Let’s Wrestle sound clumsy.
Pass your coffee. Hold your newborn. Play Jenga. Look after your cat. These ham-fisted gentlemen would struggle. Soundtrack popper-sniffing frolics in the car park to Lidl? These absurd gentlemen would thrive.
‘Song For Abba Tribute Record’ is a downtrodden plea from a self-absorbed man with issues. “The position that I am in, even genocide seems reasonable,” groans the oddly-monikered WPG, frontman of this London three-piece, with disgruntled charm. He sounds somewhere between an asthmatic Eddie Argos and a sleep-deprived Jeffrey Lewis.
Unenthusiastically pleading “c’mon, let’s drink ‘til we vomit”, ‘Quazar Blues’ pays homage to a boredom-induced Thursday evening adolescent loiter. “We’re going to sniff some glue, then we’re going to piss on your car, nick your cash and go to Quazar”: there has never been such a succinct detailing of disenfranchised youth.
It's demented in the way you would imagine a band that takes its name from a collection of David Shrigley drawings should be. Captivating and cutting, as the scolding frappuccino, knocked from its table, slowly seeps through your trousers, these clumsy idiots can be excused.
8zzzzzz zzzzzz's Score