It was all because I was hit over the head with a golf club that I can’t speak French. Accidental though it was it left me in hospital, unable to talk and with large bits of my memory gone. I had chosen to do French, and suddenly I couldn’t remember any of it. Not a word. The whole language had become a complete mystery to me, and when the teacher asked me a question, in French, all I heard was this unintelligible noise.
Over in Paris, Plymouth Fury have released an album, Vaudeville. On the road since 2007, this is their first album, and it’s eight tracks filled with high octane rock, noise, blues and garage. Just listening to it brings me out in a sweat and although, as expected, I didn’t understand much of the lyrical content, it’s probably fair to say that these boys, Worzo on Guitar and Vocals, Will on bass/vocals and drummer Stephane Kurdijaka are more than likely going to provide you with a hell of an evening out.
The album opens up with Baiona De Noche, and its straight away evident that these boys rock hard, and rock bluesy, with this huge garage, even slightly punk attitude, roared along by this funky buzzsaw of a bass, and Worzo and Wills quasi Hives yelp on the vocal lines. It’s raw, and exciting stuff. The Basement is a pure Hives like groove, all singalong punk-garage, and that bass, just drilling through your head. Even this early in the album, you can tell its going to be one hell of a ride. Ajo y Agua still has that (now trademark) bass, but this has pulled us into a sort of Pixies verse allied to some heavy blues (dare I say the Z word….oh, come on, work it out!) in the chorus with the following guitar solo saoked in the early heavy rock vibe.
Maelstrom Libido changes again, giving us a flavour of post-punk, this stabbing, insistent guitar over a more traditional pop-garage record, and it’s a highlight of the album for me, and not just because it’s sung in English. It still has moments of real aggression, but, and I mean this as a compliment, its hook-laden aggression. I love you Leigh continues onward, throwing some 4ad style guitars and a splash of showgaze over the top of another hook laden song, before a return to the scuzzy garage that is Tati. Black Ravines slows things down to a blues jam. But not a meandering one, an increasingly angry, frustrated one that has this sense of malic about it, and these long monotones on the guitar that hang over it help to convey that. The album finisher The Snake, takes us on a ride through this desolate post-punk, post-rock world, desperate to escape, and sounding more straight up indie rock in approach, its another strong song, from a strong collection of songs.
Plymouth Fury make a mixture of garage-indie, punk, blues and about everything else thrown in. And while that may sound like it might end up as unintelligible noise my french lessons at school, this is noise that I understand very well, and even on a few listens this is not going to be an album I shall forget, for a long time.