It’s difficult to explain why this sort of aggressive guitar-forward post-punk sound feels so much more anthemic when it comes from the UK, but the effect is certainly there.
Kurt Vile’s surgical lyrics and out-there guitar playing overshadow the fact that he is a bona-fide troubadour, a distinctive voice and presence that hangs out in your head and strums out their weird tunes from an armchair in the corner.
It’s been a while, but Elvis Perkins’ songwriting chops remain as lush as ever, an unexpected oasis of skewed harmonies and surprising arrangements in a dry sandy desert of plinky singer-songwriters.
Razor-sharp post-punk delivered with a disaffected Irish brogue. Very smart on many levels, recalling The Fall when they were at their most musical