Islet, for all of you who are clearly uncool, are the ‘underground’ band de jour. So underground that until very recently they had no website, no digitised music, and indeed no online presence at all, leaving enthusiastic fans to do it for them.
It was either a lovely strategy, tilting in the face of convention, or a cynical attention-grabber that worked. I hope the former is true.
Of course, you can only fight the inevitable for so long, and now they have a very homegrown-looking site that, sadly, was made by professionals and maintained by a PR company.
**NB- Mark from the band Islet sent me a very polite email to point out that this was, in fact, totally untrue – he made it and runs it himself. This makes me very happy, and I hope Mark and Islet accept my apologies for stating rumour as fact!**
But anyway – I was sent the Inlets link, and any chance of an all-time ANBAD exclusive perished. Fortunately, Inlets are an equally fascinating proposition, blending silky smoothness with off-kilter quirk:
In Which I, Robert wrenches the low-end piano clunking from 70’s cop movies and bolts it to a lugubrious, yet jaunty melody. It’s a juxtaposition that works effortlessly – a prodding and dizzying song sung by a man who, for some reason, you’ll need to listen to.
It’s a shame, really. Inlets are just as worthy of home-made fan pages, breathless forum-chatter and ‘industry buzz’, and heck – now they have to do it all for themselves, just like every other new band. The world is not fair.
Photograph by Kristianna Smith