It happened last night, just when I idly chose to listen to Duck Rock, and there, suddenly, I was – back on Lorimer station in Brooklyn, waiting for the L train to take me across to 14th Street and spit me back out into a bright, cold February lunchtime.
Pondering on the cognitive dissonance that arose after linking Malcolm Mclaren’s febrile and endlessly flawed rapping with standing on a cold and austere subway platform is probably a fool’s errand, and yet I wonder if the mental leap occurred precisely because of the quaint ridiculousness of his voice.
And then I wonder: are such individually identifiable voices the key to a band’s ‘pop’. It didn’t hurt the Sex Pistols, or Suede, or Public Enemy, or [insert band with striking vocalist here]. It didn’t even hurt Menswe@r, who, despite a dearth of good songs, had a front man with a voice that reached out of the radio and flicked you on the nose.
Thus, Lowlakes have a good chance of unnerving listeners many years from now: with the added advantage of not only having a singer with a truly arresting voice, but also having the tunes to boot. Bingo!
Far be it from me to say that this song may not have been quite so enjoyable without these particularly luxuriant vocals… but there, I said it. Still, who cares when a song caresses its listeners so convincingly and gently? Catch The Breeze seems to almost groom us with sensuality and love/lust. It’s dreamy and glossy and enticing. Submit. Form your own memories.