The Golden Virgins - 'Songs Of Praise' (Rex / XL)
5/5
By: Kevin Molloy
Sometimes, it just happens. It doesn't need a movement, a revival or a scene - an album will simply arrive in record stores veritably brimming with fresh innovations in perfect counterpoise with a healthy range of influences and full of fecking wonderful songs. And yes, you can take it that the Golden Virgins grace that description perfectly. Otherwise there wouldn't be much point in writing it, would there now?
The album has shadowy beginnings in 'Waltz of Praise' - the minute short instrumental introduction reminiscent of the organ bounce of The Doors or The Grateful Dead. Next track, 'Shadows of Your Love' is The Pogues in a quieter moment. Within the next three airings, Disco, outright Rock and the trustworthy Ballad have all been visited. The LP moves from Suede to The Coral, to Duran Duran. Yet none of this is forced - this is simply a very broadly influenced group of young lads without a scene (they're from Sunderland).
The tensions of Lucas Renney's lyric-weaving are possibly the most gripping aspect of the brew. As an ex-English teacher Renney is no stranger to the oxymoron (and any other technical term you can remember from those (halcyon?) days of secondary education). Take a dash of epic imagery and combine it with the honesty and simplicity of 20th Century language: ('My soldier's wait on my command/My sword lies heavy in my hand/It shall not sleep, nor shall it rest/Until my head lies on her breasts'). The lyrics are cod-classical, and even make use of Shakespearean puns (what does 'I want to die in her dress' mean? Don't be embarrassed now...), whilst the first words uttered on the album are, 'Well, f**k you love, and fare thee well'. The best thing is that still none of this is out of context, or playing upon novelty - this is a band with intellect to back up their brash pop.
And pop it certainly is, in all the right ways. There's not a track that clocks in at more than five minutes, and only two of the twelve breach the four-minute mark. Previous single 'Renaissance Kid' is probably the best example of the perfectly melodious combination of guitar and vocal that runs throughout every song; a hark back to something of early Britpop (although quite what we're not sure), with a touch of a Springsteen anthem in there to boot. An uplifting sing-along chorus and organ part to match are just the pretty face on a fantastic body. (This, as far as we are aware, is the only manner in which the band lives up to their name: through simile. Just so you know.)
With an LP this good it can be a futile effort to point towards highlights. But the glorious 'I Am A Camera' somehow manages to outshine the supernova that the surrounding matter provides. The disco beat and keys will, undoubtedly, have you writhing in ecstasy - couple this with the power chords and your head is banging; but it's also trying to get around whether the lyrics are obsessive gibberish or just bloody brilliant (they're both, of course). All in all the number is an orgy of aural pleasure, a spectacular extravaganza of nonsense. Genius. Trust us.
And so Sunderland did give rise to a seemingly average group of young men. They proved otherwise by calling themselves The Golden Virgins, and they've exploded the illusion with this: an album of eccentricity and melody, candour and complaint, lust and love lost. F**k saving yourself for the 'right band' - it's time to pop your cherry and start enjoying yourself whilst you're still young. And they won't even get jealous if you go off with other bands, 'cos they know how good they are, they know you'll come back... it's only for the music anyway; who cares about the record sales?
Artists in this article: The Golden Virgins
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