Pitchfork
May 14, 2009
Link
7.4
The Denver Westword recently asked Los Campesinos! musical mastermind Tom Campesinos! whether it frustrates him to see reviews that describe his expansively punk-wracked Welsh septet's guitar-and-xylophone pop as "twee." He said it doesn't, explaining, "One of the most important things about any sort of art is an element of humor, and not to take yourself too seriously." Same goes for art appreciation, not that you'd know it most days from us stuffy critics.
Let Marty McFly tell you: The future is heavy. U.S. producer Machine, probably best known for his work with metal musos Lamb of God, has been getting fine work out of bands that make melodic indie rock similar to LC!'s, only... less twee. First up was Birmingham, England's Johnny Foreigner, whose excellent 2008 Waited Up 'Til It Was Light had macho muscle to match its endearing boy-girl singalongs. Now Glaswegian sextet Dananananaykroyd, also under Machine's oversight, follow with another debut liable to unite moshers and librarians. The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know.
On Hey Everyone!, Dananananaykroyd's chopsy dual-drummer approach goes for wrecking-ball guitar leads before fatal LiveJournal entries; your standard, spindly UK indie always meets with something heavier. On "The Greater Than Symbol and the Dash", guitarists Duncan Robertson and David Roy dive from piercing feedback to downers-dosed metal lurch; a pair of cascading drum fills make way for a throat-curdler from the singer (Calum Gunn and co-drummer John Baille Junior share lead duties), who sounds raw and bestial where his peers might come off shrill. "1993" is another scream, splitting time between hardcore thrash and contemplative instrumental passages that recall the 1990s emo likes of Mineral and Sunny Day Real Estate. Throughout, Dananananaykroyd fuck with time signatures the way indie-famouser Glaswegians play with words.
Um, then again, there's really no ignoring that ridiculous band name. Which I'm starting to think is as brilliant as I originally thought it was dumb-- another set of not-really-opposites. On the same song, Dananananaykroyd (thanks, Command-V! And thank you, Elwood Blues!) make a defiant mantra out of a decidedly twee-ass phrase: "Turn your hissy fits into sissy hits." Good advice, that, and it works multiple could-be-hit wonders. With its jagged surge and shouts of "say it!", "Pink Sabbath" is less Ozzy, more Mclusky. "Black Wax" makes room in its beautiful-and-stoned Pavement jangle for dramatic backing vocals and agonized yells; the galloping rhythms and rapidfire guitar hooks of first self-effacing "Totally Bone" and then Beatles-citing finale "Song One Puzzle" had me thinking Modest Mouse until they had me thinking, almost, Mastodon. Sissy hit: anti-pep-rally shoutalongs.
For as awesome as Dananananaykroyd are at blasting the bejesus out of some of my favorite bands-- hey, they can even play their instruments!-- it's less clear what they're all about. Hey Everyone! doesn't wear its heart on its sleeve like sloppier Mclusky-ites Japandroids, doesn't reflect every nuance of its scene with the observational acuity of LC!, isn't Mclusky Do Dallas. But in its own combustive way, it's weirdly memorable. The track that initially drew me in, "Infinity Milk", uses ragged sprawl to set off call-and-response vocals about napalm. "These are the days of our fucking lives," exults "Hey James". We used to dream; now we've learned to stop worrying and love the firebomb.
Let Marty McFly tell you: The future is heavy. U.S. producer Machine, probably best known for his work with metal musos Lamb of God, has been getting fine work out of bands that make melodic indie rock similar to LC!'s, only... less twee. First up was Birmingham, England's Johnny Foreigner, whose excellent 2008 Waited Up 'Til It Was Light had macho muscle to match its endearing boy-girl singalongs. Now Glaswegian sextet Dananananaykroyd, also under Machine's oversight, follow with another debut liable to unite moshers and librarians. The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know.
On Hey Everyone!, Dananananaykroyd's chopsy dual-drummer approach goes for wrecking-ball guitar leads before fatal LiveJournal entries; your standard, spindly UK indie always meets with something heavier. On "The Greater Than Symbol and the Dash", guitarists Duncan Robertson and David Roy dive from piercing feedback to downers-dosed metal lurch; a pair of cascading drum fills make way for a throat-curdler from the singer (Calum Gunn and co-drummer John Baille Junior share lead duties), who sounds raw and bestial where his peers might come off shrill. "1993" is another scream, splitting time between hardcore thrash and contemplative instrumental passages that recall the 1990s emo likes of Mineral and Sunny Day Real Estate. Throughout, Dananananaykroyd fuck with time signatures the way indie-famouser Glaswegians play with words.
Um, then again, there's really no ignoring that ridiculous band name. Which I'm starting to think is as brilliant as I originally thought it was dumb-- another set of not-really-opposites. On the same song, Dananananaykroyd (thanks, Command-V! And thank you, Elwood Blues!) make a defiant mantra out of a decidedly twee-ass phrase: "Turn your hissy fits into sissy hits." Good advice, that, and it works multiple could-be-hit wonders. With its jagged surge and shouts of "say it!", "Pink Sabbath" is less Ozzy, more Mclusky. "Black Wax" makes room in its beautiful-and-stoned Pavement jangle for dramatic backing vocals and agonized yells; the galloping rhythms and rapidfire guitar hooks of first self-effacing "Totally Bone" and then Beatles-citing finale "Song One Puzzle" had me thinking Modest Mouse until they had me thinking, almost, Mastodon. Sissy hit: anti-pep-rally shoutalongs.
For as awesome as Dananananaykroyd are at blasting the bejesus out of some of my favorite bands-- hey, they can even play their instruments!-- it's less clear what they're all about. Hey Everyone! doesn't wear its heart on its sleeve like sloppier Mclusky-ites Japandroids, doesn't reflect every nuance of its scene with the observational acuity of LC!, isn't Mclusky Do Dallas. But in its own combustive way, it's weirdly memorable. The track that initially drew me in, "Infinity Milk", uses ragged sprawl to set off call-and-response vocals about napalm. "These are the days of our fucking lives," exults "Hey James". We used to dream; now we've learned to stop worrying and love the firebomb.
