Jeremy Jay’s Love Everlasting is a slow burning, painfully perfect piece of night time melancholia which steals from the 80s in the best possible way, this is, with a heart. It sounds like the reflection of a fast red corvette in the windows of a chic boutique outside a shut down disco somewhere down town, somewhere you used to go, good memories turned sour materialise in the twisting coils of a mournful synthesiser, newspaper corpses dancing in the air as you walk past. Imagine John Maus advancing tearful through the reticle of dream-city engineered by that dark sorcerer Johnny Jewel, realise why we have just fallen in love.
Speed it up, Loin Brothers’ Heavy Helmet is bike-chains, blood-encrusted leather and gang warfare in the back-alleys of bravo country, an acknowledgement of how glam teardrop tattoos are. It is a streetwise transmission straight off a Z-series video-tape bought from a fat bearded biker screwed behind a dodgy stall with bad-ass zen attitude, total testosterone overdose as you speed up the wrong lane of the highway towards the beautiful climax of a police barricade, de Vorzon would be proud.