An Acute Case: 17 June 2022
On not Oasis, praise for wrinkles, the art of giving up, an' a 'tolian rock revival.
Step away from the water cooler. Exit that gossipy WhatsApp group you didn’t realise your boss was in. The rumours are true. An Acute Case has gone fortnightly.
The Ano Nobo Quartet: The Strings of São Domingos
Supple and strophic lesson in koladera by four guitarists led by a former East German soldier whose exploits with the FARP (that’s the Revolutionary Armed Forces of the People, not NATO's Forward Arming and Refuelling Points—lol if you got it wrong) had him stationed in guitar-rich cultures, many assimilated here. ** (“Tio Bernar”)
Everything Everything: Raw Data Feel
Contrary to what mother told you, two everythings do make a nothing, which is what Jonathan Higgs and his lumpen electropoppers have to say about the digital age. D
Fontaines D.C.: Skinty Fia
Tenebrous atmospherics and stadium-sized pounding still dissonant, but now they're either leaning too hard into the former or else the latter's sounding old hat. This year's chants include "Everybody gets a big shot, baby" and "Bloomsday, Bloomsday, Bloomsday". More intriguing aperçu are buried deeper: "What good is happiness to me if I've to wield it carefully?" At times, Grian Chatten's voice is scarily Gallagher, which is bad. OTOH, it’s a reminder that you’re not listening to Oasis, which is good. Midway through comes 'The Couple Across The Way', in which he goes full John Prine and narrates one side of a conversation that probably doesn’t have a side two. Five verses in the order of "You use voices on the phone that once were spent on me" describe a marriage twenty-three years deep and going to pieces before setting up a mournful kind-of-twist about the new young neighbours: “Maybe they look through to us / And hope that's them in time." That one’s accompanied by just an accordion. For all their Saviours Of Rock stylings, it's the most stirring thing on the album. B PLUS
Lalalar: Bi Cinnete Bakar
There's no sign of an undercut in the publicity pics and none of the members are named Sonny John Moore, but I’m still not ready to retire my theory that Skrillex slipped into Turkey unseen and set up this three-piece of macho macho men who love nothing more than drops drops drops. A lyric translation is as hard to come by as a samples-to-live-bits breakdown (or even what instruments they’re playing), but with a band name that means (sarcastically) "the wiseguys" and album title that means "All It Takes is a Frenzy" it’s hard to imagine anything that freaks this hard isn’t subversive. The pleasures are mostly meathead. Lions roar, swords clang, automatic weapons click-clack. Part arabesque, part dance, part metal, and all plunged in an acid-bath of terror, it’s the kind of unhinged trip that ruptures eardrums and overwhelms bladder control. The babbling High Priest-cum-Exorcist vocals reach a lysergic peak on ‘Kilavuz Karga’, while the closer is no less enchanting for the fact it’s half wind up. After an hour and a quarter you might wonder if you’ve missed the finer points or if some of it simply sounds the same. I trust in the former, but if the latter’s true, what a glorious same it is. A
Willie Nelson: A Beautiful Time
Repping for wisdom, putting in a good word for wrinkles, and advising you to live every day like it's your last one, this is music to sign peace treaties to—sage but not superior, introspective but not insular, mellow but not downcast, familiar but not tired. If anything, the beguiling lustre of Nelson’s voice has deepened, while the off-handedness of the arrangements belies their lavishness. It’s a good thing done perfectly, and in most cases that would be enough. But then, in a move that mimics the vivifying effect that recording an album a week (please check this—Ed) has had on his longevity, he breathes new life into two classics you either don’t think need it or don’t think can take it: Leonard Cohen’s ‘Tower of Song’ (the “golden voice” line has never been less of a joke) and it’d-be-pointless-to-name-them’s ‘With a Little Help From My Friends’ (ditto “I get high”). Inspirational subordinate clause: “If I ever get old…” Willie Nelson is eighty-nine. A
Sprints: Manifesto EP (2021) / A Modern Job EP
Dublin punks stay on the right side of self-loathing by reserving some of their derision for other people (including the state). * (“Modern Job”)
Molly Tuttle & Golden Highway: Crooked Tree
Well-meaning roots music (whatever that is) with an excitable fiddler, but not enough fiddling with the arrangements (run-of-the-mill) or lyrics (boilerplate Americana). Her voice lacks power, but there’s a charm to the way shes gasps her words like she's desperate to keep your attention. For the most part she does. *** (“Crooked Tree”)
Weakened Friends: Quitter (2021)
Sung in a nervous quiver that regularly cracks into a nervous laugh, here be eleven snappy songs about giving in, giving up, fucking up, fucking off, feeling nauseous, and actually vomming. The titular defeatism supposedly pertains to Sonia Sturino's relationship to being a professional musician, but those looking for guidance on how to cave in should feel confident it’s multi-purpose. The courage to carry on is evinced by the music, which packs lean and shapely riffs that bite harder than those on the debut. Love the one when she vents her spleen at money and people who quit their dreams for it, though she doesn't make sticking to your guns sound easy. Still, "all that you own is all that owe" is an accurate and depressing fillip, while "fuck your bank and fuck your wallet / fuck your debt and fuck your college / fuck the Fed and all they wanted" is a killer bridge. A MINUS