Named after an unlicensed porn cinema where dozens of men perished in a blaze with their dicks in their hands, [a]Dream City Film Club[/a] have always been there for the nasty things in life: chiefly revenge fantasies, drug references and borrowed Stooges riffs. DCFC‘s second album keeps up the good work, broadening their palette to include dissolution, disgust and second-hand Nick Cave songs.
It’s a dirty job. What makes ‘…Morning’ a partial success, though, is the Film Club‘s way with a New York scuzz-rock riff. On songs like the blistering ‘Nerveshot’ and ‘Fuck It Up’, they make raw garage rock sound as though it were dreamt up only last night. ‘The Curse’, meanwhile, trawls new depths of hard feelings: “May they choke on each others’ tongues”, seethes singer Michael Sheehy, a man not on Christmas card terms with his ex-girlfriends.
Wherever there is homage, however, parody can’t be far away, and ‘Stooge’ (ho ho) is that howler. And as though the ode to cocaine ‘Billy Chic’ weren’t risible enough, DCFC‘s forays into tenderness are embarrassing at best: ‘Sarah In Dreams’ is less a love song than a nocturnal emission, and their version of the hymn ‘Steal Away’ sounds like so much bet-hedging after all that bad living.