And What Will Be Left Of Them?
The Hi-Fi Low Life
After a hiccough of EPs, relentless touring of the toilet circuit both at home and abroad and a change in their line up – AWWBLOT have finally got their album finished and launched courtesy of the nice people at PopArt London. Sonic Mouth cracked open a six pack of Special Brew, popped Danny Dyer’s Deadliest Men onto mute and kicked back into a battered old armchair to listen to what they had managed to serve up.
AWWBLOT, for those not familiar with their work, are a melee of dirty pop and shouty punk - each song nurtured carefully up from the roots of a pop song, flourishing into a mighty Oak of debauched noise. Their sound harks back to the days of DIY punk, but unlike a band of badly dressed, mohawked thugs, these modern-day Midlands brutes can deliver a well-written song – good enough to satisfy both the sweaty gig monkey and the reserved music hack.
Themes run throughout the 13 track gamble pretty consistently – tight, punchy and splashing drums in equal measure compliment melodic bass riffs to form the lifeblood of most of the pop morsels. The synths and keys wax and wane into and out of prevalence as the record goes on, but definitely add an important facet to the band’s sound – ensuring this record doesn’t slip away in a chasm of pop/punk mediocrity.
Pop punk, by its nature, has an instant accessibility and therefore a potential shelf life even shorter than a pot of Lidl crème fraîche. However the singings of Pete Adams and Lucy Harvey-Wells go a long way to ensuring a hefty degree of longevity exists throughout the album. The vocal equivalent of Bonny and Clyde; they run riot through their songs, chasing harmonies like criminals fleeing the fat fist of the law; sporadically exploding into violent tirades to form catchy choruses which are destined to be ringing around your brainspace for days to come.
[The melancholic footnote to this uncharacteristic fleet of praise being Harvey-Wells has now been replaced by Heather Wilson in AWWBLOT’s ranks – but I’ll bet my prozzy purse on her bringing just as much lyrical punch to the party]
Adams’ vocals [imagine the noises coming from a cheap hotel room in which a drunken sleazy uncle is trying to hump a howler monkey] somehow against all expectations, compliment Harvey-Wells’ infinitely more serene pop-punk warbles. And in what is one of the most unlikely marriages since Dale Winton camped up the aisle with Nell McAndrew; their two respective vocal tracts give, for my meagre money, the biggest appeal to Hi Fi Low Life.
Like a Zorbing John Prescott, the record is well rounded - boasting both anthemic gut-busting punk outings – ‘Kids in America’ being this humble reviewer’s favourite – and more subtle offerings such as ‘Jesus’. Now log on to your interweb and find out which hovel in your local area has been brave enough to welcome the AWWBLOT circus to town.
Go on then. Go see them.
AWWBLOT, for those not familiar with their work, are a melee of dirty pop and shouty punk - each song nurtured carefully up from the roots of a pop song, flourishing into a mighty Oak of debauched noise. Their sound harks back to the days of DIY punk, but unlike a band of badly dressed, mohawked thugs, these modern-day Midlands brutes can deliver a well-written song – good enough to satisfy both the sweaty gig monkey and the reserved music hack.
Themes run throughout the 13 track gamble pretty consistently – tight, punchy and splashing drums in equal measure compliment melodic bass riffs to form the lifeblood of most of the pop morsels. The synths and keys wax and wane into and out of prevalence as the record goes on, but definitely add an important facet to the band’s sound – ensuring this record doesn’t slip away in a chasm of pop/punk mediocrity.
Pop punk, by its nature, has an instant accessibility and therefore a potential shelf life even shorter than a pot of Lidl crème fraîche. However the singings of Pete Adams and Lucy Harvey-Wells go a long way to ensuring a hefty degree of longevity exists throughout the album. The vocal equivalent of Bonny and Clyde; they run riot through their songs, chasing harmonies like criminals fleeing the fat fist of the law; sporadically exploding into violent tirades to form catchy choruses which are destined to be ringing around your brainspace for days to come.
[The melancholic footnote to this uncharacteristic fleet of praise being Harvey-Wells has now been replaced by Heather Wilson in AWWBLOT’s ranks – but I’ll bet my prozzy purse on her bringing just as much lyrical punch to the party]
Adams’ vocals [imagine the noises coming from a cheap hotel room in which a drunken sleazy uncle is trying to hump a howler monkey] somehow against all expectations, compliment Harvey-Wells’ infinitely more serene pop-punk warbles. And in what is one of the most unlikely marriages since Dale Winton camped up the aisle with Nell McAndrew; their two respective vocal tracts give, for my meagre money, the biggest appeal to Hi Fi Low Life.
Like a Zorbing John Prescott, the record is well rounded - boasting both anthemic gut-busting punk outings – ‘Kids in America’ being this humble reviewer’s favourite – and more subtle offerings such as ‘Jesus’. Now log on to your interweb and find out which hovel in your local area has been brave enough to welcome the AWWBLOT circus to town.
Go on then. Go see them.
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