Engineers/Clor : Leeds Cockpit
Engineers will be lucky to even see their shoes throughall that fog, but before that, let’s indie-dance...
Dressed like a charity shop version of [a]The Killers[/a], [a]Clor[/a]
are the type of geeky misfits who were secretly penning shit-cool fanzines
while you were clipping “Kick Me” signs to their backs at school. Like
[a]Aberfeldy[/a] with an electronic erection, they make perma-happy
punk-funk littered with several thousand arch blips and beeps like last
year’s debut single ‘Good Stuff’. But here’s the interesting bit:
unlike every other indie-dance crossover and their dog, they draw their
influences not from Talking Heads but the childlike rhythms of their
side project Tom Tom Club. Combine that with some detours into the
weirdy-beardie jazzcapades of Frank Zappa, Wayne Coyne’s
worldview and elements of The Cure and you have something very
From something light and fluffy to something very dark indeed. Literally.
Between their silhouetted shapes and liberal sprinklings of dry ice, you can
hardly see Engineers. But they are here, exquisitely playing their
orchestral aural equivalents of slo-mo car crashes. Along with Hope Of
The States, they are one of the titans of nu-epic. Like My Bloody
Valentine produced by Doves, they deal in beautiful, emblazoned,
gently pulsing rhythms like ‘Come In Out Of The Rain’, which sounds
like 100 different instruments dragging the same jagged note through a
‘Said And Done’ blisses out like a slow-release Naltroxene implant,
while ‘One In Seven’ launches itself like the soundtrack to an
imagined film about desolation, memories and lots of cigarettes. By the time
of closer ‘A Given Right’ the band have transmuted into Pink
Floyd in the throes of a Kasabian wig-out and are making us want
to use words like “ethereal” and read epic novels by long-dead Russians.
Hopefully that’s just the affects of the dry ice, though.