Nine Black Alps are a band that captures a release of angst and anger whilst maintaining a sense of precious melody; a combination of cradling before the crush, splitting atoms and severing heads during the course of eleven tracks.
‘Candy For The Clowns’ encompasses all things sinister and serene throughout its audio journey. The band has retained their distinctive, sludgy grunge-rock sound, but with a tighter and more dynamic style; opening number ‘Novokaine’ is an absolute punch to the stomach, with a screeching guitar and droning backing vocals, allowing obsession to possess in highly melodic and infectious fashion. The bass and drums pummel along in unison, keeping the song messy but in the most organised of ways.
It is the awakening of the beast as ‘Blackout’ unleashes the angst, guttural shrieks tuned acutely to be recognised as something to sing along to. Ears are split as the chords combust into a chorus of infectious licks; the vocals sinister in their stretched innocence.
‘Supermarket Clothes’ is fresh and youthful and stupid (which is a good thing), the song’s lively and easily lovable energy never goes unnoticed. The breakneck beats provide the boot to the backside, the guitar sirens screaming in the background with an always delicious sensation; white noise, static and psychosis concluding the track as something dangerous but also delicate.
This idea of using noise continues in ‘Patti’, a bubbling and building broth of excitement, twisting the nerves round and round. It’s electrocuted and equally capable of electrocuting whoever looks into it too close for too long.
‘Something Else’ is a catchy and caterwauling war between what to do and what not to do; a real fuck you to anyone who doubts the strengths of pop and rock and punk mixed into one pot – more fool them really. ‘Morning After’ takes a slower and more subtle approach; atmospheric guitars still fiddling about with themselves in the background, raucous drum rolls that return to dark and bluesy mannerisms as something to channel your confessions through. No need for a diary when you have an excellent three minute pop gem sufficient enough to admit everything.
‘Come Back Around‘ never strays away from the overall feel of the album; it’s another black track, thick as tar spat or spewed up in the face of a disappointed doubter, while ‘Not In My Name’ perhaps adds something more original and experimental. No, it’s not surf, but imagine surf if it was Kurt Cobain on the board in one of his darkest and most cynical moments, tongue itching to intimidate the latest mainstream garbage erupting in a denim-clad counterculture of craziness. It’s poppy, but it’s pop disguised as aggressive, oppressive and abrasive that make it clever but not cocky. Confident, but not totally clueless.
‘Destroy Me’ is what the message of the album is; it’s disgust in all you look at and disgrace on the faces of people you see every day and crack a fake smile at knowing full well you’d rather kill them than say hello to them.
‘Take Me Underground’ gravitates toward the taught and strained face of the band; gorgeous guitars providing the soundtrack to those late night walks not knowing where you could end up, the backing vocals humane and heartfelt demanding all troubles be forgotten.
Closer ‘Clown’ sounds like the skeleton of lead singer Sam Forrest trying to escape the skin its contained in; simple, but simplicity at such a skillful level that it can only be affective. It’s the band letting themselves go and enjoying making music – they’re good at making riffs, good at getting the job done, but great because they do this throughout eleven tracks that should keep everyone engaged, energised and agitated.
Forget post-grunge or indie rock, just enjoy without the label and fall in love for what it is.
