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Single Of The Week - MOWER : Na

This is pop music that douses itself in gasoline and plays with matches.

A punk-rock football chant, this is the debut single from sarf London trio Mower, and it exists only to burrow inside your psyche and then stomp its way out again with cheap guitars, a snotty hook and a penchant for yelling lyrics so loud your speakers fray at the centre. A neat trick, really, but on this evidence Mower have plenty more up their sleeve.





Graham Coxon's latest discovery, Mower dip liberally from the same wellspring as the Pixies and also a whole bunch of other now-forgotten art-grunge acts - Pond, Monsterland, even a little Truman's Water - but if those names are unfamiliar, don't worry, there's nothing remotely obscure or academic about Mower.





This is pop music that douses itself in gasoline and plays with matches, always on the edge of some kinetically-satisfying explosion or self-destruction. Singer Matt Mott's something special, too - alternating his vocals between a snotty monotone and a shredded squeal. For those of you who still believe that rock doesn't need to ditch the tunes or the intellect every time it flicks the volume switch into the red, this shuddering, clattery six-legged frug machine is just the ticket. There's an album due in September. This'll definitely whet your appetite.





Stevie Chick

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