From Mojo - June 2003
Pink Grease: All Over You
Pink Grease are probably the most incompetent band this writer has ever seen. They look like they shop at an '80s alternative boutique, all different styles at once, and their peroxide-blonde singer might as well carry a sign, saying "Smack me!" He - and they - tend to provoke extreme reactions. Despite it all, this ramshackle bunch make sparks fly, and although certainly not for the muso listener, their debut mini-album brims with joy in its own clueless creation. First track, Nasy Show is the pick, a twisted desperate song of sexual compulsion which echoes Raw Power era Stooges, Swell Maps, Pere Ubu, X-Ray Spex, Chrome and Joy Division. The rest is by turns histrionic, hilarious and out to lunch. It's what punk was surely all about - wresting control of rock'n'roll from virtuoso stiffs and redistributing to people with hot ideas.
4/5
Cex: Being Ridden
What would the world be like if Eminem wasn't trailer trash?
Baltimore, MD wonderkid Cex, born Rjyan Kidwell, has racked up quite a bit of cred on the fledgling indie hop hop scene as a hard spitting middle-class white kid with an A-list vocab, obsessive knowledge of pop culture and self-deprecating humour worthy of it's own handmade 'zine. On this, his fourth full lengther in four years, Cex moves slightly away from his former snot and swagger towards more humble inflection. On Not Working, Kidwell wrestles his angst with an agitation and sense of destiny not unlike Eminem on the 8 Mile soundtrack. Elsewhere, pokey acoustic guitars and hand percussion help Cex shed the braggart inherent in the genre, slipping into whining blues a la Bright Eyes (Signal Katied). These sonic forwards are nothing if not mixed with slammers like Earth-Shaking Event, where Kidwell offers "a middle finger to the indie rock singer", while outing fake rappers who've cashed in by writing "stale regurgitations of The Smiths".
3/5
Buzzcocks: Buzzcocks
The most overrated virtue in popular music is originality, and no matter how many times a press release uses the words 'seminal' and 'archetype', it means nothing if the music stinks. Fortunate, then, that the only currently productive band from the Class of '77, the Buzzcocks, have crafted a nervy seventh album which at times positively fizzes into life. The opener, and frist single, I'm A Jerk, sets the tone in just two minutes and 20 seconds of riff heaven, before segueing blisteringly into Keep On, which has the audacity to clock in at over three minutes. Elsewhere, there's some damn catchy stuff too: Steve Diggle's Sick City Sometimes and Drive You Insane shun the punk template to explore more of a radio-hard-rock territory, while the Shelly/Devoto cut Stars is brutal. Dignity still intact then, and more than enough on show here to five the new brigade of 'punks' a run for their money.
3/5
British Sea Power: The Decline Of British Sea Power
Fancied Cumbrian four-piece's first album of "High Church amplified rock music".
It's a rare group that gets similarly mad props from Kerrand! and Newnight's Jeremy Vine. Those who've witnessed the tin helmets, stuffed owls and viseral Joy Division/Pixies-model rock of the British Sea Power live experience, however, will know the singular latitudes they occupy. Previously likened to Belle & Sebastian meeting Laibach, this is an album of stadium sized melodies and exquisite songwriting, allied with almost too many ideas. Delivered in singer Yan's breathy, desperate vocal, songs considered this country's past and future, geomancy and, in The Lonely, an imagined soliloquy by Joe Meek's writing partner and fellow spiritualist Geoff Goddard. An album to move and intrigue, it seems the intense, intelligent, nonconformist listener has a new band to love.
4/5
Vermont: Ins Kino
Melodic and charming debut from Europhile London-based quintet.
If the title and the label aren't dead giveaways, the sound of Vermont is determinedly pan-European - here a pub piano, there an old accordion, shades of The Smiths, French chanson, Teutonic motorik. Ins Kino is very much home-made, with a fast-picked acoustic and a buzzing, reedy organ giving songs like We Are Not Yet For Sale and Poppiloten a rickety, woody feel. Occasionally, this leaves the songs feeling undernourished - more of a hiking holiday around Europe than swanning around Monte in a Porsche - but the blend of Colin Murphy's urgent, staccato vocals and Sabine Zeissig's woozy gamine whisper (think Claudine Longet's cheeky neice) is never less than endearing. Sitting With The Ill is particularly affecting, a shoulders-shrugging, resigned counterpart to Van Morrison's TB Sheets. But overall the atmosphere is imbued with late spring evenings and - on melodic stand-outs, About The Man and Drive - makes for a highly recommended picnic soundtrack.
3/5