Noughties also-rans lack the attitude of their debut on begrudging new record
“Nine Black Alps exist” reads the Facebook biography, and their message is clear: yes, we’re still here. No, the likes aren’t what they used to be. Fuck you. Things turn petty on ‘Supermarket Clothes’, however, when frontman Sam Forrest starts moaning about “a place where I could make the scene/In the pages of your magazine”, as though his Asda jeans and our cynicism was all that ever stood between Nine Black Alps and glory. Grinding axes aside, very little of the snarl and attack of their high-watermark debut ‘Everything Is’ remains these days; NBA are a jangle-pop band with fuzz pedals. Sure, there’s the occasional peak, like ‘Clown’ or ‘Destroy Me’, but ‘Candy For The Clowns’ feels more like an act of stubbornness than defiance.