Album number two from Fat White Family, that gang of nihilistic performance upstarts. Songs For Our Mothers promises to be spitting with hatred and negative energy, and probably lots of loud guitars as well. Includes the single Whitest Boy On The Beach. Released on the somewhat dubiously titled Without Consent label, as CD and as LP.
6/10 Clinton Staff review, 19 January 2016I don’t know who I despise most the Fat White Family themselves or the outrage merchants that are horrified by a band writing about something that isn’t the usual benign pop fare. Fat White Family are like a modern day Sigue Sigue Sputnik, not in terms of sound particularly but in terms of having very few original ideas and using shock tactics as a substitute. The singer gets his knob out. That’s never happened before has it? Luckily the first Fat White Family album contained at least one good song and this one does too. Opener ‘Whitest Boy on the Beach’ is a rather brilliant slice of sleazy kraut that makes you check the credits to see if Geoff Barrow is at work somewhere as it builds to a pulverising crescendo. It’s scary too, and would thus perfectly fit into a mid ’70’s edition of Top of the Pops. There’s something very Glitter Band about Fat White Family and they use a typically glam stop while spending the rest of the album looking for another song. ’Satisfied’ fails to make the grade (not a hook in sight), ‘Love is the Crack’ is slow and turgid and sleazy as is ‘Duce’ which appears to have been made in a dripping underground dungeon. It’s eerie enough but I’m totally bored by the constant sludge. The lack of pace is the problem - it all seems a bit slow - how are they going to get the mid afternoon Glastonbury crowd going with this? I assume this is the moment in the set when the knob comes out. The ‘controversial’ songs come towards the end; ‘When Shipman Decides’ is like some kind of broken music box with those high pitched vocals Pink Floyd used to use and what appears to be a tuba parping away. I’m not sure if the controversy is based on the title alone as I can’t make out a bloody word. Unless I’m missing something then this is tame stuff. Strange dislocated sounds amount and you feel like you are in a particularly macabre episode of League of Gentlemen. Closer ‘Goodbye Goebbels’ (look Mum, the naughty men referenced a nazi) is another painfully slow piece of sludge that creeps on its stomach through a sea of piss. What we end up with is an eerie, discordant, uncommercial but relatively harmless album that smacks slightly of desperation in wanting to be noticed. We shouldn’t be scared - you’ll either enjoy it’s creepy charms or you’ll just ignore it altogether.
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- Songs For Our Mothers by The Fat White Family
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