Live
< Howling Bells @ Camden Barfly
words by Kate Hutchinson
Howling Bells: all pout and no clout; all hair and no flair; too much baked potato and not enough filling. Whatever crass catchphrase one wants to invent to describe the band’s stale performance tonight, there is no escaping the bare fact that Australian-born Howling Bells have all the ingredients of a truly special band, but have seemingly no idea how to make people sit up and take note.
The Barfly seems to think so anyway. The back rows are too busy loudly debating the length of a piece of string to take much notice of the moody, psychedelic sound surrounding them. Meek and mild front woman Juanita, looking eerily similar to Ashlee Simpson, commands little attention. Her clean vocals never stray far from a bluesy slur with occasional trills, which is a shame because unlike PJ Harvey, who she is continually compared to, Juanita never loses her cool and throws a belter. The pint-sized singer is more Regina Spektor or Nicole Atkins than any of her greater rock contemporaries.
Then again, the essence of Howling Bells’ music is restraint and when they do erupt, if only for a few minutes, it’s at exactly the right moments, building up slyly in an epic post-rock way. The five-piece have oodles of talent, from lead guitarist’s, Joel Stein.’s noodling convulsive melodies, to Glenn Moule’s minimalist drumming. But ultimately Howling Bells are more of a lounge act and somewhat of a comedown from Mohair’s meteoric performance beforehand.
Originally appeared in volume 1, issue 10 of Loud & Quiet magazine
