Kudos To The Bomber Jackets by The Bomber Jackets

The absolute state of that cover art. Continuing their usual tightrope walk between poignant and crass the Bomber Jackets follow up their Alter debut with more scattershot pop hits, breaking everything into a kinda silly, drunken stupor where the vocals are plain and wobbly against lazy beats and shiny and amused keys. Sounds like the kinda DIY you might've made when you were young and in your best pal's attic room, bridging sillinesses from novelty pop to deconstructed hardcore.

Vinyl LP £14.49 ALT35

LP on Alter.

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Kudos To The Bomber Jackets by The Bomber Jackets
1 review. Write a review for us »
6/10 Jamie 09 August 2017

Robin, in his capacity as super-sub for Clint, has just handed me… this… bewildering record. To review. Once I’ve recovered from the shock of the record cover, at least. The old Shredded Wheat factory on the edge of a Hertfordshire town is in that pic by the way, sadly missing a guard bulldog. So. It’s called ‘Kudos To The Bomber Jackets’, by -- in some unavoidable twist of logic -- The Bomber Jackets. I was going to say the opening track of this record is an indecipherable synth-wave mess; but then, I realised I still had Oneohtrix playing in another Chrome tab. Boy, did I ever narrowly avoid that egg-face scenario.

‘Death Of A Bargain Hunter’, then, has a plodding synth and tinny drum machine… sounding like summat on Polytechnic Youth, until a really deadpan, indifferent voice says a lot of stuff before the candid admission, “I never climbed a tree.” That’s a highlight. Save it for later... More lo-fi mumblings on ‘Legends Never Die’ -- yeah, nor does the march of the Casiotone. I’m enjoying the name-check of Levi Roots as much as the ghosts of faded, monochrome rave and blurry beats on ‘Deranged Sauce Mum’. It still all sounds sad and grumpy; the pretty synth intro to ‘Art Brussels’ distracts from the self-pity wallow-fest for a minute. Well, for 20 seconds.

‘Tosh Lines’ and ‘All I Wanna Do Is Stay At Home’ (I feel you there) continue the bleak music and lyrical content, as grey and dismal as Britain and its number one preoccupation: the weather. Not even the distant spectres of hoover rave can redeem ‘The Death Of Old Wooly’. A shame, because there are some interesting beats on this record. It would’ve benefitted from a few non-vocal tracks, perhaps. Picture me shrugging my shoulders and sipping from my bottle of water.



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