Whilst chatting to Matt from the ever-excellent Pigeon Post the other day, the conversation inevitably blundered over into the discussion of new bands. We both agreed that there are two horrible truths when it comes to wading through the daily submission pile: that we make our minds up within the first ten seconds, and that a snap analysis is made of the band’s members within the same time.
Evans The Death are one of the lucky few who get past the first few seconds. And my snap judgement? Nice middle class boys who’ve managed to bag a talented and attractive singer. Horrible, aren’t I?
Before the band decide to hunt me down and beat me to a pulp with their school-bags, let me praise The Sleeping Song, a joyful slice of teenage enthusiasm with a chorus that arches in and out of the song with long, graceful swoops. Evans The Death could have been parachuted in from any point during Indie’s long-gone, greedily-scavenged and tremulously-held glory days: a rare achievement and testimony to their sharp song-writing.
The band only occasionally betrays their youthfulness, when songs breathlessly rush ahead, lungs bursting and eyes bulging. But this has never been a criticism of any band ever, except Hanson. And despite the presence of a blonde long-haired singer, Evans The Death are not Hanson. But they are lovely, graceful and sharp. Their mothers can be proud.