Sluts Of Trust - 'We Are All...' (Chemikal Underground)
4/5
By: Clara Burtenshaw
Brek to the Ready, for something's gone awry north of Hadrian's Wall. Scotland, musical fatherland to those well-known movements: the twee, the art-rocker, and the Travis, has allowed a chance-mutant to escape from its wholesome barracks, and this hybrid is set to tarnish its saintly reputation forever. Unrepressed by Scottish Oats and 'Mull of Kintyre', this musical reckoning force goes by the name of 'Sluts of Trust' and, trust us, if you know what's good for you, you'll listen.
John McFarlane, lead-singer and guitarist, and Anthony O'Donnell complete the curious aesthetic of this band, and monumental and momentous noise summarises their music - an unhinged cacophony of irregular, sporadic guitar-riffs, vocals akin to a Captain Beefheart with a ten-tonne force swinging behind it. LP-opener 'That's Right... That Cat's Right' draws you into the Sluts' snare, with a vocal squeal and a rampaging speed-riff that could be lifted straight from the skull-encrusted studio-floor of Brighton's Eighties Matchbox B-line Disaster. But, from 'Piece O' You', the album becomes its own, resurrecting some serious seventies guitars and harmonies, redolent of the interlocking riffs used by the legendary likes of Thin Lizzy and Brian May.
With some waif-like Iggy & The Stooges shadows and simultaneous Ian Dury/Talking Heads nuances, this album contains a mish-mash of influences and directions which leave the listener at times unsure of where exactly we're all heading. However, every time the song sounds like it's going to fall apart, a momentous stop or melodic bridge salvages the primordial sound, as well as your sanity. The unified conglomeration of heavy metal parts and jazz breakdowns is something unique and spontaneous: organised chaos in the most cunningly executed fashion. McFarlane's vox, with its idiosyncratic diction and over-pronounced R's, leads some songs away on mystical journeys, like the psychedelic vocal-flights of Jim Morrison. In 'Let's' and 'Dominoes', however, the spirit of the Lizard King survives, and the voice is not only elevated, but the soul too.
Seemingly, if you like your spine chilled and your blood curdled, then - as the Sluts would say - 'F**k me baby, this is the greatest gift'. If the pretentious geek shall ever inherit the land, don't fret - the Sluts of Trust will restore it to its primeval roots.
Artists in this article: Sluts Of Trust
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