Rating: NNNN
The title is a lie: on their hotly anticipated sophomore disc, Pitchfork-approved indie threat Tangiers deliver shitloads of pleasure, nearly capturing the flailing energy of their sweaty live shows. Dale Morningstar’s production mimics trademark Albini – vocals shouted from the back of the room, guitars cranked up to the foreground – while Josh Reichmann’s impassioned yelp battles with bassist James Sayce’s cool, slightly off-key snarl, and Shelton Deverell’s organ adds weird retro reverence. With Yuri Didrichsons out of the picture, Tangiers have dropped the double-barrelled dirty guitar attack, but they pull off a varied set of tunes that ricochet between spasmodic jerky rock, keening PiL-style funk-punk and charming garage-pop ballads that sound like a hairy-chested, revamped 60s girl group. The variety can be disconcerting – that’s what happens when you’ve got two different people in charge of songwriting and lead vocals – but you never get bored.
