That then was post-rock. Remember the name: you won't hear its like around for much longer. For what was once a sexless, dreary music has been transformed, by old hands and new, into a fearsome expres
That then was post-rock. Remember the name: you won’t hear its like around for much longer. For what was once a sexless, dreary music has been transformed, by old hands and new, into a fearsome expression of macho values and cock-rock posturing. Whether this is a good thing or not doesn’t matter. At least [I]something[/I] has happened.
From timid Slint-o-philes with no tunes to suave degenerates with nearly one whole melody, Billy Mahonie‘s unremarkable ascendance continues apace. Sure, there’s an urgency and humour in their chugging angular rawk and while you’d be hard-pushed to remember what it is that makes them different and appealing (erm, two bassists?), you have to concede that watching three blokes shamelessly embrace every guitar-playing textbook clichi in 30 minutes must constitute some form of entertainment.
Show [a]Trans Am[/a] a clichi and they’ll show you their entire six-year career. It hasn’t all been cop-induced paranoia, CCTV nightmares, diesel-powered drones and unfeasibly heavy-duty riffage for the beleaguered Maryland, Washington trio, but this one-stop showcase of new-ish material leaves you none the wiser.
In [a]Trans Am[/a]’s FutureWorld, King Crimson rules, the vocoder is still a radical tool and Add N To (X) have yet to be invented, though any ancient post-rock sensibilities are here hammered flat as ‘Play In The Summer’ and ‘Ragged Agenda’ betray the Am’s ‘brave’ metal direction. Their vision of the future? Quite like the past, only not as good.