The reissue of this 2005 album is part of PAGAN WANDERER LU’S plan to make 6 years of back catalogue available to new listeners via myspace mail order.
Written and recorded on an 8 track in Aberystwyth, this is one of the DIY releases that the Brainlove label are renowned for, and one which first helped establish PWL as something of a lo-fi anti hero in Wales.
Home-made this collection may be, but it’s also poignant. You have to love the way folk/acoustic, electronica and pop are blended here. The three join forces to stunning effect on this incisive and scathing record; the results are a true revelation.
Attacking the comfort zone with one eyebrow raised quizzically at contemporary attitudes, there are no punches pulled.
Fear is what controls us all these days, and the everyday routine mirrored in today’s rather lacklustre music is lampooned brilliantly in ‘Show Us Yer Knuckles’, the beat-programmed casio sprawl cleverly shielding a delightfully inept overloaded guitar riff.
‘Good Christian/Bad Christian’ warps and splutters over another pre programmed and oddly spliced layer of stuttering beats, as a twisted attack on the pretence of respectablity unfolds.
Keeping up appearances? The whole charade is pulled to pieces in fine style, uncovering the basic principles behind religious and other pretence, as the music churns and grinds along like the Yellow Submarine.
Accordion sounds follow a folk song singalong structure, yet ‘Keep The Weather Out’ offers a glimpse of the healthy paranoia that forms the dark side of the dream home ideal. Images of roaring fires in the hearth are mixed up with the need for burglar alarms, and the acoustic guitar is soon submerged in a bontempi-orchestrated keyboard freak-out. Cynicism froths as the dream becomes a fear-filled defence mechanism, fear of crime, fear of being different, and a gruesome parody of itself.
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As the album progresses the anger intensifies through jagged guitars and demented crash chords, and suddenly the bass is prominent as the whole feel darkens. Muttered lunacy over an equally insane two chord hook prevails as ‘At The Hairdressers’ kicks in – you can just hear the blip of the casio underneath the song as it oozes mistrust, taking only brief sideways glances in an all out attempt to avoid eye-contact.
Layered vocals cascade over electronic shards of random computer game noise as ‘Harp & Chainsaw’ ofers a tranquilized sense of brightness that merely intensifies the irrational and extreme caution, whilst the spitting beat finale winds on towards chaotic breakdown thanks to the skip of the bass and hypnotic keys.
A loner’s look at life from outside the norm, the rattling loops and deliberate simplicity wickedly poke fun at the falseness that plagues much of what we hear today. Truly innovative, the shifting structures reflect the shaky ground upon which we stand. This is a much-needed stab at undermining some of the deep faults inherent in our value system. Despite his reclusive solo stance, PWL sticks out his neck bravely during this unflinching attempt to rip holes in the greed and the lies, and this record provides much food for thought by turning our received notions over during the relentless search for truth.
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