“…he’s made the journey from spindly, insular indiepop to glorious,
primary-coloured music, explicitly referencing 80s chart hits, soul,
funk and disco. The contrast with Lekman.s mordant lyrics “How I prayed
that I could stop the pain / When the pain needed more than ibuprofen,”
he sings on “Evening Prayer,” a joyous disco stomper about a tumour
makes it, at times, desperately moving.” – The Guardian
Tim Darcy is no stranger to introspection. As the singer/guitarist of exuberant Montréal-based art-punk quartet Ought, he’s wrought thoughtful lyrics that delve into the nature of creativity and cast a critical eye on the mundane. These traits persist on his first solo effort, even as the songwriter jettisons his band’s jittery rhythms for a more laidback approach. In fact, Darcy feels more like an easygoing troubadour than an anxious David Byrne acolyte on Saturday Night‘s early tracks. His limited instrumentation usually consists of wiry rhythm guitar, rudimentary drums and non-insistent bass.
This conventional approach works when Darcy’s songs have a direction. “You Felt Comfort” lends the album a little bit of garage-rock grit and “Still Waking Up” is tranquil without feeling stagnant. Unfortunately, “Tall Glass of Water” and “Joan Pt. 1, 2” linger on a single verse before slowly transitioning into new sections that, despite their rollicking rhythms, fall quickly into a monotonous groove that the lyrics are too cryptic to escape.
The album hits its stride when Darcy’s self-conscious streak seeps in. He trades his choppy strumming for a shrill bowed guitar on the title track, and his doubtful intonations have all the sweet vulnerability of a Roy Orbison performance. “Found My Limit” hinges on repetition, but his spare arrangements render his uneasy mantras striking.
Saturday Night is a confident debut from a creator who’s best when he seems uncomfortable. So long as he keeps evading his comfort zone, Darcy’s songwriting should remain potent for years to come.
From: Manchester Sounds Like: The icons of old Manchester being torn down For Fans Of: Fat White Family, Sleaford Mods, Happy Mondays
“The
simple fact is that we don’t like anything dull or boring, we always
want to be entertaining,” says Cabbage guitarist/vocalist Joe Martin.
“There’s a lot of mundanity and routine in modern life. If you can bring
some black humour into that, it’s a really effective way of getting
your message across.” From their “anti-band name” band name
to their lyrics about wanking into quiche in the name of class warfare
and wishing death upon the US president-elect, no-one could ever accuse
Cabbage of being dull. Martin likens his band to a Frankie Boyle standup
show – the four EPs they’ve released thus far might strain the
boundaries of good taste, but they also have a lot to say about the
state of the world we live in. “We’ve come out of the traps with songs
about necrophilia, war and capitalism,” he explains, as if reading from a
checklist of well-trodden paths to pop stardom. “When David Cameron
called Jeremy Corbyn a terrorist sympathiser, we took a stab at that,
too. Those kind of talking points come naturally to us. But we don’t
want to be pigeonholed as a political band. It’s already happened, just
because we sing about relatively serious issues, but we want to move
onto something else, socially, musically and politically. We’re keen to
explore different realms as soon as possible.” It’s that desire to do things
differently that originally brought Cabbage to prominence in their
native Manchester, where they emerged from beneath the “Britpop
ash-cloud the city’s still choking under,” and has seen them feted as
rock ’n’ roll’s great white hope for 2017, not least by the BBC, who
included them (somewhat incongruously) in their annual Sound Of… poll.
For good or ill, they’re not the sort of band you can ignore, and
however their debut album – due later this year – turns out, you can bet
it won’t be boring.
