Every year similar lists are compiled by bloggers for the mandatory listening for the year ahead and Lambeth quartet Palma Violets featured in the vast majority of ‘ones to watch out for’ a few months back. With their debut single ‘Best of Friends’ reaching the summit of NME’s 50 Best Tracks of last year and their guerrilla live shows at studio 180 (of which their debut album takes its name) reaching indie folklore, everything seemed in place for Palma Violets to become the best new band in Britain.
Of course, there was a backlash. Many approach bands’ debut albums these days with the mentality of “show us you aren’t shit” rather than “show us what you can do”. In Morrissey’s immortal words, there’s always some one somewhere who will trip you up and laugh when you fall. Palma Violets, to their credit, skip over the people waiting in the wings attempting to trip them to show that they have a whole wealth of talent – if not entirely the same amount that was promised all those months back.
Beginning the record with the now familiar ‘Best of Friends’ is a smart move. The track could have acted as the albatross around the neck of the band, weighing the album down and shadowing all which sandwiches it. By placing it at the beginning, it not only allows us to absorb the rest of the album without it being dwarfed by the undeniable quality of the debut single, but also allows the band to perfectly introduce themselves. The track is centred around a bromance between bassist Chili Jesson and guitarist Samuel Fryer, their guitars locked in a jangly duel and the pair snarling together into the microphone.
It’s a dynamic which has drawn lazy comparisons to Pete’n’Carl, and whilst this isn’t strictly the case (the band sound much more like a Joe Strummer-fronted version of Echo and the Bunnymen than The Libertines), the pair do have the same sense of introspective mischief as Bilo and Biggles. It’s a humour which works well on ‘Step Up To The Cool Cats’ with a Jarvis Cocker-esque whisper of “cats” from Jesson. “You got me dancing in the sun” barks Fryer, and it’s a chorus which will crash over the festival crowds in a wave of debauchery.
‘Rattlesnake Highway’ is led by Pete Mayhew’s driving organ, elevating it into a ferocious and pacy stomp which whizzes passed you leaving you breathless. ‘Chicken Dippers’ (don’t ask) is another fine moment in which energy and hyperactivity are infused to create a ADHD-riddled crescendo of noise, whilst ‘Last of the Summer Wine’ is a slow-burning, atmospheric ode to English heritage which takes a little bit too long to reach its fabulous end.
Sadly, things start to fall apart slightly. ‘Tom The Drum’ is precisely halfway between ‘Digsy’s Dinner’ and ‘Tracy Jacks’ with nonsensical lyrics (sample: “Hey you, I don’t wanna come and play on your rollerblades today”). The song stands up well live but on record it is stripped-back and more tame, meaning that you leave the experience quite baffled and speechless. The audacity of the band is to be applauded, yet the inconsistency is frustrating at times.
‘Johnny Bagga Donuts’ (named after a 1950s record producer) is laced with Up The Bracket-isms, yet it sounds more like a anonymous pastiche of garage rock. ‘We Found Love’ is much better with Fryer singing about how he will “find a lady friend and stick by her til the end”. Touching stuff, but there’s too little of it. The song proves Palma Violets can be lovelorn and lost for every time they are lively and loud. ’14’ is the final track and ends the album with a light-hearted affair which Fryer reportedly wrote regarding a bus he used to ride home. Sadly, the group don’t know when to quit and follow it with ‘Brand New Song’, a hidden track which sounds as half-arsed as you might expect. Sample lyric: “I’ve got a brand new song, it’s gunna be a number one”. Oh dear.
The inconsistency in their work is a testament to Palma Violets’ mythology. They are ephemeral upstarts who’s aim is to make as many people dance as they can. Their charm shines bright for half the album, but the critics will suggest that their immaturity means they will never deliver greatness. It’s hard not to feel sorry for Palma Violets. They’ve delivered a scuzzy, genial debut album with a few songs most bands could only dream of writing. Is it the album that will catapult indie back onto the 10 o’clock news and the charts? No, but they never said it would be. The industry looks a lot brighter with this lot around, though.
Discover Palma Violets: Official // Facebook // Last.fm
James Daniel Rodger
Dance Yrself Clean
