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T’Chiefs are the best thing to come from Leeds since,
well the Music. With enough melodies to send the Beach
Boys surfing, and a healthy smattering of bleeps and
blurbs, it’s SFA whooping an’ a hollering, buzzed up
on youthful exuberance. Impending single ‘Oh my god’
shivers and shakes with stripped down eccentricity,
whilst front man Ricky Warwick does a mean impression
of a puppy fatted Ian Curtis shakin’ what his mama gave
him. Whatever’s in the water up north, it seems to be
working. The Coral confused, The Music messed and The
Kaiser’s created. Welcome to the birth of another multi
syllable genre. It’s Alt-Brit-Pop, no it’s Brit-Alt-Pop.
Whatever they are, the Kaiser Chiefs are leading
from the front.
Next up, The Koreans. Two leather jackets, two
lead singers. Seems to be a common formula at the moment,
but if you were expecting uber cool and moody blues,
you’ll be pleasantly surprised. The Koreans' all singing
line up of Peter Hayes look-alike, Oliver Hicks, meets
Bryan Adams look-alike, Brent Newman, is a battle of
the bleeding hearts. Their vocal efforts form the centrepiece
of the beautifully crafted waves of giddy pop melodica.
When their eyes roll into the back of their heads, you
get the feeling they’ve floated to a higher place, and
we’ve been invited for the ride. As the songs transcend
from pop simplicity to a humming intensity, and as they
melt into their jackets, perhaps there’s just a little
coolness in there somewhere.
Taking the fundamentals of drum n bass before rampaging
your way through glam rock with total abandon is no
mean feat. To pull it off would be a fucking miracle,
and Chikini’s arrival on stage makes it all the
more unlikely.
Chikinki’s pacey, pulsy noise mongering style is a
genetic calamity of a Kid A Radiohead, and King Adora.
Rupert Browne’s stage presence has all the sensuality
of an asylum outpatient, whereas the music is off beat,
off kilter and off Richter. Chikinki’s reliance on electronics
is a brave at best, and they earn kudos for it. Everything
about Chikinki is relentless. Rhythm is brutally sacrificed
for energy and excitement, and where clarity is left
floundering, chaos rages. ‘Wave your hands if you like
to fuck!’ he screams. Well I think I do…
Relevant sites:
http://.www.chikinki.co.uk/
Sherief Younis for Crud Magazine 2004©
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