Fire Extinguishers at the Ready: Blood Red Shoes, Fire Like This

Where the majority of this year’s magnificent releases thus far hinge on an innovative reconfiguration, circling around the downright disturbing Brighton's bestest duelling darlings Blood Red Shoes come back to precisely what they know on second outing, Fire Like This. As bratty as The Breakfast Club and as true as a Tiger Woods hole-in-one of the golfing variety, Laura-Mary Carter and Steven Ansell have seemingly had Rival Schools’ seminal United By Fate, as well as their shockingly superlative debut Box of Secrets on heavy rotation for the best part of the recent past. The result is a seething record, drenched in a trashy, distorted saliva and coated in cacophonic cymbals freshly spewed over listeners far and wide. Pertaining pop sensibilities alongside dingy dual vocals, Fire Like This is, really, rather spectacular. Opening with the erratic and dicey disco of Don’t Ask, Carter’s fallen angel wails cascade menacingly, as the duo patronise prolifically, proclaiming “looks like you’ve got more to learn”. In the wake of The White Stripes’ bedroom blues, Blood Red Shoes send out a warning shot to backwardly boring braces throughout musical realms. It Is Happening Again sees trademarked terrorising Telecaster jabs weaving incessantly amongst metronome-munching hi hat hits heftier than James Hetfield’s haughty demeanour. When We Wake lurks alluringly on the safe side of Evanescence-esque balladry, before oozing into a sensationally slow burning envelopment of itself, whilst the Dr. Martens stomp of Count Me Out pounds harder than quids in a credit crunch. Follow The Lines is sweetly sickening, like The Cardigans gobbing up broken shards of Biffy Clyro and the irrepressible regaling refrain of Colours Fade is as catchy as Cold Cave. Undoubted highlight however regurgitates itself in the shape of One More Empty Chair, a lurching lunge into truly original post-punk perfection, equipped with a devastating gas-guzzling Hummer of an inanely affectionate chorus. Forget kicking up the fire and letting the flames break loose; Blood Red Shoes went and emptied two vats of petrol on their explosive indie aggro.

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