Rat-tat-tat-tatta-tat drum beats and a rumbling, growling bass sound like something out of an ‘80s Bad Seeds rehearsal captured onto crackly magnetic tape through a dozen paper-thin walls, ‘Cherry Lips’ manages to sound both ancient and absolutely in tune with the here-and-now in perfect synchronisation. It’s post-punk for punks that lived through the genre’s first wave, twisted and taut ‘til it’s about to snap.
** Archie Bronson Outfit**’s modus operandi has never wholly aligned with the tastes of the contemporary indie-rock fan, and such an attitude has served them well: now, they’re so absolutely their own beast, riding high atop a league entirely of their formation and comprised of but a select few teams of blue-punk-rocking depth and strength. They sound exciting. They sound like a true breath of fresh air after so many sound-alike indie-rockers have passed through the day’s FM speaker grilles. They sound sexy, dirtily so: this isn’t a sly wink and a slight pout, this doesn’t smoulder and nor does it play hard to get. ‘Cherry Lips’ is dirty, filthy, and rocks its cock like a weapon. It’s the most fantastic of instantly-satisfying puts-out-on-a-first-date sluts.
The vocals are desperate and edgy, while the percussion ripples and rolls, bass and drums an embracing couple stepping over the edge of Dover’s white cliffs. “It’s so fun to love someone,” they state, matter-of-factly and in a semi-deadpan; if the anguish proverbially caught on camera here is anything to go by, it seems that this Outfit’s sense of fun is so very far removed from the norm.
Come the song’s collapse, the listener is sweaty and exhausted, slouched over a desk. Well, I am anyway. Someone, mop my brow and cool my pleasure receptors…
8Mike Diver's Score