Oh Boy She Moans. Maria And The Gay, Greatest Hits Vol: 1.

Given the lunacy currently employed to concoct band names (the hardest part of being in a band if the Gospel according to Damon Albarn is to be believed), Maria And The Gay isn't all that loony a moniker. Granted, the web domain is always highly likely to be available, but it's no Rocket Juice and the Moon now, is it? That said however, branding your debut full-length Greatest Hits Vol: 1 demonstrates potential derangement, unearthing a suggestion that not everything is entirely compos mentis in the camp of the Manchester-based troupe: firstly, the 'council flat/noise/electro pop duo' have yet to pen what may be considered, in the grand, if mundane scheme of Radio 1 scheduling things a 'Hit', and secondly it audaciously infers that further, similarly 'Great' instalments of their scatty raucousness are to come.
Nevertheless focussing on the here and now for the time being, there are indubitably some quite great, if outrightly barking moments here showcased: from the epic lo-fi balladry of Berlin that's equal parts Shakespears Sister and early Metronomy to the madcap Riot Grrrl rawk of opener Daddy's Bulge, Greatest Hits Vol: 1 is not merely overtly eccentric but is also suitably eclectic given that its members, Maria Dada and Amy Pennington originate from the Lebanon and the nondescript nether regions of Northern England respectively. From buoyant scraps and scrapes of abrasive arrhythmia (Motherfolkers, Oh Boy She Moans) to disquietingly crooked, if evocative doom pop (I Was Only Passing By, Doomed), Dada and Pennington vividly recall the now-tragically defunct Les Georges Leningrad at their most monstrous, and the result is an engrossing listen that deserves far greater consideration than its own attention span allows it. I Wannabe In Democracy carries a thrashed, trashy take on the chord progression from The Beautiful South's Perfect 10 to skew-whiff yowls half Brian Wilson and half lupine like a thyme-marinated lamb to the slaughterous feast of starved Philistine giants; Pushchair Suicide triumphantly reconfigures The Dandy Warhols' Bohemian Like You, its pulse racing rapid to the pace of a palpitating drum machine on the point of expiration and subsequent obsoleteness; and an undulating, out of tune take on Billy Idol's White Wedding provides yet another emphatic instance in a largely compulsive listen.