How to describe the new EP from UK garage punks Pretty Pistol; well feral certainly fits, sonically clamorous and tenacious too but suiting it most is simply that Welcome to the Dead Club is rather damn good. Offering four virulent slices of punk fuelled noise, the release is another of the year’s special moments so far more than worth a few minutes of your time.
Formed five years after the initial chance meeting in 2010 at a Hole gig by vocalist Laura Le Rox and drummer Emma Waller, Pretty Pistol’s line-up is completed by guitarists Rich Cooper and Billy Larsen. Described as “Sitting somewhere between Gallows, Be Your Own Pet, Milk Teeth and The Kills”, a pretty suitable intimation, the South London quartet has made a potent mark on the capital’s live scene, sharing stages with the likes of Penetration, KidBrother, Drones, and Crazytown. Recorded with producer John Mitchell (Architects, Enter Shikari, You Me At Six), Welcome to the Dead Club is their inescapable jab at bigger attention, a raucous swipe not easy to see being ignored.
As opener Cry Wolf explodes on the senses, instantly there is no escaping the rapacious presence of band and song, and indeed the magnetic tones of Le Rox. Her attack is as urgent as the sounds around her with a hint of ‘desperation’ to its lilt though really it is just an earnest bred eagerness to stir things up, again just as the individual garage punk sound Pretty Pistol unleash. Riffs and rhythms collude in devious persuasion, getting under the skin as forcibly as the flying hooks and that glorious verbal trespass. There is a touch of Asylums to the track too which only adds to its virulently striking presence and to be honest if the goodness stopped right there we would still be urging attention the EPs way.
It is not an alone treat though as the following Drive Me To The Dogs quickly reveals. The gnarly stride of bass makes an immediate lure, post punk spun tendrils a swift second as the track infests ears. Its melodic and catchy chorus tempers the trespass a touch but only backing up its infectiousness before the cycle enticingly repeats. Waller’s beats land with purpose and anthemic prowess as the guitars entangle ears with sonic toxicity while Le Rox backed by one of the guys, is an insurgent siren you are not sure whether to embrace or fear.
Another appetising bassline lures Hurricane into view; its bait immediately followed by an ear worm of a hook and in turn a blast of voice and attitude. For no obvious reason but strongly we were reminded of Red Tape as the track continues to blossom in enterprise and temptation every twist and turn making a keener captivation in another rousing if too short a gem within the EP.
The release concludes with the equally compelling No Guts (This Is Glory), a web of swiping beats, belligerent bassline and devilish sonic enticement bound in the vocal carousing of Le Rox. Cannily fingering the imagination whilst heartily firing up the senses and spirit, the song completes a fiercely and irresistibly exhilarating proposition.
Living up to the band’s name, Welcome to the Dead Club is a threat lined, danger fuelled beauty and Pretty Pistol a band we expect to make a continuing if not major impact on the British punk, indeed rock scene.
Welcome to the Dead Club is out now through SaySomething Records @ https://www.prettypistol.co.uk/store/welcome-dead-club-cd
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Pete RingMaster 20/04/2018
Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright
The EP opens with Grow up, an instantly boisterously energetic proposal with sinew strung tenacity. Of all the tracks it is the one which reminds most of Dirt Box Disco yet straight away bares its own steely breath and touch as hooks and rhythms almost battle for attention around Weab’s ever persuasive tones. Swiftly drawing eager involvement from body and voice, the track strings the listener up like a puppet, getting them dancing and roaring with zeal, our personal exhaustion proof.
From the moment the EP’s title track looms right up from its distant entrance attention was not only hooked but chained to what was to follow. Wiry tendrils of guitar wrap around ears immediately, senses slapping beats alongside and once the first track hits its voracious stride and the vocals of Targett unleash their incitement, the deal between lust and the devil’s music roaring from the speakers was done. Swiftly the singer impresses with a throat abrasing attack and venomous delivery but it is when she breaks into a glorious clean delivery that realisation at her talent is inescapable. Before then guitarists Callan Hughes and Jay Bacon gnaw at and chew on the senses, twisting and turning with grooves as their hooks pierce with imagination as the swinging rhythms of drummer Willem Mason-Geraghty infest body and spirit just as potently. The track is immense and no better way to succumb to the first abusive seduction of VNDTA.
The following Tear It All Apart offers its own striking invitation, again a guitar making the creative beckoning before the band unites in an infectious rumble as imposing as it is magnetic. With wiry grooves and a compelling conspiracy of hooks and twists, the song soon has ears firmly locked in feeding on its cosmopolitan melodies and aggressive dynamics. As suggested earlier, there is something familiar about this and other songs yet it has a character and style to its roar which sets the band apart from most.
Recorded with Kyle Martin at The Garage Studios in South Shields, No Pressure No Rush opens with Homework. A vocal hush ignites an attention luring pulse of guitar which in turn sparks a composed stroll of swinging rhythms and alluring sonic causticity. The potent vocals of John nestle within the raw flames, the track continuing to almost lumber along. It is an intrigue provoking proposition which certainly had us firmly attentive and animated if not quite as excited as later in the release.
The voracious design of the album simply continues with the next pair of Wrong and Start Again. Not for the first or last time across the album, there is a whiff of seventies punk band The Cortinas especially in the first of these two with its sharp almost spiky hooks and instinctive catchiness while the second uncages a riot of bullish rock ‘n’ roll as punk as it is fifties scented honed into another irresistible and individual Nosebleed infestation.