If you will please charge up your electric cattle prods and don your protective headgear, we are now entering the Popular At An Indie Disco In Huddersfield For One Week In 1993 ward and the patients h
If you will please charge up your electric cattle prods and don your protective headgear, we are now entering the Popular At An Indie Disco In Huddersfield For One Week In 1993 ward and the patients here can be dangerously unpredictable. If you’re carrying any [a]Pavement[/a] LPs, please leave them at the door.
There’s drummer Michael Lenzi, a long-term patient who believes he’s [a]Robert Smith[/a]. There’s Seth Cohen and Pat O’Connell, two deranged guitar lunatics who we’ve been keeping under constant restraint since they started using circle saws, cowbells and moles as plectrums. If you hang around they’ll probably sing three different songs to the same tune on ‘3 Stars’ later on: one about turning into an answering machine, one about a psychotic urge to buy laptops and one about the advantages of masturbation over having friends.
Yet, despite six years of fame lobotomies over three LPs, Number One Cup‘s melody lobes have blossomed. ‘Vintage Male Singer’, ‘Remote Control’, ‘High Diver’ and ‘What Does It Mean?’ all wear the geek specs of US alt-rock with pride, but they’re infused with enough deranged energy to turn ‘People People…’ into a pubescent, punkoid version of the new Flaming Lips album: more sugar rushes, more smack-in-the-gob pop and fewer bee noises and dribbling down its shorts. A kook-rock treasure, best kept muzzled.