COMANECHI

YOU OWE ME NOTHING BUT LOVE (Tigertrap Records)

14/20

Notorious Japanese drummer/singer Akiko Matsuura of Big Pink and noise rock 5-piece Pre returns for her second outing in another of her guises. Entitled You Owe Me Nothing But Love, Comanechi’s second effort follows on from where their debut left off, delivering a deluge of polished yet heavy soundscapes.     

The album begins in promising fashion. From the straightforward yet slightly disjointed 4/4 beat, through to the pop tinged chorus refrain and bubblegum guitar riff, opening track Love is The Cure has more in common with Kiss than it does with Crass. For this closet glam rock aficionado, it is a surprising but welcome way to start proceedings. As the record progresses however, the infectious rhythms become more and more peculiar and out of place when compared to the sonic assault that comprises its vast majority.

Despite the rather disturbing lyrics about how her brother “fucked her” (one can only hope she means metaphorically), the 8-minute barrage of Black Sabbath-esque riffs on Patsy proves to be the albums crowning glory. Acting as the centrepiece of the record, Matsuura spits vile lyrical bile while tuned down guitars pummel the ears with endless distorted down strokes. It is fitting then that following track Into The Air is the quietest and also the closest Comanechi get to your traditional love song. The juxtaposition between the sheer brutality of Patsy and the reverb-ridden beauty that succeeds it is one of the highlights of the record, proving that there are more strings to the bands bow than the wailing and screeching of both guitars and vocals alike.

This delicacy does not last long however, as the second half of the LP sees the band channel their inner Sonic Youth. Major Move and Mad both see the trio deploying scuzzy basslines, overridden by Ms. Matsuura’s Kim Gordon-baiting delivery, sending the album out on a high. The bass and drum fills during the introduction to Out Of Mind prove another highpoint, echoing stoner gods Kyuss before Comanechi’s now trademark vocals enter the action and create a sound that is distinctly their own.

This is not an album to stick on when your dear old ma’ and pa’ pop round for tea. Nor is it one to spin passively while chatting with acquaintances. This is an album to be played when you want your inner animal to rear its filthy head. It is a ferocious exposé into the heart of darkness that, however deep down, inhabits us all.

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Words: Benjamin Salt