A seven-inch we’ve plucked at random from the shiny black vinyl mountain of garage-rock records currently splitting the floor timbers at NME HQ.
Good call, though: Texas’ Young Heart Attack kick like a bellyful of buckshot, all amphetamine girl-group harmonies and frenzied Stooges-style amplifier roar. There are, broadly, two pincers to the garage rock new-wave: the clattery 2002-is-Year-Zero types - mostly shit, we note - and then there’s bands that write songs like ‘Tommy Shots’. That is, bands who sound like they’ve been locked in a sweltering cellar filled with fuzz pedals and hair-crimpers, honing their sleazy art ever since Bon Scott choked up his spleen. A sweaty marvel.
Louis Pattison
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