Turn the volume up. Dust the record down. Nestle the stylus in the groove. Sometimes music need not be any more complex than that. Anyone who loves their tunes should be able to recall a moment where a riff kicked in on a song and things just felt better. The unexplainable euphoria of the right collection of notes in the right order delivered with enough gusto is part of why we’re all so addicted to music. It’s often the case that the albums which deliver that urgent rush are derivative, simple and noisy. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing.
Having seen Yuck supporting Teenage Fanclub back in May of last year, I was eagerly anticipating this debut. Their nascent live show was energetic and quite noticeably rough around the edges, but what makes them good now made them good then. They’ve heard some great records which made them want to be in a band. OK, for two of them that band was originally Cajun Dance Party but we’re all sensible adults here and we can let that go. Just this once. Add in a drummer who looks like the improbably well fed islander in Lost and attacks his drum kit like it’s betrayed him several times over and things are ticking along nicely.