CIRCLE PIT – BRUISE CONSTELLATION
Taking their name from a form of violent communal rock concert dancing, and naming their album after the consequence of engaging in this act, dictates pretty clearly what Circle Pit are about. They are a hard-rock garage glam band. But this is not like the insufferably tedious “parody bands” who have tackled the genre in the wake of The Darkness and Tenacious D, these guys actually take their rock rather seriously, despite their lack of musical prowess. It works strangely in their favour – the sound of these songs is murky, garage-y, played with sloppy abandon and trashy enthusiasm. Both Jack Mannix and Angela Bermuda sing like the bastard children of Courtney Love and Jay Reatard. Wave Machine is a battle of stoned call and response, a psychedelic romp through the back shed. Most of the material feels much the same – duelling, toneless guitars and tin-pan drums, Mannix and Bermuda howling their incessant whines and dirges over the top. Hurricane, with its horribly predictable riffage, is strangely affecting. It’s bedroom music, reeking of bourbon and dirty socks; whether you’re in the mood for that or not, it’s a strong brew.
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