Boobs Of Doom it is then: whether that wins name of the year for creativity, puerility or Spinal Tap-ivity is irrelevant – band name of the year it is (and possibly next as well).
After such an auspicious beginning, there’s always the hope [fear] the record will turn out to be a load of old rubbish – disappointingly, WOW IS DEAD is actually exceptionally good – where the chestage fits in is anyone’s guess but it certainly is gloomy, doomy and, musically at least, an overwhelmingly intoxicating and resentful brew.
Hailing out of Glasgow, Boobs Of Doom have crafted an album that borrows from here there and everywhere whilst somehow managing to sound cohesive – an all too rare feat.
The drums and bass on ‘Green Jesus Voodoo Warchief’ – can’t fault them for lack of ambition in naming their songs either – are as dubby as you like; a relentless and vaguely foreboding groove; whilst the guitar is harsh, distorted and uncompromising; it may lumber on in slowly head-nodding way but it’s not going to feature in any yoga classes anytime soon.
Other tracks such as ‘tHE sHA OF hAPPYNESS[sic]’ almost eschew percussion altogether and are tripped out and brooding; the whole wobbles along with glistening and hypnotic effects whilst an insistent and really rather beautiful guitar riff keeps reminding you of its presence in dark; it’s altogether warm and lonely at the same time – another high-wire act.
Not totally new all this, perhaps – Andrew Weatherall has long flirted with this kind of abrasive funk (in the broadest sense) but it works; it seduces you with the right hand and digs you in the ribs with the left.
Coming at the end of the year, this, the duo’s 8th offering since March 2014, nevertheless comfortably pushes itself into the top five to come out of Scotland this year; it’s utterly at ease with itself and confident; it’s mood music in the sense that it pulls you into its dark recesses and confronts you with its acidic menace… whilst also being a joy to listen to.
Yet again, the seemingly implausible pulled off.
Deeply impressive and one of the discoveries of the year: perhaps, in retrospect, the name is a misstep – whilst it conjures up jollies and smirks, Boobs Of Doom are way too good to titter at.
Electronic and organic, disturbing and comforting, alternately eerie then ferocious; fantastic stuff.
Don’t buy if – you have a tin ear.
Do buy if – you’ve always wondered what a summer’s night as directed by Chris Cunningham would feel like.
Words: Vosne Malconsorts
Rave Child 