For an outfit that produces ethereal and haunting music, Spectres’ Ronseal-style method of say-what-you-hear band naming is entirely laudable. If only Gary Glitter had been called PaedoGlam, he might have staked a greater claim to accurate trade description. As it is, the band’s moniker encapsulates perfectly their darkly celestial chime. And so with track The Beast from forthcoming EP Limbs, Spectres deliver four minutes of cochlea-fellating wonder, itself broadly representative of their greater output.
So, if they’re evocative of the spirit world, it’s shoegazing’s reverb-soaked phantom that they’re summoning. As if straight from the plectrum of Thurston Moore, The Beast’s opening bars lend an apparent carefree casualty of melodic abandonment; a sonic devotion to the dirty hallowed feedback of a six string. Craftily, this method belies the meticulously structured framework of a richly-focussed rock song, a driven paean to love lost and subsequent obsession. Frontman Joe Hatt’s voice blends wistfully into the mix, gleefully conspiring towards the song’s lush orchestration.
And whilst it’s nice that he’s reaching into his inner poet to express his pain over an ex-girlfriend, it’s even more refreshing to hear him reference her tits. Brooding erudite troubadours may be better at elucidating their thoughts, but their base desires remain the same as thickies such as me.
Let’s face it, you’re never going to slip on Spectres to celebrate your team’s victory at the cup or as a method of seduction (unless Sylvia Plath’s popped up from the dead and gagging for it), but that’s to miss the point entirely the purpose of learning to love alt-rock’s off-kilter sensibilities. The Beast is a sharp thunder crack of cerebral gloom that deserves a listen, especially as an aural accompaniment to tearing up pictures of former loved ones.
Spectres on MySpace
The Beast video
Spectres
Spectres on MySpace
The Beast video
Spectres
