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Here’s some soaring indie pop business from London quartet Famy, who’re rocking a bit of an epic pop aesthetic like Alt-J with yelpy and strained vocals that will divide opinions right from the start I suspect. They do help contribute to the epic aesthetic, particularly with ganged-up whoa-ohs backing him on the title track, but I’m struggling with it. Where other people may hear a National-esque bit of epic 6music-pop, I’m just hearing woooaaaaaahh-ohhhhhh-whooooooooooaah-whoa-oh, spilt all over everything like a careless early-morning juice mishap. Awful. Every note they sing is dragged on to about three seconds, and then extended further still with reverb, so there are very few moments on this record where you can’t at the very least hear the echo of a voice, yelping plangently for you to like it.
I’m skipping through to the Minutemen cover. Considering they’re French this is very English sounding in its awkward lack of natural groove, and halfway through they flesh it out into a pulsing Mumford & Sons chug and oh shit they’ve changed the lyrics to namedrop Bradford Cox and Photoshop too. What have I done to deserve this? The most interesting thing is that there’s a little bonus track (a whispery acoustic ‘Little Donkey’ piss take) after the run-out groove, so you have to move the needle along a bit to hear it. You know you’re clutching at straws when a gimmick like that is the best thing you can find to say about a record though. Thumbs down.
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