The sun really does play tricks. Back around Christmas I was bemoaning the torpid and artistically negligent posture of most of our local acts, and yet here I am, mid-summer, swamped by enthusing press releases and funky promo CDs bearing Northern post marks. One can only assume that the lengthening days bring out the best in our ‘talent’, or that the Himalayan lurch in house prices has forced some of them to get their arses in gear. Whatever the reason, it’s good to see such a fine crop begin to blossom.
The ascent of Oppenheimer over the last year and a bit has appeared so effortless that we can only assume that Shaun and Rocky have stumbled upon a secret stockpile of helium. Vanguards of the Belfast indie scene for many, many years – lugging gear, manning sound desks and banging pots for all kinds of chancers, journeymen and proud underachievers – the pair’s brew of plaintive electronica and wallflower pop has won them a remarkably big and vocal following. Since Christmas they’ve been flooding venues with fans that sing along, faint in their presence, and construct a(web) shrines in their honour. New Jersey’s Bar None Records has decided to give the boys a stateside push, and their debut, self-titled album (recorded with lots of instruments borrowed from David Holmes and boasting a vocal cameo from fellow Downpatrick-alumnus Tim Wheeler) has just been released. It’s uniformly pretty ace, boasting – in the dreamily sad ‘Breakfast In NYC’ – one genuine killer track. No word as yet on a release this side of The Pond but, if you’re a big Postal Service, Yo La Tengo and Stereolab fan get onto www.oppenheimermusic.co.uk and ask nicely.
It was always going to happen for Duke Special. Even when you wondered if the dreadlocks and pawn-shop aesthetic was straining just a tad too desperately to get noticed, and even when the big, weepy piano-ballads strayed perilously close to AOR infamy. Even then, it was still clear that Peter Wilson had way too much nous, ambition and off-message playfulness to disappear without a fight. With the help of Amazing Pilot Paul Wilkinson, Wilson has spent the last few years attempting to marry his classic song-writing chops to an experimental, impish recording approach and the results have, increasingly, grown impossible to ignore. V2 have decided to back this particular winner and an album is expected sometime before the end of the summer. Given that – live especially, where there’s often a cast of thousands employed to grand theatrical effect – Duke Special has never accepted the restricted lot of a local, unsigned act. What kind of liberating impact a (hopefully) decent deal has on him will be fascinating to watch.
Another act benefiting from Wilkinson’s liberating influence are The Fast Emperors. Their new EP Tapdance Junkies finds them – especially on the title track – in impressively big-school form. It can only be a matter of time before they follow Duke Special into the benevolent arms of a cuddly old major.
Only The Answer could dare to name a song ‘Memphis Water’, but given that their debut album Rise heroically recasts the Co Down four-piece as globe-bestriding blues rock behemoths, it’s entirely in character. Other bands may sell more records, but few will have as much fun as Cormac and co.
The Delawares, meanwhile, have been in London recording their debut album. Fingers crossed it contains their ace tribute to Jim Henson that brought the house down the last time we crossed their path. And just think – if every member of the band buys a copy, it’ll probably go Top Ten.
Keep an eye out as well for new stuff from Red Sirus, V Formation, Ed Zealous and gentleman Tom McShane. All have been getting busy in the studio with impressive results.
Most welcome news of all, however, is that after a brief, four year, wait, the second Desert Hearts’ LP is almost amongst us. Hotsy Totsy Nagasaki (don’t ask) is being shipped by Andy Miller’s Gargleblast Records and, on its release at the end of August, you owe it to yourself to grab a copy. A jittery, nervy heartbreaker of an album, full of fierce emotion, unexpected tenderness, and broken up poetry – it’s by some distance the best record to emerge from the HTN constituency since, well, Let’s Get Worse.
The sun really has got its hat on.