Fang Island: Major
I can’t think of another album that makes you want to hug complete strangers as you walk down the street on your daily commute. This is not some metaphorical device to open up this review, this actually happened. And, I must add, it was pissing with rain. Of course, I didn’t hug them. That would be both dangerous and a little silly.
On first listen Fang Island’s latest album wasn’t the immediate fix that the last was. On second listen, the above happened, and the shit-eating grin it impressed on my face was enough to make me hit repeat straight away. In some ways, it’s much more of a traditional rock album than the last, but that will never be a problem round these parts.
It’s ultimately all about the guitars: they scream, they riff in huge stark colours, they are tapped and fret wanked until they sound sore, they are sent into a jig, and they rush your adrenalin to pumping and publicly arrestable proportions. The vocals colour most of the tunes with an anthemic melancholy that only adds to the sense of elation. Piano riffs are thrown in the maelstrom and lay out the rock operatic underpinnings in stark relief. You need a ridiculous comparison? It’s the sound of The Polyphonic Spree covering Van Halen or Dan Deacon does The Darkness. There you go, that’s two.
If that’s not enough praise there’s one more thing I love about Major: you can guarantee the red-trouser wearing fucktard hipsters will bloody hate it. Can I get a high five for that?
Buy it here.
Want more guitars to convince you? Take a look at this lot: