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Andrew Weatherall Convenanza Rotters Golf Club


The press release for this record implies that Andrew Weatherall nonchalantly fires out music without really thinking about it. I can’t help but feel that’s slightly disingenuous. One of the first DJs to artfully merge the worlds of ‘punk’ and ‘dance’, Weatherall is savvier and cannier than most. Convenanza is Weatherall’s first solo album since 2009. Sharing its name with the Weatherall-curated festival in Carcassonne, it’s an exposition of the kind of leftfield, funk-punk disco, and low tempo chugging weirdness (with rockabilly aesthetics) that he’s now known for.

It begins with some scratchy guitar riffage as Weatherall adopts a low pantomime-creep voice to set the scene: “I appear to have got in with the wrong crowd.” We don’t have long to think about what that means before Frankfurt Advice, reminiscent of the work he did with Primal Scream. Elsewhere, his voice is overdubbed, lending a disembodied, incantatory quality to his repeated orders – ‘spread fictitious memories’, ‘drop seditious messages’. His voice won’t appeal to everyone, but it has an appealingly unfussy authenticity, a sincerity that could even put him at risk of mockery. Thirteenth Night is a life-affirming dream-walk, while on Ghosts Again, Weatherall seems to survey the emotional wreckage a decades-long career in music has wrought on his relationships.

There isn’t a bad song on Convenanza, but neither are there any great ones. We have the utmost respect for Weatherall, and what he’s done for music over the course of his career, it’s like a conversation with a veteran raver, who obliquely gestures to past partying, hangovers and comedowns – interesting, but not astounding.