Their post-punk almost clocking in at ‘normal’ punk BPM, Moaning are releasing their debut self-titled album. Expect catchy singalong self-deprecating lyrics accompanied by very fuzzy basslines. Moaning is available on CD, cassette, vinyl and super-sexy special edition pink ‘Loser’ vinyl, if that’s what you want to be called by artists whose work you’re buying.
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This band that named themselves after what my editor does at arbitrary times of the day are pretty good. With that kinda tidy post-punk shred where everything sounds like it exists on an abandoned production line, they storm into a record of sheen fuzz. If Preoccupations had leaned the right ways into the genres they wanted so badly to lean into, they might sound like this: thunderous chords, restless energy and desperation disguised as mundanity. Don’t cheer up.
“Don’t Go” is as good an opener as you’ll hear this year, but the record takes its gloom and twists around it. “Tired” has a bassline of near Strokes-y bounciness, drenched in synth, fuzz and the kind of jangle you might expect from Horsebeach. It’s a treat for the ears, actually; the hooks need not be mind-blowing when they’re calibrated so nicely. With light industrial drums played like someone smashing a drum machine to pieces, “Close” weaves the dispirited churn of the band back into proceedings, offering a devastated, big music post-punk that I imagine fans of Editors and beyond are sorely missing.
The way Moaning announce these songs is a big signal: they want you to hear a riff straight off the bat, to notice them before they throw on their busy assortment of overdriven tactics. “For Now” might be as ear-shattering as your favourite Pinkshinyultrablast tune, but it’s simple to follow -- structured with love and care, this one's doing it right.
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