My Way, My Love

My Way, My Love



Any compact disc penned with the words “please play all tracks at maximum VOLUME” should be approached with suspicion. While Motörhead are the only band officially sanctioned to utilise such requisites, we’ll forgive My Way My Love because a) they’re Japanese b) they have a giant washing machine on their website c) although they’re not in the same synapse-liquidising league as Lemmy, they’re refined racketeers themselves. In fact, ‘Joy’ cements the threesome’s reputation as something of a Manga Deerhoof – a terrific booming hullabaloo of dislocated, concentrated weirdness that’s undoubtedly more ATP than TOTP. From ‘Acupuncture Man’, where mutant instigator Yukio Maruta appears to be grappling a bear-trap, to ‘The Devil Song’, which sounds like Mogwai playing Mission: Impossible, it’s

a ballooning post-grunge scattergram. We’ll call it Joy derision.

Greg Cochrane