Young Heart Attack : Tommy Shots

A sweaty marvel

A seven-inch we’ve plucked at random from the shiny black vinyl mountain of garage-rock records currently splitting the floor timbers at NME HQ.

Good call, though: Texas’ Young Heart Attack kick like a bellyful of buckshot, all amphetamine girl-group harmonies and frenzied Stooges-style amplifier roar. There are, broadly, two pincers to the garage rock new-wave: the clattery 2002-is-Year-Zero types – mostly shit, we note – and then there’s bands that write songs like ‘Tommy Shots’. That is, bands who sound like they’ve been locked in a sweltering cellar filled with fuzz pedals and hair-crimpers, honing their sleazy art ever since Bon Scott choked up his spleen. A sweaty marvel.

Louis Pattison