Seeing Soft Pink

Belfast trio Sea Pinks have always been an interesting band that has thus far failed to fully arrest – to provide that pivotal epiphany moment where time stops, even for the briefest breath of a moment, and everything aligns. Soft Days is almost that moment – it’s an album of sonic subterfuge, that stuns and muddies the water from the get-go. ‘(I Don’t Feel Like) Giving In’ starts with a slow, stark feedback-flecked drone, before opening into a jumped-up tempo 60s monochrome number, both Stones pop and Van Morrison-led Them snarl-lite. It must be noted that Neil Brogan used to be in Girls Names, if only to state that it’s interesting to see two Irish bands from the same gene pool growing in confidence, albeit in a different way. Both send parting glances to bands of yesteryear – but while Girls Names lathers themselves in Joy Division ennui, manicured style and substance excess, Soft Days is all about marrying Flying Nun guitar pop majesty with 70s power pop standard bearers, with the occasional Dando-Richman inflection slipping in the back door (such as in the excellent ‘Cold Reading’). People say it is strange that such buoyant fare should come from such a notoriously wet and “miserable” place – but two things stand in the face of this. Even if you think that opposites often emanate from the wellspring, it’s hard to dissuade me from the idea that such ebullient hooks transcend geography. There are moments of darker rock touches – ‘Down Dog’ and the slight fuzz fadeout of the closing title track – yet while I love noise, it’s just as warm staying in this golden bubble. The last few months have seen a strong push for jangle-centric pop records (Salad Boys, Pete Astor, Nap Eyes), and Soft Days puts Sea Pinks right up in the mix. The record is out through CF Records – get it here.

Rolling Thoughts With Nap Eyes

I spoke rather warmly about Gun Outfit’s new LP Dream All Over yesterday. The second album that has been smashed the past month (the others being Pete Astor’s Spilt Milk and the debut album from Chorusgirl) is Thought Rock Fish Scale from Nova Scotians Nap Eyes. The followup to last year’s Whine of the Mystics, this record is even more laidback and rustic than Gun Outfit’s offering, but just as rapt in verbose spurts of wry cynicism and astral derring-do. It is so pared back and relaxed that every track has been recorded live to tape, with no overdubs discernible in the mix.

Take ‘Stargazer’, for example – a relatively simplistic bassline, a cyclical guitar riff, with a light marching drumbeat keeping everything on its track – and the space behind it all as deafening as a wall-of-noise amp-breaker. It shuffles amiably along, even as Nigel Chapman sings lyrics like ‘I venomously crown myself serpent king of my sins’ and ‘I looked myself in the mirror and wondered where could my dream have gone wrong?’ The sometimes-cryptic, sometime-plaintive storytelling is as much a drawcard as the pastoral pluck of the instrumentation, a wonderfully crystalline distillation of juxtaposed thoughts and sounds. There will be a lot of Flying Nun related acts that can be put side by side to Nap Eyes in this regard. There seems to be a lot of self-doubt and concerns about mortality here – but there is no pity and loathing, either.


And I feel that is as much the key as anything else – Thought Rock Fish Scale is a colourful story about one man’s journey through life, spouting half-truth and misdemeanours with the cordial air of someone committed to the cause, albeit one that leads to inevitable impermanence, without a worry or care in the world. It takes til the second last song, ‘Roll It’, before things move above a rustic ramble, with closer ‘Trust’ blowing out the hazed introspection, a deliberate move to get up and walk out in the sunshine.

It too is out through Paradise of Bachelors (two smash hits there fellas) – get it here.

Pete's Right To Cry Over Spilt Milk

Last year I saw a gig at the Old Fire Station in Stoke Newington, headlined by Slowcoaches. I bumped in to fellow Brisbanite Susan Milanovic, who used to drum for the excellent Feathers (which also featured Roku Music/Deafcult/Tiny Spiders/Thigh Master/etc genius and all round dude Innez Tulloch). She mentioned she wanted to get back into playing, and was jamming with this guy who used to be in a few indie bands some time ago. That guy is Pete Astor, of The Loft and Weather Prophets fame, and the result is Spilt Milk, coming out on Fortuna Pop. It's a classy affair all round - recorded by James Hoare (Veronica Falls, Ultimate Painting) and playing most of the instruments, ably supported by Pam Berry (Withered Hand, Black Tambourine), Robin Christian (Male Bonding), Alison Cotton (The Left Outsides) and Jack Hayter (Hefner). The first sip at the chalice is 'My Right Hand'. Spilt Milk promises to have a pastoral motorik undercurrent driving Astor's esoteric guitar pop stylings. 'My Right Hand' is an ode to all best friends, through thick and thin, with a twinkle in the eye. Flying Nun and McLennan/Forster shines brightly in the background.