pheromoans

As with the rest of The Pheromoans’ prolifically shambolic back catalogue, you’ll either go weak at the knees for this or recoil in disgust, such is its unrelenting and grubby homage to The Fall and others of such uncompromising aesthetic. Predictably, there are no huge departures on their second LP for Upset The Rhythm and sixth album proper, which is once again a splurge of lackadaisical monologues, scuffed notes and kaleidoscopic dribble, from a band that relish and reflect the true boredom of British suburbia.

What can be said? On ‘Vagabond Hits 40’, Russell Walker reaches a whole new level of sluggishness with his bone-dry delivery, and on the shrilly detuned intro to single ‘The Boys Are British’ they sound like they’re aurally depicting the life of a lone, sullied square of moon floss. Fortunately though, when their guttural racket does poke its head above the grim spume, there’s actually enough colour to make them almost loveable. ‘Province Baby’ has a swathing CHORUS (capitalised due to its impact in the face of early-album adversity) and ‘Young Black Eyes’ sounds like that recent penchant for Nuggets-era garage rock given a squat-inspired makeover. Neither is as good as ‘Laurie’s Case’, mind, which is the sort of disorderly clatter that makes the Fat Whites, in their un-showered crevice of South London, sound oddly meek. Beautiful or beastly? That’ll all hinge, of course, on your tolerance for mess.

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