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I’d be wiling to wager all my life’s possessions (don’t get excited as it sadly only amounts to a multitude of CD packed boxes, vinyl featuring bands you and their mothers have probably never heard of and the odd rather fetching Static Caravan and Rough Trade T-shirt) in saying that you will never hear a more seductive inflection of the word ‘fuck’ than that which casually loiters to be delivered (not once but twice) in the blink of an eye and with a gasp of relief at 1.37 and 1.44 into ‘Flying under cheap kites’. There I’ve said. The gauntlet - as they say - have been laid.
Expect much media comparison to the Smiths for this debut full length from quartet the Isles, which aside being somewhat lazy journalism will no doubt unfairly blight what is a remarkably wonderful album.
The Isles bask in an age when, for want of a better description - indie pop - instead of being a sheep and doing what was expected of it ie provide canon fodder for the majors, loaded up its own cart, set up its own club and community and waved bye bye to the attendant fashionable fads and for a brief period went its own way to forge a brave new world that would invariably lay the roots to the so called twee generation. That’s not to say that the Isles are twee - in fact anything but. Incorporating a wealth of early to mid 80’s pre twee references with both the Smiths self titled debut album (especially when you consider the focal pointing guitars assuming that same stumbling soft jangle as marked out a youthful Marr as a musician of potential note - none more so is this the case than on the opening ‘Major Arcana‘) and early Micro Disney (especially on the exquisite ’Flying under cheap kites’) appearing to be the underlying core elements. Add to that back dropping canvas the delicate brush strokes of essential early Kitchenware releases in particular ‘Swoon’ era Prefab Sprout, a dusting of the Lotus Eaters, Farmers Boys and Hey Paulette and what you have collectively is something of a rare beautified treat that appears to surprise itself with each passing track. In fact this will probably be the most laid back guitar based full length you’ll hear all summer as it immediately radiates and illuminates your listening space with its softly measured hazily induced good to be alive vibe.
Billed as Melodic’s biggest release to date you could be forgiven for feeling a might cheated and short changed by ’Perfumed Lands’ seemingly brief stay - at 32 minutes in length it has to rank in these days of over burdened 70 minute outings a tad undercooked, yet that said what you get in return is a wholesome, no nonsense, fat and filler free collection of some of the most irresistible melodic nuggets to which to hang your expectant ear during these lengthening summer nights. Those previously fortunate enough to have heard the ensembles debut single ’Eve of the Battle’ will be all to aware of their classically crafted pop mindset and ’Perfumed Lands’ indeed does not disappoint. To hear ’Perfumed Lands’ is to mistakenly assume this lot had been reared in the shadow of Manchester’s dulled and darkened skyline, if not that , then at least some equally dour post industrial Northern English town. Think again they are in fact from New York.
Featuring the aforementioned debut single ’Eve of the Battle’ and its attending flip side the scrumptiously disarming bitter sweet candour of ’Flying under cheap kites’, ’Perfumed Lands’ subtly wraps you around its fingers delivering glancing sucker punches. Laden with a swooning array of charismatically catchy hooks, instead of attempting to blow you away by sitting up close and personal nose to nose they rather more curdle and glow as though being set on a back burner to simmer, all at once engaging and alluring they draw you like a fly to a spiders web to ensnare you on their sticky stuff.
Tracks like the heavily dosed on prozac ’Summer Loans’ - perhaps the albums best moment - sound like the Wedding Present bitten by the funky bug of Orange Juice’s ’Rip it up’ - gloriously infectious and blessed with a chorus back line that’ll simply floor you. The oddly psychedelically hued ’Tropical Lamby’ with it’s twisted out of focus Stones’ ‘Paint it Black’ intro and crookedly laced time signatures has the kind of wonky-ness that suggests that it’ll all fall apart at any given second soon. Then there’s the delirious finger licking and head spinning demeanour of the sugar coated ’We give a receipt, we take a receipt’ which posits itself in territories once occupied by IRS era REM as though on this occasion remixed remixed by They Might be Giants themselves arriving on the scene fully armed with all manner of Who accents. And just for those thinking this was going to be something of a soft touch the rampant ’Terraforming’ provides evidence indeed that strutting jangle riffs are back in fashion.
Take yourself and a loved one, find yourself a tree, a nice cool drink, settle yourselves down in the company of New York’s old English sound. Pop perfection guaranteed.
Key tracks -
Summer loans, flying under cheap kites and tropical lamby.
MARK BARTON
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