Showing posts with label EARLY MAMMAL. Show all posts
Showing posts with label EARLY MAMMAL. Show all posts

Thursday, September 19, 2013

... EARLY MAMMAL "My Fire" (EP Review)

So what we have here is basically a bunch of intros, but not without some appeal. Early Mammal keep churning out material at a quick pace, and this time, it's a tape on Convoy Records, which is not the most concise stuff you will find, but still worth a listen, in particular considering that the format per se hints at a release for niche listeners anyhow. 
"We Need Seven" seems to introduce the concept behind this assortment, being seven tracks overall and mostly on the short side of things. "Shadows" spreads out warm layers of synthesizer with some guitar and bass tones in between, which make it come across almost as a drone. 
"Convey" is the most concrete song, displaying chants in a call-and-response manner alongside a minimalist guitar motif. The whole sound and atmosphere are distorted and quite fuzzy, which fits the intention of Early Mammal, I guess. The Londoners have never been a bunch which is easy to listen to, and the lulling aura of "My Fire" might only betray this fact. The title tune consists of looped samples (of screeching apes, amongst other things) with a final "It's my fire, if you want any, you must work for it", which is only a short introduction to "Cattle", another display of Space Ambient or aural hypnosis with an appealing groove, at least.
 The fragmentary idea which is "Seven" (on seventh place in the succession of songs, that is), closes this dubious (in the best sense of the word) cassette, yet let's not forget "Spectrum" with its unassuming maraca (or whatever). The rhythmic element is more prominent here than elsewhere, the keyboard improvisation in the background keeps manifesting itself more and more clearly ... until the track fades out as it started. Let's describe this as a strange Hawkwind-cousing with a knack for water torture - pain and bliss in small doses with a questionable outcome. If you dare, here's where you get your fare. 
Fade out is but an easy cop-out.
words by Andreas Schiffmann

Monday, March 25, 2013

... EARLY MAMMAL 'Horror at Pleasure' (album review)

Whereas their label mates Brujas Del Sol drift out into space, Londoners Early Mammal stay in their garage and interpret the psychedelic sound of the Sixties with fuzzy heaviness as well as rather condensed songwriting, the successful epic "Ressurection Men" being the exception from this rule.


After a short instrumental introduction ("Left Hand" and "Uncle Scary's Right Hand" forming a bracket around the other eight tracks), "Final Witch" turns out to be a fitting opener to captivate the listener. Grounded on a graspable lick, the guitar playing gets busier and busier as we witness frontman Rob Herian working towards an inevitable climax, a recipe the group applies again later on in "Checking The Bullshiter's Queen". His singing, particularly during the succeeding "Demon Or Saint", makes Roky Erickson and Tom Waits come to mind, while the raw and trebly production may not be for everybody either. Early Mammal are clearly not on the poppy side of things, although they do know how to soothe the listener if you take the moody interludes "Coming Back" and "Going Out" as a yardstick.

In between, "To Find Me Gone" is lo-fi in the truest sense of the word, temporarily stomping and more hinting towards a definite beauty behind the hissing and scratching than to shove the bloss down your throats. You have to work, preferably with headphones, in order to get the gist out of this band, and to bait you into doing this, Early Mammal add "Money Shot" to the mix, the simplest amongst the songs and kind of a nasty take on the Rolling Stones' earliest efforts. In its entirety, "Horror At Pleasure" is a rare case of carrot-and-stick-policy set to music, ideal fodder for those who like non-academic Rock that nevertheless needs some (drugged?) brains on the listener's side to unfold its full potential. The devil lies in the details, as they say ...

words by Andreas Schiffmann