THIS is a quirky album.
The Young Knives have an interesting sound. To these ears, they sound, at various points, like The B52s, Squeeze, the Buzzcocks, The Who and The Beach Boys - quite a mix.
Put another way, the band displays lovely close-knit harmonies over the top of pogo-ing drums and bass, with clear, ringing guitars.
There are also one or two eccentricities here, as if Spike Milligan's ghost slipped into the recording studio when no-one was looking.
One track begins with the sound of a pair of scissors snip-snipping out a rhythm. Best track, for me, was The Decision, which glues itself to the inside of your head and won't scrub off, no matter how much you try.
The Young Knives are: Henry Dartnall, The House of Lords (yes, that's allegedly his name) and Oliver Askew. There are no lyrics on the inner sleeve, just Martin Parr-style photos of a Morris Dancer from Lancaster, a Cumberland and Westmorland wrestler from Carlisle and a bee-keeper from Ealing.
You work it out.
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