Holed up amidst the smoggy abyss that is Milan, disjointed from both the marvelous monotony of t'internet and the bountiful musical wealth stored within, collecting interest and appeal day-by-day, a splurge of hype and frenzy would surely swathe out from wireless ports like bemused Muse obsessives dashing for the railings as if their prophesised, mythical musings on the impending apocalypse would end following one final night spent being neuronally overloaded. Whilst the world as we know it, evidently, is yet to collapse, crumble and devour itself like Brit lads wolfing down extortionate tourist-luring Margheritas (both of the lime and cheese and tomato varieties) that there alternative music scene continues to sedate itself, bloated on cheap trash and knock-off retro new-wave chancers. NME are yet to publish their tips for 2010, the likes of which will doubtlessly be dispatched off on hallowed support slot tours and then of course soundtrack a Hollyoaks intro but at this moment in time, the horizon seems somewhat bleak; with Shoreditch infatuated with glam gloom in the shape of the whimsically vapid drones of R O M A N C E, S.C.U.M, ULTERIOR and other such orthographical nightmares is it any wonder Zavvi couldn't even be traded in for store credit?
In the forever-inspired words of Chris Martin, everything's not lost however as a slew of psychedelic behemoths and torch-bearers of the utterly unlistenable may have finally come good... Bristol's Fuck Buttons return this year with Tarot Sport, a crazed musical meander through the Early Learning Centre after-hours, spliced impeccably with incoherent dashes of vocal samples and euphoric come-down crescendos marking a significant growth from their days in the drone playgrounds of previous outing, Street Horrrsing. Elsewhere, the intoxicatingly melancholic chimes and howls of Staten Island's Cymbals Eat Guitars is as hallucinatory as Wayne Coyne chomping on a Milky Way whilst sailing the winds of the subconscious on a ship of squeaky-clean polystyrene. The bipolar brilliance of West Virginian sweetheart Daniel Johnston never sounded so hopelessly majestic as on Is And Always Was, the latest episode to his perpetually expansive back-catalogue and The Raveonettes' latest take on the Gospels According to Nico & Lou, In And Out Of Control, singles itself out as the most vital of lo-fi fruition too ripe for Pitchfork's deconstructive criticism. The reverb surf and slide guitars of Girls' insipidly-entitled debut, Album, have attracted and repelled in equal measure yet the heart-broken bellows of Laura and the saccharin-sweet minor chords of Lust For Life enchant like flickering £1 candles in deserted chapels. Of course, in a mere matter of weeks, every blogger's beloved borough, Brooklyn's churned out yet another would-be-ignored-were-they-from-Burnley band by the name of The Drums. Vocals as grating as a parmesan and gravel salad (Instruct Me), regurgitated drum pad thuds ripped straight off South London starlets The xx (Me And The Moon) and rather-too-lupine Robert Smith growls (Submarine) disappoint like an empty inbox. The subaqueous neo-ballad of Down By The Water is rather dreamy, somewhere along the lines of a magic mushroom-infused Passion Pit 7" played at 33RPM. Whilst surroundings and situations may change, musical landscapes remain unscathed.
Fuck Buttons- Tarot Sport, out now on ATP Records
Cymbals Eat Guitars- Why There Are Mountains, released 26th Oct on Memphis Industries
Daniel Johnston- Is And Always Was, out now on Feraltone
The Raveonettes- In And Out Of Control, out now on Fierce Panda
Girls- Album, out now on Fantasy Trashcan
The Drums- Sunshine! out now on Moshi Moshi
R O M A N C E, S.C.U.M and ULTERIOR are, predictably, all yet to release anything tangible...
