They have a formula, do [a]Bellatrix[/a]. Not some bookish, lab coats’n’logarithms-style formula, mind. But a grand, continent-sweeping, opposition-pummelling masterplan that ensures each of their brilliantly paranoid pop-punk mini-explosions follows exactly the same route. It goes like this…
Whispering, sleepy-synth intro – terrifyingly loud, psycho-pop chorus – more hushed, Eno-y whooshes – gnashing, riotously punked-up finale. Sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? But the beauty of Iceland’s [a]Bellatrix[/a] lies in their small-print – the delightful quirks that may be plucked from the lush folds of their seemingly neon-clear formula.
‘Crush’, for one, is a violin-enhanced broth coloured by the boldest streaks of Roxy-ish avant-pop. But strip away the gloriously trashy synth squiggles and singer Eliza‘s theatrical bellow, and you’ll find a heavy rock band with buzzsaw guitars, razor-sharp attitude and Satan’s own metal-dogs snapping at their pretty heels. At their best, however, (such as ace current single ‘Jedi Wannabe’) [a]Bellatrix[/a] are simply uncategorisible – a rainbow riot of quasi-theatrical brilliance shooting in so many different directions it seems only right we should surrender and allow them to take over the world.
“Is there fire in Iceland?” ventures one bedazzled punter. “Yes, of course,” replies Eliza, fixing the trembling soul with a hilarious, faux-matron stare, “there’s fire in our hearts.” She’s right, y’know.