New Violent Soho Makes You Wanna Rip Your Shirt Off & Pour Beer On Yourself

The ongoing inherent dangers of judging books by the covers – or artists by their cover art, I suppose. Case in point, Violent Soho. Even in the clip, as the crowd arcs up, it could just be loud and hairy #Strayan rock and roll, and damn good at it. And you just know that smelly sweaty fuckwit next to you in the crowd is gonna dispense with his shirt, and pour beer over himself – and by way of collateral damage, you as well. But if you listen to How To Taste (I Oh You) there might be some dynamics and thought in it beyond the standard – are they smarter than a lot of people – even some of their audience - want to think? Could be. 

Or Cassels. I mean, look at their little faces. So young, so cute, so English. But as The Weight (Big Scary Monsters) unfurls, the thump the brothers Beck unleash is not what you guessed from the packet. There’s that peculiar British non-engagement with their own angst – almost a self-deprecation that suggest they’re only telling you of their complaints because you asked, but the sibling tension they deliver is more like the Reids from the Jesus & Mary Chain sneer than a Gallagher or Davies brother smirk. But it’s still hard to imagine them becoming bitter and grizzled – but they likely will.

It must be at least a fortnight since we’ve had any Tame Impala-related content, but the creative seam that appears to challenge Western Australia’s iron ore reserves still doesn’t seem to be exhausting. Thus Pond, although the omnipresent Kevin Parker isn’t actually a member anymore – he just gets the producer credit as Nick Allbrook’s classicist psychedelica goes on another ‘soaring cosmic odyssey’. OK, sure. The Weather (Marathon Artists/EMI) has some very contemporary concerns at its core, but the absolute Pink Floyd-ism of it suggests that while this closes off at just on the four-minute mark, you reckon there’s edits bound to turn up somewhere where it just tumbles and sprawls for a half-hour – and you want to hear it that way as well. 

But while the Perth cartel are unashamedly taking cues from the 1960s and ‘70s, it appears the nostalgia cycle is getting dramatically shorter, as Jimmy Chang Hot Tuna dates his electronic psychedelic musing here at 2007 (Independent), although those shorts are timeless. There’s something of a dance sensibility in its strolling and bubbling nature, which suggest there also may be some irony involved – the trick might be to work out just how much.

Awareness may come with age. The man, the myth, the legend, the rheumy-eyed hangover that is Tim Rogers just knows. One of the reasons we cherish him is his love of the whole louche rock star pose – and his acceptance of the absurdity of it. To celebrate the blessed event of him releasing a solo rekkid - rather than one with the finest rock and roll band in Christendom – we find him musing on Youth (Four||Four). Thus, with a touch of theatrical luvvie taking another curtain call to it, Sir Tim celebrates the wrinkles of experience. Let him advise you, although possibly it’s of the “Do as I say, don’t do as I did…” variety.

But maybe the kids do appreciate what they’ve got, and/or what they’re about to lose. So Pink Tiles set aside a couple of minutes to celebrate Sammy (Pink Tiles Sux) - an affectionate kiss-off to the eponymous heroine who held the imperative position of being the band’s tambourine player (and backing vocalist, and sometime publicist…) as she takes the decision to concentrate on her own band, Swim Team, and her other part-time job as part of the live version of Pearls. Anyway, it’s a buzzy and perfectly scrappy farewell. Hey, she got a trip to America out of it, don’t feel too sorry for her.

James Blake has a couple of handy selling points for My Willing Heart (Polydor) beyond it being just a beautiful piece of minimalist soul music of the modern model. A co-writing credit from Frank Ocean is a pretty good place to start to suggest its quality. The arty earth-mothering visuals, with Natalie Portman in full flower of pregnancy is done tastefully enough to be a milk formula commercial, and you may revel in its – and her – glow. Cross-promotional sidebar: Ms Portman is a suggested casting for the next Girl With The Dragon Tattoo sequel. Discuss.

But back to the accuracy of the dame on the marquee. Now, how would you expect To The Rats And Wolves to sound? Particularly with the added knowledge they’re German? Well, you’re half right. Operating in a gloriously phonetic English rather than their native language of romance, Love At First Bite (Arising Empire) puts a heavier twist on the old grunge-era soft-loud-soft formula, with the verses coming with quiet melodic angst, before chorus of more typical swallowed-a-shovelful-of-gravel growling of dead brides and such cheery imagery kicks in. Almost a cartoon, but maybe just grim enough to be a serious business. Or not.