Whilst the mainstream music scene busies itself with bland or lazy doses of re-recycled pseudo-sixties posturing - along with other gubbins - we should remain eternally grateful to those who remain devoted to the cause of breaking new ground. On which note, I’d like to propose a toast to the four lads collectively known as CHAMPION KICKBOXER.
Having enjoyed their live shows, including a memorable appearance with label-mates, the equally brilliant SMOKERS DIE YOUNGER, in a pub in Bolton two miles up the road (that had jaws dropping open by the dozen) I was prepared for the eccentric qualities of their harmony-rich sound. Even so, I was still mightily impressed by their debut album, a carefully considered slice of the surreal.
The record opens with a minimalist guitar hook threaded through the drawn out lead vocals of Tom Bates and before you know it, the cymbal crashing distortion and richly textured harmonies that characterise the band’s affinity with conscious and deep thought bring the track to life.
If this is experimental, then the science involved has shown us the methods that are vital to the measurement of cacophony. I’m no scientist, but still, this is blinding stuff all the same. A superb piece of work - carefully produced in order to allow the river of creativity to flow through it.
Calmly constructed and bubbling with freshness, the music also retains a necessary and beautiful relationship with traditional songwriting methods. Champion Kickboxer employ only the echoing shadows of rock music’s shape in order to bolster their delicate and sparsely significant sound. However, as their deep-seated adherence to the bare essentials of English song structures unfold, we hear them delve almost 700 years back in time for the ingredients to this organic jam. Handclapping, off-key melodies and madrigals are all put to stunning use in what is clearly a deliberate attempt to pull free of rock’s accepted parameters.
Perhaps more important is the ever-present sense of what you can’t hear (rather than what you can) being important. Put quite simply, they break ground – but only to explore what lies beneath. That, for me, is the appeal of this collection.
In ‘Maximum’, 70’s rock is recreated with an impossibly simple guitar hook as the bassline throbs on shifting sands. Title track ‘Perforations’ sees all-pervasive thoughts about the nature of perception stalk the jam, offering up controversial theories about the limitations of the human ear. As if to emphasise the point, this eerily appropriate soundtrack is tinged with splashes of real psychedelia. Gathering momentum in spite of its understated feel, there is no complete departure from reality, not as far as accepted norms are concerned. This is a disparaging rant against the apathetic half measures which dominate the current modes of thought in today’s culture.
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Musically, it’s thought provoking and crystal clear, a sonic space where several styles are reworked to perfection. From the medieval dynamic of ‘Get On Up’, which urges the listener to take control of his/her destiny, to the incidental cosmic space put to good use in ‘Thinking’, with its music box-meets-progressive rock, gentle shuffling beats and deep seated crescendos, this is an album that demands to be heard.
As a whole, it floats, rather than breaks free of the norm – like a spectre despite the drum pattern’s gravitational pull (‘Like Him + And + Her + And + Her + Me’) hanging heavy on the soul. The mildly insistent xylophone enhances both the rhythm and the notion that everything is relative. We are just atoms, mere specks rendered invisible in consideration of the big picture.
‘Frog and Mouse’ has perhaps the most leanings towards recognisable pop structure, as “Push and pull it goes” to the sonic synth. sound of utter chaos. It’s all in the threads of guitar, and the falsetto delivery. The nearest thing they get to 4/4 time, and frog/mouse dialogue at that! Dotted with the melody of the high keys, it’s irresistible!
Yet ‘Language’ is an ode to introspection that manages to communicate despite this.
“I had ten million voices / but I had no soul” impines Bates, as the shrinks gather like vultures in the wings to the sound of screams. Overloading sonic trickery and slow-building mayhem rule their world as the ethos turns in on itself with wails of crazed frustration. Yet there is warmth here, and an assured sense of the absurd that envelops the listener.
It’s a kick up the arse for shared perception, but despite the moniker, there is no aggression, only hypnotic persuasion at work. This will engulf you, and leave you changed for the better.
The band is also an enticing live prospect, an embodiment of creative energy that will leave you spellbound. Their website (www.championkickboxer.co.uk), is an impressive and absorbing prospect that is well worth a look.
www.championkickboxer.co.uk
www.myspace.com/championkickboxer
www.theespc.com
www.wrathrecords.co.uk
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