On the Horizon: Tacks on Chairs, Gum in Your Hair, DEN.

With endless streams of downtrodden alt. moans leaking from laptop speakers these days, it’s reassuring to stumble upon a band not only content with getting that serotonin gushing but doing so in an expansively orchestral manner as blindingly euphoric as a triple bill of Michel Gondry sat in the front row. Take Jenny for instance, a sprawling mid-West drawl centred on adolescent emotional incompetence, bolstered by ooh la la’s that Alison Goldfrapp’d be proud of, before bursting into a b-side Beatles chorus that’s as unapologetically satisfying as a clan of vegetarians sitting down to a 3am Big Mac Meal. Hence The Boats emanates the impression that DEN wouldn’t be all that likely to sit quietly and watch the show whilst sweaty palms delve into extortionate boxes of popcorn; the key-wandering vocals of Andy Sucks come over all Local Natives if only they’d let some of that LA Vitamin-D seep into the sombre sorrow contained within last year’s Gorilla Manor, Sprinkled Donut Holes weds splintered reverb-encased guitars with jittering organs and intergalactic synths and Six Billion Minds, in the right hands, could ruffle a few feathers within the cutthroat A&R circles of Camden, Shoreditch and everywhere in between. As fiddles flicker, horns blaze and guitar and saxophone solos incinerate any lingering disaffections, DEN haul you from your cushioned thrones, bung you up on the silver screen and scorch across America’s no-longer-so-great states.

DEN's Myspace.