I have, and for as long as I can remember always have had, this unfortunate tendency to associate sound with visuals – or more accurately I suppose, I equate music with film. The best black and death metal always puts me in mind of old 70s occult horror movies, for example, that same atmosphere pervades both when it’s done properly, and I get the same sense of excitement from both.
I mention this because after listening to this here Twin Guns elpee, I have an overwhelming urge to watch some kind of 50s B movie where teenage greasers go around on motorbikes challenging each other to games of chicken, and sticking it to “the man”, only to end up facing down a bunch of laser toting Martians in the last reel. Twin Guns have the cheap and nasty spirit of that era, carried on and channelled through the sleazy echoed and fuzzed garage shenanigans of The Gories and The Cramps. It feels like the album should come with a free tub of pomade and a flick knife comb so you can look good for your next gang fight.
They’re not a pastiche however, they have some solid songwriting instincts buried under all that black leather. Full bore belters like “No Change Our Hearts” and “Mystery Ride” sit alongside more evenly paced tunes that come across like Phil Spector producing the Jesus and Mary Chain at their most strung out. The bluesy “Carry On” slows things down a little and breaks up the mood early on, showing that there’s more to them then just bludgeoning trash rock.
In fact some of the slower and less straight forward moments such as “The Creeper”, with it’s blotches of synth noise and laboured, Lynchian tone are where the band shine the most. The sound of the creepy drive home after a night at the drive in, this nifty little instrumental is the song I’ve listened to most and an area I’d love to see them explore more. Similarly, “Bloodline” sticks out as a dark, tremolo laden moment of sinister pop.
They close out with two bangers that highlight their two sides perfectly: in the form of the stomping proto-punk of “Motor City” we get them at their rocking best, all fuzzed out and fucked up. Straight after that, the late night shimmer of “Wild Years” introductory verse gives in to a big old chorus, and then they’re off into the night, shades pulled down, headlights shining as they tear off into the shadows once again.
Tales of youth gone wild and love gone bad wrapped in a twangy, moderately sleazy shell is what Twin Guns are at here. Not an everyday listen by any means, but if the mood for some nasty old style rock n’roll grabs you, you could do much worse than reach for this album.
Label: Self Released
Scribed by: Jamie Grimes