The Rapture look and sound like one big mistake...
Woah. Hang on. Aren’t The Rapture from New York? So where are the cool haircuts, immaculate suits and studied air of disinterest? Surely this must be some sort of mistake. This band look like they’ve been dragged through a charity shop backwards. Still, although The Rapture look and sound like one big mistake, everyone is too busy doing over-zealous pelvic thrusts to notice. It probably won’t be long before the guitar-rock puritan saddos start rubbishing these guys as novelty synth throwbacks, but really the four of them are fighting a rearguard action to disprove the idea that the ’80s were a vacuous, musically shallow decade. And they do it while resisting the temptation to add some stylised electro-androgyny or even the odd skinny black tie. Take opener ‘Olio’ – a deranged cut ‘n’ paste anthem beamed back from some futurist disco. Or the shameless bleep-fest of ‘I Need Your Love’, which makes Fischerspooner sound like Atomic Kitten. The fact that they share their name with one of Blondie‘s most celebrated floor-fillers is no coincidence, either, as the glitz-groove of the storming ‘Sister Saviour’ so perfectly proves. ‘Heaven’ nimbly combines a dizzying number of pulsating rhythms to create the single most convincing case for reopening The Hacienda since the turn of the millennium. They may be label-less for now, but it won’t last for long. Catch them while they’re carefree and unsupervised because The Rapture are the kind of reckless funk nightmare you’ll never want to end.