With legions of career-minded, pedal-board bothering prannys (or their publicists at least) busy abusing the ‘psych’ label everywhere you turn just at the moment, City Yelps’ triumphantly self-deprecating manifesto of PSYCH ON THE CHEAP hopefully speaks for itself. Not that their music is much more than marginally psych-y, to be honest, but I like the concept so much, I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt. Like their most immediately recognisable ancestors (The Clean, Swell Maps, The Prats, The Index), our heroes aim to prove that you don’t need snazzy equipment and retreats in woodland cabins to blow minds – cramped urban spaces, determined awkwardness and the cheapest crap in the shop is what really gets the damage done (and appearing to be the kind of people who could reduce press & PR representatives to ash merely by breathing in their direction probably helps).

‘On The Cheap’ these recordings may be, but by god, they sound magnificent – drums n gtr really ‘popping’ in bright analogue splendour. They may have joked about sounding like “the shitty Go-Betweens”, but for the first minute or so of ‘Psych on the Cheap’ they’re not so far from the real thing, guitars ringing out violin-like as the melody soars and dives.

In fact, dealing with the constituent components on this music, it’s difficult to put your finger on what makes City Yelps so pointedly removed from all the other nostalgia-nourishing jangly guitar types doing the rounds. From the 10th generation Byrds-y rattle to the strummy bass lines to the Hamish Kilgour type homemade-motorik drumming with that little ‘catch-up beat’ every four bars, it’s all here present and correct, all stuff you feel you’ll never, ever get sick of again when it’s banged out this splendidly. The playing is excellent & varied (the instrumental section of ‘Awful Prizes’ almost seems to be stumbling off into proggy realms for goodnesssake), the recording is bright and the songs are simple and appealing, leaving only Shaun A’s parent-proof slurred bark (“thass not singing, I’m telling ya”, quoth some who should know better) and a strange, indefinable blanket of smudged, smothered otherness to explain why City Yelps sound so inherently separate from the mainstream, so alien to the streets of large population centres, so utterly and gloriously removed from anyone who deals in ego or money or music, so much of a potential OUR BAND (NOT THEIRS) moment for any/all scruffy, over-smart kids lucky enough to hear them.

Why, why, why – I don't know, and I’m sure they don’t care (except that they so obviously do), which is perhaps the secret. You know sometimes when you're walking down the street, and you see a complete stranger and just think, 'hey, I like that guy, he's got style', even though he betrays no sign of concern about his appearance and is just taking the bins out or walking to catch a bus or something? Same thing. No reason. It’s just spirit I guess, or auras, or leylines or something. City Yelps must live on a big fucking leyline. I feel like they could walk on stage, do pretty much anything, and I'd enjoy it. No idea. Maybe it all just stems from how much I like their photocopied sleevenotes and 'newsletters' and stuff. I dunno. I'll just shut up  now and enjoy the music they do do when they walk on stage, which conveniently is very good.

Listen and buy from City Yelps.

Labels: album reviews, City Yelps