WHAT MATTERS MOST TO THE true indie snob is not that they actually like a band, but that everybody else must hate them...
WHAT MATTERS MOST TO THE true indie snob is not that they actually like a band, but that everybody else must hate them. Therein lies the root of the smug self-satisfaction and superiority to be had from appreciating something that the mindless herd could never understand.
Portland’s Truman’s Water are the perfect band for indie snobs everywhere. A band who actually strive to be unlistenable to anybody other than those in the depths of a narcotic haze or who still feel the need to upset their parents well into their 20s. [I]Great[/I].
But if their 1993 album ‘Spasm Smash XX Ox And Ass’ could be seen as some freakish art-rock curio, ‘Fragments Of A Lucky Break’ (oh yes, [I]clever[/I]) does little to add to the exhibition. It’s perversely pleasurable in fragments: frenetic off-kilter new wave and edgy psychedelia mashed up with patches of free-form jazz, but the incessant yelping just makes your fillings itch, and there seems to be the desperate air of a band that’s travelled so far along some bizarre tangent that the only thing left to do is keep ploughing on regardless.
The tragedy in this case is that it’s a tangent that was explored by the Butthole Surfers ten years ago, and Pink Floyd 20 years before that, so any barriers that are being broken are imagined.
You’ve got to hand it to Truman’s Water – they’re clever fellows. But then so was your maths teacher.