Lo-fi and minimal post-punk from Washington based one woman band Sneaks. There’s an air of Siouxsie and The Banshees, but stripped back to bass guitar, drum machine and Eva Moolchan’s dry and tongue in cheek lyricism thrown in with a Sleaford Mods gritty punk-come-poetry apathy to a larger band sound.
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Sounding sadder and more defeated than Shopping but a lot happier than Sleaford Mods but sorta very much like both bands at the same time, Sneaks deserve to absorb a fan or two. Their beats are the post-punk ones made by computers, their bass lines are feet confronters, and their vocals are smirks into retorts into pouts. It makes for a record of resolute mischief, even at its most muted -- a short song like “No Problem”, consisting of little more than a recycled beat and mumble-yelps of “No Problem!” -- will feel as danceable as the biggest Talking Heads cut.
This record will fly by, largely because all the songs are as budget as they can get, and also because Sneaks do not fucking stick around -- most of these missives are fifty seconds apiece, with the stretch from “No Problem” to “Down In The Woods” consisting of three lightning-fast tunes that could all be spliced into one. You’re likely to be left with an imagined wedding of two of the bass lines you liked best in different songs -- I’m highlighting “True Killer”, whose fret-smacked bass line sounds like a tennis ball mid-rally.
As the record goes on they get weirder, with “Figure 8” splashing about and randomly hastening the tempo before starting song proper. Proof that they are having a lot of fun just in case you don’t, which you will.
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