If Bleach meant everything to you as a kid (perhaps it still does?) and you’re yet to check out Nottingham’s Lovvers, please get out of your chair and down to your nearest stockist of fine seven-inch releases immediately, as this will make you feel like an unruly teenager again.
A pair of songs, both sounding like they could have fallen out the doors of SST or Sub Pop circa the passing of the ‘80s into the decade that would be defined by the birth and death of grunge, this slice of essential wax is unapologetic in its echoing of a past partially buried by Britpop and a billion other fleeting movements since; it’s retro without feeling redundant, knowingly taking cues from familiar influences but never once purely ripping from anyone’s record collection. Lovvers make a punk that time forgot feel absolutely vital – that today’s breed of rocker repeatedly fails to ‘get them’ (see their last two 1/10 reviews in Rock Sound magazine – genuine WTF?!) only increases their appeal here.
Fuck the rest, side with the best… or something. Basically, if you’re into punk-rock that’s out of step with trends, that exists in its own bubble of timelessness, then you need to hear this. These noisy boys are continuing to do things for themselves, twisting what they hear as pop into archaic shapes and still remaining a step ahead of the wider game. Bless ‘em, for they most probably know not what they do.
What they do know, though, is that they’re fucking ace at it.
8Mike Diver's Score