London Highbury Garage
Looking like deranged Cold War housewives stuck in a desert town where authorities are experimentally lacing the water with hallucinogens, it's unsurprising their take on this groove stuff is somewMore on
Inhabiting the area normally the preserve of skinny boys in fine shirts, singer Jacqui Dulany's effortless ilan puts the girl into GVSB, reclaiming territory from the sidewalk patrolled by the Blues Explosion. Of course, it's not just about the cast of a fringe or the glint in an eye - this band have unearthed dark electrobilly secrets and cryptic cabaret clues all of their own. If you have any craving for a life of style, you'll want to catch up with the impossibly louche Jonathan Fire Eater rattle of 'Spook On The High Lawn', or the elegant insinuations of 'Trick Or Treat'. Quick, now...
All several orbits removed from Pram, still on their thankless, never-ending round trip to other worlds. As long as it's under the sea, above the stars or beneath the bed, their antennae are twitching and they're raring to go. Looking like deranged Cold War housewives stuck in a desert town where authorities are experimentally lacing the water with hallucinogens, it's unsurprising their take on this groove stuff is somewhat unique.
The Link Wray rumble of 'Space Siren' pitches them just left of being the high-art B-52's, yet it's the queasy 'Last Astronaut' that reminds you just how worrying this band are, false memory syndrome developed for musical entertainment.
Cool, you think. Just before you remember...
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