Immediately striking a disorientating interplay of unrelated no-wave funk guitars, your first impression from today’s indie is whether this is going to turn into Orange Juice or Foals, but all too quickly your left with as equally an odd outcome of a verse melody not unfamiliar to early Brian Eno fans – a theme continued throughout Va Va Va, but not as you have heard it before.
The chorus is in far too quick for us normally drawn out subtle types at xxjfg – and where are we? I’m feeling a tartan scarf waving in the air, episodes of Top of the Pops Two and the presence of the lovely Leslie McKeown! Only problem is instead of throwing my knickers on the stage, I seem to be gazing at my shoe, and the guitars suddenly make sense.
The base line as naively glam funk as early Japan ties it all together as a decidedly dance floor track and by the time the second chorus ends we are into Caribou and more obviously M83’s atmospheric epic production high territory – but then it ends!
So what are we trying to say here? Findo Gask – if your reading – it’s all too much for one tiny 3min blatantly pop dity. Please! Can we have a 12 if not 24min version? Our tiny minds have collapsed in chasm of pop that we like, wanting more.
Although originally introduced to us through the previously mentioned Andrew Weatherall rock n’ roll minimalism dub it is the original we are blogging. As a killer line, “he fucked the egg’s out her, that stupid cock tease whore” this seems an odd subject of a song – but what do you expect to find if you’re French Chloé scencester, rummaging through your new flatmate’s diary? Is it more akin to finding your living with Travis Bickle crossed with Bernard Manning dressed as Nathan Barley?
For it’s sheer unbridled beat punk poetry enthusiasm, naive guitar solo, and unpretentious joy, no matter the subject matter, Kevin is a good bounce and we expect to see you dancing around your bedroom like there is no school tomorrow right about now kids.