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- Black Music by Dark Horses
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Clint liked Dark Horses’ last single and so do I on adopting a promo of their album for the night. There's more to them than that dreamy pulsating shoegaze/Spector psych-shimmer of a track. Yes it is better than most rip-offs and has a languid blissed cool...um, her voice is really sexy...drat, I've had to listen to it again even though the lyrics are utterly vacuous and pointless. 'Alone' begins by recalling bafflingly listenable electronic-pop where-are-they-nows Chew Lips before ripping off its silky sweat-streaked shirt and hurling straight into the mode of a motorik electro-rock brooder that goes well Forbidden Planet with the synths towards the end and proper rocks, sporting this thrashy muffled aura you just don't expect. This shouldn't work...what are this band doing to me?
Yes, this is exactly the kind of record a miserable old 40yr old such as me should maybe be calling "plastic" and "shit", maybe even "dog vomit on a stick with some extra shit on". But it isn't and it somehow gets its hooks right into you. 'Boxing Day', for example, goes all neon dream-cruise on the chorus whilst the main body of the song has a dispassionate vocal over a smooth metronomic groove. It sounds way more seductive than the likes of Toy I can tell thee.'Black Music' has got more personality and coherence than the recent Raveonettes album but sounds, at times, like Lana fucking Del Rey and is even produced by Richard Fearless from Death in Vegas who I once wanted to kick in the shin for ruining their already shaky reputation by featuring Liam Gallagher on one of their songs. All this points to me hating the thing but honestly, there's something warmly approachable and enticing about many of these songs. 'Count Me In' is a crashing brooding ballad and isn't even ruined by an appearance by the singer from Kasabian. You even get a Swedish language country ballad, no joke, it is gorgeous too. The Cardigans-esque version of 'Road To Nowhere' I could happily have smacked in the face the other day but tonight it's real swell baby. Seriously, I've heard a hell of a lot worse than this Brighton gang-noir.
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