The Von Bondies - 'Pawn Shoppe Heart' (Sire)
3/5
By: Toby L
It'd be cheap, churlish and, simply, unoriginal to feature any low-brow remarks or subtle inferences or joky plays on words in this review related to frontman Jason Stollsteimer of The Von Bondies' recent debacle with The White Stripes' Jack White (we're here for the music, man). But, with their third LP to date - The VB's have returned with their best release yet: brutal, bleeding, tempered, relentless and not afraid of a hospital-visit.
Oops. Forgive us. But the point remains - with the added swagger of a slew of memorable, debuting UK dates in the last two years amidst the soar of garage-punk, The Von Bondies were instant ascendants to indie-kudos greatness, and finally have the distorted, wired creative-wedge of their own to back it up. 'Pawn Shoppe Heart', in parts, steps forth stridently as the first awesome rock record of 2004.
And it's because they write short, sharp, fierce, bellowing, soulful romps of classic r 'n' r noise, bearing all the distinct trademarks of breathing-hipsters with way too much in the fringe-department, (shamelessly) not enough in the originality stakes, and a hammering barrage of semen-drenched hooks and sweaty rollickings that only a geriatric would be excused from shaking a leg to. It couldn't be more of the time.
'No Regrets' too, is a filthily thunderous opener, a valued pre-cursor to such sultry work-outs as the joyous hit 'C'mon C'mon', groovy psychedelia of 'Been Swank', and feisty, bluesy build-ups of 'Mairead' (jeez, named after none other than Camden's own female Peter Stringfellow, and Queen Of Noize, Mairead Nash). The result is always gruelling, at times sensational, and oft reckless.
Trouble, though, is that through all the fun, we forgot about the necessity of progression. Y'see, The Von Bondies bear no signs of pushing forward this music-world to drastic new heights, merely content working upon a formula which has certainly allowed the Whites and Redding to do pretty well in their time. So, 'Pawn...' bears some killer instants - the fuzz-growl of 'Not That Social', the spell-it-out shouts of 'The Fever' (imagine The Libertines, if fronted by women) - yet, also, some really rather generic ones - 'Broken Man' and 'Poison Ivy', although no doubt a force to be reckoned with live, teeter consistently on the borders of clichι (as the titles suggest).
Thus, not revolutionary - not that the foursome'd most likely attest themselves to be anyhow - but certainly a fan-f**king-tastic insight into one of the scene's most engrossing, gifted series of youthful give-it-a-go's. Boldly, confidently, this lot regularly demonstrate that they're not just a one-punch wonder. (Oops. Sorry, Jase).
Artists in this article: The Von Bondies
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