The soundtrack to the party at the end of the world
There’s a lot to like about Iceland. It’s beautiful, despite its name, they know how to deal with everything from greedy bankers to religion (they jail the former, they are majority atheist so couldn’t give a toss for the latter), they don’t have an army and they aren’t with crime either. And while we are at it, when they own your football club they sack the manager MV hated via email (sorry for yet another Stoke City reference – Ed)
And on the evidence of this, the brand new album from Churchhouse Creepers, our friends in the North can give lessons in rock and indeed roll too. Because from start to finish this is the soundtrack to whatever you want it to be.
Far too bright to be pigeonholed “…..Apocalypse” will initially get lumped in with the slew of retro rock from Rival Sons to their fellow countrymen Vintage Caravan and everything else inbetween, and even Creepers own stuff isn’t too sure what the hell they are. It talks about them being stoner-ish rock, and they are ….ish. Certainly songs like “Drunk Something” and “It’s All Good” know their way around a downtuned riff and the record, which – as the name suggests – begins with “Party” and concludes, just over half an hour later with “Apocalypse” is a gloriously fuzzed up thing, but calling it stoner, whether “ish” or not, does it a great disservice, because Churchhouse Creepers are quite simply a primal rock n roll band, and moreover they are one that beats with the heart of a glam metal band from the 1980s.
On that opening track, singer and guitarist Bjarni, who acts as chief mischief maker throughout, explains with an evil glee that he’s “so fucked up they don’t really care” and the fun never stops. “No Monday” – potty mouthed and catchy as the flu – and the bluesy “What Your Mama Don’t Know” knowingly ransack everything you own and drink the contents of your liquor cabinet, but while they are doing so they rather cheerfully stagger round and find the primal essence of rock.
This is the type of record that goes to bed at 3am on a work day and couldn’t care less where it gets up in time, “Just The Tip” which is probably as rude as you think it is, races off at the same breakneck speed as Usain Bolt and a bag of acid, and if “Satan Waits” – musically not too dissimilar from the work of Graveyard or The Picturebooks – was given half the chance it would steal Beelzebub’s lunch money and skip off giggling.
The riff is king here and “Lizard Boy” is ushered in on the back of a mighty one, as is the closing “Apocalypse”, with the type of rumble not heard since the debut Hellacopters record.
Indeed, you can only imagine the type of debauchery that occurs when the three are together. It’ll be nothing compared to what they’ll get up to when the world hears this. “From Party To Apocalypse” is everything and nothing all at once and in being what it is, it hits the nail squarely on the head.
Well played again Iceland, well played.
Rating 9/10
