Review Summary: Cute, but always relentless, Tubelord deliver a charmingly explosive debut.
Three piece bands just shouldn't be allowed to instigate a riot of this magnitude. Songs that feel like they were made up of twelve other songs nailed together just shouldn't sound this cohesive. And pop sensibilities just shouldn't be able to marry unorthodox song structures and intelligent playing so comfortably. But hey, you know it, I know it, and Tubelord sure as hell know it; opposites attract.
Our First American Friends showcases more than meagre attraction though, this is
connection between the two. As the superbly competent musicians they have proved themselves to be, it comes as no surprise that Tubelord's debut is endlessly entertaining and pulsing with a youthful energy that wouldn't even dare be stopped by a ten ton truck.
Though an abundance of whimsical guitar parts that weave their path anywhere they please combined with time signatures that just won't sit still(!) may translate on paper as a sprawling mess, Tubelord are anything but. Each instrument deflects perfectly off one-another creating a huge complex structure of sound... that is until they abruptly abandon the raucous sound in favour of a delicate guitar pattern and glockenspiel, such as in the bridge of “He Awoke On a Bench in Abergavenny” - only to later return with a hail of dissonance. Contrary to the flailing instrumentation,
Our First American Friends is laden with fantastically executed, and often complicated vocal harmonies courtesy of drummer David Catmur that sweeten out the unyielding backdrop of sound.
As lead vocalist Joseph Prendergast howls '
I always feel tongue tied' on “Stacey's Left Arm” you realise he's anything but – lyrical themes are consistently quirky and endearing, often surreal but simple in essence, and as such every line is delivered with an innocent grace. ‘
Blue, green and yellow pens / Blew up in my bag again' Prendergast ponders on “Cows To The East, Cities To The West”, an entirely different track escorted by a humble wandering acoustic guitar later joined by an elegant metallophone. “Cows To The East...” shouldn't fall so sweetly into place besides its surroundings, yet the soothing break from the previous barrage of melodious blitz comes as a welcome blessing, securing a place as one of the album's many highlights.
The blood of the album is truly high spirited and surging with a boundless passion, as perfectly demonstrated by the wildly titled “Night Of The Pencils”, where Prendergast joyfully proposes, '
Let's spend the rest of summer stoned!', while perhaps citing exactly where the album belongs – summer. Emphatic and warming, Tubelord indulge on fun and intertwine it into their sound wherever they can. In hindsight, the essence of fun is in the unpredictability of what will happen next – and this theory is used continually through the album, keeping the music edgy and bursting with life, songs forever morphing into new and exciting territory.
Although the onslaught on technicalities and hooks galore may exhaust an unsuspecting listener, Tubelord's intelligent and unorthodox approach to music is undeniably admirable. Throughout the aural schizophrenia are moments that demand an accompanying voice to bellow along beside them, along with the occasional dexterous moment to cause dropping of the jaw. One listen is not justice enough,
Our First American Friends is sprinkled oh so generously with miniature delights that a solitary listen will just not unveil. Although Tubelord can understandably come across a little overwhelming, their talent for writing an enticing chorus shadows any doubt that
Our First American Friends is merely a melodic mess. It's much more than that. It's how pop
should be merged with masterful composition.
