Here's a little review brought to you by the numbers four, eleven and three, as well as the letter N.
Let's play those in rewind, shall we? N is, quite the fuck obviously (don't get too excited, there's little depth to these plucked component parts of the bigger picture) for Numbers, the San Fran' trio of compositionally haphazard dance-punk deviants who, on We're Animals, have almost committed the ultimate sin and delivered a reasonably commercially sounding record. What's that, a gasp? Suck it in, conclusion leaper: there's more to come.
We're Animals is the band's third long-play release, following the critically applauded Life and Death through the itchy-panted Tigerbeat6 label. While the above remark about its accessibility is true when the release is pitched into avant-garde fisticuffs with the trio's previous endeavors, We're Animals is pretty far from likely to have your kiddie-pop rocking sister bopping in her bedroom, leaving the Sugababes' latest cast aside like yesterday's Doherty news. The nutty mixes nicely with the not-so: 'The Fuck You Garage' is a screeching cacophony of thumping disco beats and potty-mouthed wails, but is followed by the calm and considered 'Desert Life', where frantic keys are replaced with ones that are practically narcoleptic.
Eleven tracks comprise We're Animals, and while some - the directionless 'Funny But Sad' for example - fail to reach the bonkers peaks of feverish cuts like 'Crows!' (Deerhoof hits the neon dancefloor with The Blood Brothers in tow), the diversity on show ensures that there's ne'er a dull moment to be had. Plus, even relatively straight-faced synth-punk songs, like the lyrically tender 'I'll Love You 'Til I Don't', still possess awkwardness enough to fuck off the party crashing scenester types looking for a new fashion to follow. So, finally, that four? Out of five, ignoramus.
The Children's Television whatever were, sadly, unavailable for comment at the time of writing, but Big Bird dropped us a line:_ "Numbers are the shit, bro'."_
9Mike Diver's Score