Blinding Retrospection: Cat's Eyes, Cat's Eyes.

Having seeped onto t'internet earlier on in the year, pet project from once-self-professed Rotter Faris Badwan, Cat's Eyes not so much as fired out but unfurled a quite grandiose statement of intent with a wondrously melodramatic rendition of I Knew It Was Over, captured at the heart of the Vatican. As deeply rooted Badwan may be in the London circuit, siblings playing in hot potato hype bands and bandmates practically single-handedly man-handling Highbury's Buffalo Bar, many were perplexed at quite how the spindly Horror had wangled such a feat. Amidst the luscious sepia tones, sombre serenity and largely ambiguous camera angles it would've been entirely plausible to have disregarded or perhaps dismissed the tranquil dissolution lullaby, had it not proved quite so haunting, nagging away at your ears to delve deeper into the latest catacomb furrowed by Badwan. More of a collaboration with Canadian soprano Rachel Zeffira than a band per se, given the diversity of the pair's respective (musical) backdrops their self-titled debut long-player is a rather symbiotic listen, fleeting and frolicking gayly through often mutually exclusive time signatures, trends and eras. Bolstered by a series of quite stunning Chris Cunningham visuals, the live show too is something of a multi-faced, multimedia blowout that darts back and forth between recital and psychedelic cerebrum-mauler, an experience to be caught at all costs. On record, its eponymous opener, a '60's-soaked theme tune of sorts, unites a soulful stomp with Faris' ubiquitously documented influence list, whilst the segueing The Best Person I Know sees things shimmy over in a rather more subdued, Armstrong-esque aesthetic, distinctly more symphonic, Zeffira emulating the late Trish Keenan's frigid coo. The transition from Badwan to Zeffira, who as press shots progress seem to resemble one another forever more, is consumed in the heartfelt lament of I'm Not Stupid, ingenuous female vox deploring inferiority as Zeffira persistently trills: "I can see she's better than me". Given her cherubic demeanour and ethereal musical capabilities, you wonder whether there'd be anyone amidst the NME readership that'd subordinate her as such. Face In The Crowd sees Badwan's bellow rampage around thunderous drums and fragile beguiling backing vocal wafts, their respective best bits intertwined atop an irrepressible bass line, before the lines the duo draw again intersect on The Lull as the emotivity is jacked up to nauseating extremes. Over You sounds something like Bobby Gillespie gambolling about Highbury Fields at crimson sunset in the company of the entirety of the London Philharmonic in pagan frivolity, whilst Bandit, complete with snake charmer interjections, ought to suffice to ensure the pair are commissioned for Bond soundtrack sooner or later. The brassy, lethargic Sooner Or Later itself however is something of an anomaly, an escapee from the Strange House, yet the amphibian croaks and deft strings of Not A Friend recoup any lingering reservations to fall head over heels for the couple. Sorry, duo...