aaamusic | On 02, Aug 2010

Well, despite the tongue-in-cheek attitude and wry humour in their approach, I would have to agree with the “violent” in Violent Soho’s name. It’s not screeching metal, but even at their most relaxed, they sound like Nirvana and the Minutemen having a riff-off. That is, they have accessible moments, and then from nowhere a scuzzy clump of distortion runs up and smacks you round the back of the head. This works small wonders on the album’s leading single: ‘Jesus Stole My Girlfriend’, which is somewhat akin to a Wheatus gig being crashed by a crowd of grunge-punk rockers, all in the best of best-worst taste in its combination of mild blasphemy and teen angst. But does the rest of their self-titled debut album hold up?

The answer: yes. Yes it does. The opening track, ‘Here Be Dragons’, is three minutes of nigh-on incomprehensible anger backed up by one of the most ominous riffs this side of the Jaws theme and heaped-up distortion. However, this is saved from drowning in its own mesmeric fury by the fact that, well, like I said – it is like Wheatus lynched by The Pixies. Beneath all the squalling and screaming, someone wrote one hell of a hook to flail around and catch listeners with. ‘Son Of Sam’, similarly, combines the accessibility of bands like The Vines and throws it straight into a raging moshpit of noise. The bridge, however, shows their smart ability to vary dynamics, the raw grunge-inspired vocals layering a fragile reaching out over rolling drums, before the wailing guitars all crash in again and everything gets moving again.

‘Generation’ gives things a rhythmic boot where it is needed, another solid three minutes of bratty teenage rebel rock, recalling The Ramones plus fuzz pedals and screaming. However, it is around here that the lyrical deficiency of this band goes start to niggle, some of the songs being disappointingly juvenile.

‘Muscle Junkie’, much like ‘Jesus Stole My Girlfriend’, distils pure teenage angst into the quiet-loud dynamic favoured by grunge, the haltingly rhythmic vocals prowling around a subtly seismic bassline, barely-contained drumming and impossibly tense guitars. The prechorus is puerile, but sometimes the only way to express the way you feel about someone is an onslaught of expletives, followed by a solid pounding of dense guitar noise about ready to stun a small child with the concrete feedback.

Next up is ‘Outsider’, track that melodically sounds like it is channelling ‘Radio’ by Alkaline Trio. And it is an acoustic track, no less; an oasis of calm in the grungey angst. We’re handed a tale of someone doomed to a sheltered life, all backed up with solemn cellos and acoustic guitar. The vocalist also shows that as well as delivering Cobain-esque yowls of anger, he is able to carry a tune. The raw and heartfelt delivery really works well here, and the melodies, while simple, are incredibly effective.

‘Slippery Tongue’ takes it all back to the land of earnest pop-punk, with no fussy bits. Worth a mention here is the rhythm guitars, clicking away at a muted strum that serves to provide a nice backdrop, as do the pounding drums and air raid siren guitars in the chorus and bridge.

‘Love Is A Heavy Word’ is an appropriately heavy track, bringing back all the punk overtones of previous tracks into a seething pit of anger, building up into a fearsome chainsaw riff and vicious cymbal attack.

‘Bombs Over Broadway’ ratchets things up even further, casting aside any illusions of being pop to fling three minutes of hard and fast rage at the listener, albeit with slightly generic lyrics.

‘Narrow Ways’ brings back the melody for a final farewell, emotive guitar hooks droning and twanging their way through a bittersweet tale of being cut off. This last song shows exactly what Violent Soho have been building up to across ten tracks: they understand. It’s like having a straight-talking friend to put things into perspective. Even when pointing out the uncomfortable truths, these tales of teenage traumas are something to be shared, not dismissed, and too few bands these days realise that.

I suppose you can’t expect high art from these guys, but what they have made instead is what many teenagers might just have been looking for. And no, this is not snarky reviewer speak for saying this is immature. Well, it is a bit juvenile, and that’s the only low of a solid album, but then again, they never pretended to be high intellectuals. Combining rebellion, rage, rejection and unspoken companionship into a thirty-minute sonic relief, they might just have created something “the kids” can put their trust in.

Author: Katie H-Halinski