Los Angeles punk crew hit a sweet spot between hedonism and poignancy on a multi-layered second album
Har Mar Superstar : You Can Feel Me
Scandalously funky sex-obsessed party tunes from a perverted genius
Now raise your head up once more, because the revival of The Funk starts here and Har(old) Mar(tin Tillman) Superstar is the man working the defibrillator. Looking like an extra on a 1970s porn set (as should always be the way) and getting down like James Brown's distinctly pasty adopted heir, Har Mar inhabits a world where you are never far from a lascivious suggestion, be it one spoken by the Superstar himself or merely intimated by yet another genital-tingling libidinous bassline. It's no exaggeration to say that the last artiste to funk this dirtily was Prince in his prime - and he didn't do too badly for himself.
You can hear the echoes of Minneapolis' funkiest in Har's ludicrously self-aggrandising intro (thanking us all for his swish new car) and then we plunge into a gleeful mess of electro, hip-hop beats, bad-ass rhyming, Vocoder madness and handclaps (his and yours). 'Power Lunch' is the closest pop music has come to cramming an entire porno movie into three minutes, 'You Can Feel Me' is belligerent sex-electro that should be enjoyed "from the backseat of your car to the (perfectly judged pause) bedroom floor" and, in a sane world, will be, millions of times over. And in 'Elephant Walk', Har invents and imparts to us all a new dance wot he done invented - when was the last time Starsailor did THAT?
Complete and utter filth from start to finish, and that's as high a compliment as we can bestow on an album. If your ass fails to shake to its numerous high times, then something is wired up wrong back there. The Funk is dead. Long live The Funk.
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