Entangling the addictive hooks of Buzzcocks, the pop contagion of The Undertones, and the punk irreverence of The Cortinas with the early mod punk instincts of The Jam sounds like one rather tasty aural recipe; a mix which the imagination does not have to merely ponder as it is at the heart of the irresistible sound of Canadian outfit Tommy And The Commies. Their debut release, Here Come, soon proves there is much more of an individual character and flavouring to the band’s sonic holler though, a sound which you just feel would have been as potent back in the late seventies as it will undoubtedly be now.
From Sudbury, Ontario, Tommy And The Commies is the united exploits of Jeff Houle (Strange Attractor), his brother Mitch, and frontman Tommy Commy. Together they create “hooliganistic mod-punk” as nostalgic as it is rigorously fresh and in raucous evidence within the Slovenly Records released Here Come. The album immediately erupts with opener Devices, vocals and guitar colluding in instant temptations as rhythms boisterously roll. Very quickly we found ourselves agreeing with the Howard Devoto spicing to Tommy’s vocals as suggested by the album’s press release, but as within the music individuality soon wins through. The track continues to romp and stomp with punk/power pop infectiousness inciting body and vocal chords from start to finish, success only matched and escalated across the remaining slices of viral boisterousness and tenacity.
The following Straight Jacket shares its own virulent catchiness; from its first breath getting under the skin with excited riffs and melodic enterprise. Slightly more restrained in urgency than its predecessor, the track is still an unbridled bundle of energy and creative uproar bounding along without inhibition before Permanent Fixture springs its Dickies scented revelry. Again riffs and hooks collude in its excitable endeavour as rhythms robustly stir and bite within a full fusion of the familiar and new.
Something akin to 999 meets The Vapors, Hurtin’ Boys provides another major highlight in nothing but across the album; its jagged stroll swift and a constant incitement on body and spirit before new single Suckin’ In Your 20’s entangles raw seventies power pop with modern day indie dissonance to similarly manipulate hips and throat.
A definite hint of The Ramones teases within the wiry antics of Throwaway Love, the guitar laying a mesh of hooks and melodic niggling which just brought lust to the appetite as rhythms simultaneously worked away on a body just as much badgered and inspired by the infectious clamour of So Happy where a Pixies like hue adds to inescapable temptation.
The release closes up with Reggie Rocks, another irrepressible slice of mod infused pop punk which is all mischief and noisy attitude wrapped in instinctive enterprise and contagion; a track which throughout epitomises the fun and energy of the band let alone their creative animation.
For us the best releases leave you feeling alive and inspired; Here Come does that and more.
Here Come is out now via Slovenly Records; available @ https://slovenly.bandcamp.com/releases
https://www.facebook.com/TOMMYSCOMMIES/
Pete RingMaster 06/10/2018
Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright
As with their first album, the band’s sound harkens back to eighties post punk/new wave and their gothic companions but with a bolder identity and imagination belonging to Secret Shine. It opens with Lowest Point, the initial coaxing mist of synths soon joined by the atmospheric lures of guitar and bass, keys simultaneously thickening as melodies simmer and echo in the ears. The instrumental’s shadows carry over into the following Stage Lights where the mesmeric groan of the bass and aligning dark textures seduce the imagination ready for the song’s spirited stroll which erupts soon after. Like a fusion of Leitmotiv and The Sound the track dances on the senses, its rhythmic shuffle sculpting their own catchy charm to the temptation. Superb in voice and enterprise, the song swiftly grips attention, vocals as enticing as the sounds around them and with a great nagging essence to its tenacious rhythms, infectious melodies, and tantalising hooks, the tone and heart for the album is set.
The electro waltz of David F**king Bowie is no mean spirit in stirring ears or appetite either, its gait and energy a calmer but lively instigator swiftly tempting forceful participation from vocal chords. Its celestial meanders allow a breath to be taken though equally it leads to a hankering to be back romping which the song subsequently provides before Spider stands centre stage to call on ears and his flock with Cult Leader. An anthemic hard rock meets glam punk roar again very difficult not to get caught up in it does lacks some of the unique sparks of its predecessors but leaves the listener wanting little.
Demographics is next and instantly with its opening melody alone, brings a Young Knives feel into play, one only accentuated by the vocals and the subsequent web of sonic intrigue and infectious collaboration across the threesome. Hooks grab attention throughout, littering the aural drama and flirtatious energy combining like a mix of At the Drive-In and Swound! but only creating its own distinct adventure. A constant nag on body and pleasure, the song makes way for the just as impressive (My Body is a) Landfill. Instantly, more boisterous in energy and just as enticing in contagious endeavour as its predecessors, the track strolls along with a knowing and inventive swagger; its hands on receptive hips and tenacious feet teasing and taunting them into action with its creative zeal. As all tracks there is also a meatier, raucous edge and air which coats it all, the band’s punk instincts adding to the increasingly tenacious and imposing treat.
With new album Don’t Let It Be in the works, Playboy Manbaby tease the appetite with You Can Be A Fascist Too, the first single from the impending release. Originally scheduled for a February unveiling, it was brought forward to coincide with the US presidential inauguration. From the off it assaults and lures with a belligerent guitar jangle quickly followed by the raw incitement of Pfeffer’s vocals. Second by second new invasive hooks and salacious grooves fling themselves into the punk mayhem, band shouts and off kilter harmonies wagging a beckoning finger as effectively as the caustic riffs and tenacious rhythms.
Next up Plastic Noosphere is no less a tempting; its own instinctive catchiness immediately grabbing body and appetite as guitars and keys conjure individually descriptive enterprise for a B-Movie meets She Wants Revenge like offering with a nagging rhythmic persistence from Guido and Accossato recalling the likes of Leitmotiv. As its predecessor, the song has ears in the palm of its creative hand before In Heaven provides a fiery romancing of ears with its steely guitar bred melodies, melancholic yet inviting bassline, and fuzzy keys. A thicker intensity and drama does little to lessen an inbred infectiousness in the Estetica Noir sound, rather showing the variety and imagination nurturing it, echoed again in the likes of Suicide Walk and I Hate.
Infect Me steps forward next to keep the enslaving of ears tight, its Gang Of Four like rhythmic escapade chaining attention alone, the brooding basslines and stabs of guitar extra chains to trap attention and ardour. Bursts of raw rock ‘n’ roll only adds to the magnetism as too the distinctive and increasingly flavoursome vocals of Murray, here finding a Stan Ridgway flavour to his excellent theatre of voice. Between them Murray and McKinlay rhythmically have the passions chained up like Houdini, though no escape is possible especially as Matheson and Youngblood create a web of melodic intrigue and deranged drama.