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This is no revolution, though it does give a good
twirl. It doesn’t even want to be one. It doesn’t really
know exactly what it wants to be, actually. Which is
half the problem with The Blueskins. This is
guitars for the sake of guitars, which doesn’t necessarily
have to be a bad thing, but for a while it seems like
they only picked up instruments the morning after they
saw Cameron Crowe’s rock flick Almost Famous. It’s raw,
authentic 70s distortion, it’s striking a proud manly
pose and it’s vocals that scream “WHISKEY, STRAIGHT”
and “CIGARETTES” and “PASS THE LOSENGES”. But a few
tunes in and it becomes apparent they’ve seen at least
one other movie. It’s a skiffle, country, rhythm and
blues, O Brother, Where Art Thou? thing, it’s added
a Yorkshire accent and has open access to a distortion
pedal. Which is where things do get interesting. Previous
single ‘User Friendly’ seems more charming than it did
at the time, like The Coral given a kicking by Crass.
They’re an affable if rather straight looking rabble.
When one of them perpetually seems a beat out we don’t
care because they don’t seem to, which we find endearing.
Which also applies to their drummer who plays like he’s
jogging to get a pint of milk. They aim for getting
the details right, which may betray the punk energy
they’re relying on, but not enough to knock them below
the ‘going concern’ chalk-mark.
This probably isn’t a revolution either, but it plays
on the understandable presumption that it is one.
Ikara Colt have been away from the UK for 12 months,
lost and replaced wild card bassist Jon Ball, recorded
a second album and returned with their momentum still
intact, a double-barrel tune canon (oh yes, tunes!)
pointed at your cranium and a sack full of musical Molotov
cocktails to deal with any resistance, or more likely
just to hurl around willy-nilly for the sake of it.
Paul and his increasingly floppy mop, retro chic, skinny
swagger and just-under-full-steam vocals, is actually
morphing into a harsher Bobby Gillespie, with only a
slightly different strain of obnoxiousness and a few
years to separate them right now. Claire continues to
be the perfect distraction, the dream accomplice. Like
you’d never have suspected that pretty thing Bonnie,
of course it was that misfit thug Clyde all along, right?
Similarly she’s all sweetheart next door smiles and
spine-shattering riffs of iron. Dominic remains on an
awe-inspiringly commendable quest to catalogue every
last shade of brutality through the medium of drum.
Then there’s new girl Tracy, stood legs astride like
some icy gothic bass vixen who only need strap on her
guitar to blow an amp. Literally. She spends the first
two songs miming gallantly as if practicing for the
Top of the Pops appearance that will never arrive,
and when her amp does splutter forth into usefulness
she establishes herself as just what the band was after
all this time. No disrespect to departed Jon Ball who
we used to adore for the chaos and especially the gurning
he brought to the table, but despite what your punk
morals may say there’s no replacement for someone who
can actually play and strike a pose. And it’s fitting
that along with her arrive a bunch of new songs that
may seem largely the same (look, there goes another
‘At The Lodge’, oh and a ‘Rudd’) because they are, only
so much more so. They’re generally brasher, brisker,
more coherent and strangely melodic. Foot-tapping, body-slamming
and whistle-along, sometimes. Particular attention is
paid to full-on forthcoming single ‘Wanna Be That Way’
which they end with on riotous form, and an untitled
gravely low-pacer with some shocking drumming that hits
like it’s spitting bullets in slo-mo, riddling you with
sonic lead. Viva la revolution. We’ll see you for the
second half next year.
Relevant sites:
www.ikaracolt.com/
www.theblueskins.com/
James Berry for Crud Magazine 2003©
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