Tim Chaplin was busily recording tracks at home during the period 1998 to 2010, and the results are now audible to the wider public! I guess Chaplin doesn’t have neighbourly concerns, as Boy To Make Me Worry is often a full-blown noise-pop record: he doesn’t hold back on the distortion. This 17-track LP edition has one silver and one gold LP, and contains a download code for the full 39-track collection.
Double LP £16.99 BG101
Silver/ gold coloured vinyl gatefold 2LP on Bleeding Gold Records. Includes download code for the full 39-track collection.
- Shipping cost: £4.25 ?
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Before we begin, a disclaimer: my ears are totally fucked right now. I’m currently living a post-cold life in which everything is automatically underwater, so forgive me if this review reads delusionally alongside the actual music on Tim Chaplin’s actual record, ‘Boy To Make Me Worry’. Described as a noise pop record with little regard for the neighbours, what I hear is a sweet record of twee melancholy presented in a lo-fi haze, chiming with xylophone, Alex G-lite guitar strums, lazy Sunday synth and even the occasional parallel universe bass line. Look, it’s slightly scuffed and aptly ramshackle pop music, but it ain’t piercing the lids of anyone’s eardrums.
Chaplin’s approach brings to mind the collage-over-songcraft music of Chad VanGaalen, echoing the versatile means in which his record ‘Infiniheart’ would treat its melodies. There are programmed drums leaching on to “No Wonder”, before distortion and feedback scars the deflated ballad of “So She Says”, which, with its hazy riffs and echo-treated vocals, would fit snugly into the latecomers of ‘Alien Lanes’ -- a good fit, considering Chaplin sounds a fair bit like Tobin Sprout. These truly noisy moments are few and far between compared to the, um, beautified acoustic ditties that Chaplin loves making, like “And So It Goes”, which is basically a solo take with some whirring samples and overdubbed harmonies.
Power electronics pop, AKA Animal Collective, has been done before, so tracks like “The Last Thing”, which scatter noise over a broken rhythm, aren’t my favourite moments -- it’s when Chaplin pronounces the melodies and sad sighs, way down in his lo-fi rabbit hole, that I fall a bit in love with him. It’s when I can hear a bassline sneaking its way through “Stay Away”, as if it were sneaking biscuits from the cupboard after everyone went to bed. This record of twinkled noise makes me wish my ears would let me back in.
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