Although it’s bequeathed us top drawer Americana-related sounds and acid fried brilliance in the shape of Roky Erickson and the Butthole Surfers, Texas hasn’t been a hotbed for fast and furious Punk Rock down the decades.
However, in a world teetering on the edge of economic and social uncertainty, we could sure as hell do with a lot more urgency and it’s often people from the least likely places who supply it. Consequently, the 14 short, sharp shocks seething from young Lone Star state quartet OCCULT DETECTIVE CLUB’S debut album ‘Crimes’ make like a very welcome knife in the gut of complacency.
Done and dusted in 28 minutes, there’s nary a sniff of a ballad or a hint of wimping out on the agenda here. Judging by the sleeve photo, OCD look unfeasibly young and fresh-faced, but they knock out their hyperactive ramalama with an intensity that’s tangible and infectious, not to mention a passion and commitment that puts most of the current young pretenders to shame.
Intriguingly, while you can detect flavours like Husker Du’s chainsaw angst-pop and a little of Guy Picciotto’s accusatory bark in frontman D. A. Anguiano’s vocals, most of the obvious sonic reference points being paraded here come from ye olde English Punke Rocke scene circa 1978. Fizzing power grenades like ‘In Another Life’, ‘One To Ten’ and the bitten-off call and response thrills of ‘Calling The Detectives’ recall the likes of The Boys, the early nostril-flaring Jam or even the much-maligned Lurkers, while the opening blast of the record’s title track recalls the staccato-like economy of Wire circa ‘Chairs Missing’ before it blows up in your face.
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Crucially, though, the lads’ frustrations are entirely contemporary and they vent their spleen with the accuracy of an air to sea missile. On ‘Their Walls Around Us’, their youthful idealism and desire for change (“I read the news today and it made no sense to me/ if I know my history, no new policy can fix what’s faulty”) is highly laudable. On ‘Oh Bureaucracy’ (“it’s a ninety-ten split of power, wealth and ownership/ we’re dying in the streets man, the left and right couldn’t give a shit”) they fire off a Punk/Pop broadside worthy of Billy Bragg, while the anti-organised religion rant ‘Wear The Woodwork’ and the wary-of-The-Man diatribe ‘Up From The Underground’ put forward healthy arguments as to why you still shouldn’t believe or get bitten twice by our dubious powers that be.
Occult Detective Club, then, may be earnestly serious young men, but on ‘Crimes’ they hitch up their fears and frustrations to a roaring Punk Rock juggernaut, let out the throttle and simply ram the nay-sayers off the freeway. If you were wondering whether anger can still be an energy, just cop an earful of this amphetamine blast.
Alive! Records online
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