Hailing from that well-known hotbed of musical experimentation that is, uhm, Nottingham, and featuring ex-members of Wolves (Of Greece) and Punish The Atom, Amusement Parks On Fire have been labelled by that bastion of taste (yes, that's sarcasm) the NME as "new-gaze". Don't let memories of shaggy-haired white boys with too many FX pedals and no tunes put you off; APOF are a much more immediate project.
So, what do they actually sound like? Well, a lazy touchstone would be Kevin Shield's masterpiece Loveless, the same sea of churning guitars and muted drums rears its head here. Where the aforementioned classic was dreamy, ethereal and downright stoned, APOF moderate their wall of fuzzy guitar noise with some seriously huge riffs that cast your mind back to Siamese Dream-era Smashing Pumpkins.
The opener, 23 Jewels, is a soundscape of warm organ and feedback, violins twitching mournfully from speaker to speaker; as the track comes to a close, a wall of feedback suddenly segues into pounding, off-kilter drums as the boys unleash their guitar storm in the form of Venus In Cancer. If you listen carefully, it sounds like there's roughly ten guitars all screaming away at one monumental riff, while Mick Feerick yells "I haven't got time to ask / what you're here for!".
As Venus In Cancer dissolves into static and fractured noise, Eighty Eight's stop-start guitars stab out; a quick breath, and the track opens up the throttle. There's precious little in the way of silence on this record - like their live show, the boys obviously see any time where they're not playing as wasted.
The most hyperbolic of my ramblings have been retained for trying to describe the speaker-destroying, fist-pumping should-be anthem that is Venosa. Four minutes of pop genius filtered through impossibly huge sounding guitars, its FX riot doesn't let up for a second. The brief breakdown lures you into a false sense of security, as the boys draw guitar squiggles before the whipcrack of Mike's guitar pulls the chorus back in and spits you out, a huge smile on your face. Yes, it's that good.
The epic, eight minute Wiper showcases APOF's ability to manipulate a build-up; they seem to know the exact point at which they should step on those stompboxes and head straight for the centre of the sun. The Ramones Book is a pretty, piano led reminiscence which seems almost out of place, surrounded by hook-laden guitar anthems. That's not say it's a misstep. Its blissed-out vocals and utterly surrounding soundscape serve as a brief moment of respite before the destructive noise experiment that is Local Boy Makes God that closes the album.
For a debut, this record is astounding. APOF have a sound that's mature and yet ripe for exploitation - if they can produce something as fantastic as Venosa on their first outing, just imagine what they can do in the future. Let's do our bit and make sure, for once, a great new British band isn't criminally ignored.
So, what do they actually sound like? Well, a lazy touchstone would be Kevin Shield's masterpiece Loveless, the same sea of churning guitars and muted drums rears its head here. Where the aforementioned classic was dreamy, ethereal and downright stoned, APOF moderate their wall of fuzzy guitar noise with some seriously huge riffs that cast your mind back to Siamese Dream-era Smashing Pumpkins.
The opener, 23 Jewels, is a soundscape of warm organ and feedback, violins twitching mournfully from speaker to speaker; as the track comes to a close, a wall of feedback suddenly segues into pounding, off-kilter drums as the boys unleash their guitar storm in the form of Venus In Cancer. If you listen carefully, it sounds like there's roughly ten guitars all screaming away at one monumental riff, while Mick Feerick yells "I haven't got time to ask / what you're here for!".
As Venus In Cancer dissolves into static and fractured noise, Eighty Eight's stop-start guitars stab out; a quick breath, and the track opens up the throttle. There's precious little in the way of silence on this record - like their live show, the boys obviously see any time where they're not playing as wasted.
The most hyperbolic of my ramblings have been retained for trying to describe the speaker-destroying, fist-pumping should-be anthem that is Venosa. Four minutes of pop genius filtered through impossibly huge sounding guitars, its FX riot doesn't let up for a second. The brief breakdown lures you into a false sense of security, as the boys draw guitar squiggles before the whipcrack of Mike's guitar pulls the chorus back in and spits you out, a huge smile on your face. Yes, it's that good.
The epic, eight minute Wiper showcases APOF's ability to manipulate a build-up; they seem to know the exact point at which they should step on those stompboxes and head straight for the centre of the sun. The Ramones Book is a pretty, piano led reminiscence which seems almost out of place, surrounded by hook-laden guitar anthems. That's not say it's a misstep. Its blissed-out vocals and utterly surrounding soundscape serve as a brief moment of respite before the destructive noise experiment that is Local Boy Makes God that closes the album.
For a debut, this record is astounding. APOF have a sound that's mature and yet ripe for exploitation - if they can produce something as fantastic as Venosa on their first outing, just imagine what they can do in the future. Let's do our bit and make sure, for once, a great new British band isn't criminally ignored.
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