|
Detroit; dog bollocks; connections to the Hentchmen, the Sights and the Cyril Lords; wickedly screwball with lashings of lo-fi fuzz to 60’s Pebbles derived psyche - garage - crusted with elements of Link, Lou and the Standells as though bitten by the groove bug wearing shades and leather, quite possibly the sexiest thing we’ve heard all year so far - need we say more.
Well yes now you come to ask.
Featuring the combined talents of Messrs (John) Szymanski, (Dave) Shettler and (Marty) Morris (hence SSM) have it seems already caused something of a buzz among the Detroit underground with the release of last years ultra limited ’LP1’ demo, the resulting feeding frenzy and fisticuffs in an attempt to secure their signatures and services ultimately being won by Alive records (Two Gallants etc….) to which several months later reward comes in the form of this nailed down deliberately unpolished 13 track debut full length.
Lazy, crudely contagious ’SSM’ is irrefutably bedecked with all the trademark garage punk attire that you’d come to expect of an ensemble made up of members from some of the Detroit scenes finest rockers, yet there’s a subtle difference at large here. While most bands might happily peddle their vintage near cloned tributes to Pebbles finest until the cows don’t so much come home but rather more start a spot of spontaneous breeding with the natural habitat, SSM’s brand of customised garage has instead of being left to choke on exhaust and spray paint fumes been allowed out onto the open road to fill its engine with as much cross pollinated generic air as its turbo charged eight cylinders can take.
Cannibalising Keith Richard’s early 70’s street cool riffs and giving them a much needed shot of adrenalin is only part of the equation at the heart of SSM as they run the gamut and spit out at unnerving frequency all the keynote reference points of rock ’n’ roll’s multi faceted heritage. The bone rattling boogie ’Sick’ with its scuzzy Stones-esque skeletal thrill burns with shades of classic Ronson while ’Candy Loving’ is the long lost cousin of the Standells ’Dirty Water’ with the tear inducing rawness being brought about by the bands reliance on only guitar, drums and keys - the latter executed in the most part with a sure fire kooky delivery.
‘Exit strategy’ opens the set with a to die for mooching riff that owes more to old school rock steady / ska than garage while the ghost of Link Wray is in attendance throughout to varying degrees no more so is this the case than on ’Worst of Me’ with its lurking fuzzy overlays, soft psyche washes and crooked detuned keys. Then there’s the electro blues of ’Ain’t love’ while elsewhere ’Put me in’ even dabbles with a spot of deliciously choked white funk before mutating into something not to dissimilar to early wired up Fall. Glam rock is dragged through the blender on the seismic ’No looking back’ and comes out of the other end tie dyed and bespoked with a hint of crucial darkly toned psyche for good measure - a bit like a scrubbed up and tightened New York Dolls. All said and done nothing quite compares with ’2012’ - a horny as fuck hi-fi humping b-movie suited and booted shades wearing bastard love child of the Stones ’2000 light years’ and the Monkees ’(I’m not your) Steppin’ Stone’ with Baby Woodrose overseeing the delivery - snakes seductively with such primal sensuality that it could, if bottled up, put Viagra out of business. Absolutely essential debut release so much so that you’ll never want for those Pebbles compilations ever again.
MARK BARTON
|
