Pet Scenes: Let’s Get Funked Up

Which is the worst Funk sub-genre? Cod-funk? Jazz-funk? Funk-hop?

FAIR WARNING: clicking on any of the above links might cause confusion, headaches or, in the case of the Jamiroquai one, suicidal thoughts.

Very few musical styles lend themselves so readily to woeful niche spin-offs as funk. None of this worried Pet Scenes, of course, who have happily named their new EP Funk, possibly in an attempt to muddy the waters a little further.

Of course, there is not a whiff of real funk in their music whatsoever. Indeed, their scuzz-heavy spazz-rock is so comprehensively, aggressively widescreen that there is just no room for either slap-bass solos or sax grooves.

I suppose there’s a possibility that Purple Old might benefit from some deep basslines and a wacka-wacka guitar rhythm, but such fanciful thoughts will last as long as the song’s first thrashed-out, crunchy chords take to unpack themselves.

Angular is an overused word, but this kind of ruggedly ragged rock is exactly that. Pointy.


Warm Brains: Every Second Counts

Music creation is part-process, part innate skill, and then part implementation of  a well-worn set of rules.

But what about band creation? Warm Brains are what happens when one band implodes (the briefly-existent Test Icicles) and something lovely finally crawls from the wreckage.

Secondary bands borne this way are sometimes (though not always – hello, Wings) more interesting than the band that spawned them.

Rory of Warm Brains follows the framework set out above to create his music, and I imagine the gap between Band #1 and Band #2 has resulted in improvement in all three areas.


Stone to Sand to Glass is so drenched in reverb that the song rather oozes from the speakers. It’s a song that sounds like it has only truly existed for the moment in which it was recorded, and was a result of different sound waves serendipitously converging at the right time.

Flowery prose? We got it – and Warm Brains have got the sounds to wobble your thoughts at their bidding.


Rollor Vs Justin Bieber Vs God

Does pop music have a theoretical time limit, like the universe itself? Or when the Big Crush occurs, will Justin Bieber rocket beyond the edge, right up God’s bracket: humanity’s final sick joke echoing forever in his ears?

By stripping the entire concept of rock bare, and thrusting the basic elements right under your nose, Rollor combine their contempt for the overblown with out-and-out value for money: Jekyll Island is damn-near ten minutes long.

Ten minutes is a long time in the world of disposable pop (and remember: all pop is truly fire-and-forget-disposable now), and yet the urgent cut-‘n’-thrust of Jekyll Island provides reason to clutch your attention tightly.

Locking into the loop of a seemingly endless house classic is as easy as falling off a log, and the bassy talons of Rollor‘s crypto-spazz-rock ecourages similar results.

Oh, and they sound a bit like Big Black without the dripping hate, which is probably a better deal all round, assuming you’re one of life’s happier souls. Great stuff.