try and show off his singing skills, because he doesn't need to. Just the tone of his voice is enough to make you think he's packin' a 12 inch wang.

My only critique is the two slowed down and stripped back numbers Marlene andSwing Low. I can understand that they were going for a change of pace with both, but I think the album would've have been much tighter and 'complete' without them.

In the end I could go through each song on this record and tell you how fuckin' good it is and come up with a bunch of shitty metaphors and similes to try and describe them to you. But quite frankly, that'd just be wasting time that you should actually be listening to this album.

So just drop whatever you're doing, go out and get it. NOW!

Note: You may also want to purchase some towels and a mop or something to clean up the mess you'll make after you blow your load over how good it is.

Originally published in Polaroids of Androids

Record Review: Spoon – Transference

6.6

It's pretty obvious that Britt Daniel got an extra dollop of charisma when they were buttering the cool cunt sandwiches. The man may as well be Arthur Fonzarelli jumping a tank of sharks on a motorcycle.

I once saw him stare down and pick up the only hot chick ever to have visited Canberra, mid performance. She was already tonsils deep on his utensil before he'd even left the stage. And ever since Girls Can Tell, this extreme level of being fucking awesome has translated through to his band Spoon's albums.

That's no different for their latest effort, Transference. The lead single Written In Reverse was released just before Christmas and had all the band's fans frothing on what the new album would have in stall for them in the new year - myself included.

So when I finally got my hands on a copy a few days ago, I imported it to my trusty Pod, fingered repeat, and let her go. And in the days since, where I've literally listened to nothing but Spoon, I have to admit... it's disappointingly predictable.

Like I said, the cool is still there. As is the sparse, driving rhythms; thumping keys; chaotically exploding guitar licks; and gravel torn vocals that posses more soul than most white boys can dream of - all of which combine into that sound that is so identifiably Spoon.

But the hooks, those incredible pop hooks that shook you like an infant on Way We Get By, I Summon You and Don't Make Me A Target, just aren't there.

That doesn't mean there aren't some kick ass spinners. Written In Reverse makes you wanna stomp a hole in the dance floor with your dirty Texan heels. The Mystery Zonehas one of those unidentifiable elements that makes you love it more and more every time you hear it. And Got Nuffin, towards the end of the LP, pounds like a Catholic school girl when her parents are out.

But there are no surprises, no twists or turns. I remember catching I Turn My Camera On for the first time and thinking "What a shit song." But as I heard it over and over again, it clawed and wrenched its way through me until I grasped the unbelievable appeal of that disco hook - the same hook that pervades so many amazing Spoon songs, no matter how much they break it down, or swell it up.

But on Transference, Britt, despite his ability to fix jukeboxes with a well timed punch, seems to have bent the Spoon too far.

Originally published in Polaroids of Androids