Now that's what I call fucking brilliant. It's been more than half a decade since the Amphetameanies last released an album, and that time's been well spent. Sometimes it's difficult to walk through Glasgow without bumping into a 'meanies show: you stick your head in the door of the pub on you way past to see if any of your mates are in, and there they are. You head down the middle of Byres Road and they're up on a stage, trying to cut out all the sweary bits so as not to upset folk with weans. You slip into Borders to use their toilet, and the Amphetameanies are all crammed into a cubicle, giving it yalday.
Six years, then, playing bouncy, sweaty two-tone ska has left us with a band who are really bloody good at it. Musically they're far tighter than the Amphetameanies who recorded
Right Line in Nylons, with stronger ideas and better production. The versatility of the band's setup is exploited to the full, meaning the instrumentation is more or less spot on throughout. There's no filler material here—every song stands out in its own right.
Some are more immediately arresting, mind.
Say Something Special throws such infectious energy into its brass riffs that it'll be weeks before you get it out of your head. Another tune that doesn't mess about is
Desert Culture, a three-way brawl between guitar, keyboard and brass lines that leaves you
just enough time for a breather as the vocals pick it up (pick it up! pick it up!) in the middle:
"I'm getting desperate/and I'm losing the rag/I have been through the contents/of the hoover bag.". There's a chance you've heard of
This Boy, as it's been popularised by an alarmingly famous Glasgow indie band named after a certain archduke. At any rate, it's a punchy, upbeat number that sounds better for some keyboard licks and a brass section. So there.
Then we have the slow burners. Songs that hold your hand instead of grabbing you by the face.
Goodbye Boyfriend is nicely restrained, with just enough brassy pomp to underpin the simple piano melody, and a chorus that packs more hooks than a pirate armada.
Washed Away strips things back still further, to a guitar and a vocal line and precious little else. It makes for a nice contrast, but even the gentler songs have an urgency, a buttoned-down vitality that marks the 'meanies out from your more laid-back, back-in-the day two-tone artists. Like they caught nasty punk germs from the Newtown Grunts, or something.
Sounds of Argentina. Sounds of Mexico. Sounds of dancing and drinking and bouncing and sweating. Mostly sounds of nine people having a rare tear. How other bands manage with only three or four members is anyone's guess.
Now! That's What I Call … The Amphetameanies is out now. Buy one for your mum this Christmas.
http://www.amphetameanies.co.uk/
