This demo comes on a Woolworth’s Worthit! CDR, which is just about as good a symbol of low budget, doomed effort as we can come up with. Luckily, Dial F For Frankenstein’s recording is far from a failure; in fact, it’s a cocksure burst of indie rock with plenty of potential and a scattering of neat moments and good ideas, that’s ultimately not quite got the songwriting ability to underwrite the evident promise.
Between the opening guitar part of ‘Substance’, which is rather wonderfully like Johnny Marr playing Bauhaus, and the authentic fuddlydumph that John Peel would identify as completing ‘Headcase’, there are individual enticing moments, but the tracks themselves are instantly forgettable. It’s a ripe, jaunty burst of – well, nothing much, really. Not unpleasant in the least, but they probably work better live than on record. The CD closer ‘Red Song’ is better, with some wonderful vocals stuck between a listless squeal and reigned-in raunch that immediately recalls the excellent performance on the debut Strokes LP, but it’s still ultimately half a song.
It’s left to “Remedy” to indicate what Dial F could really be capable of in the future. It’s built on a sprightly lurch between two frets, with a tastefully lo-fi vocal alleging “it’s 1995″ – quite apposite, as the tune resembles ne of the better tracks from the second, less effete and mannered, wave of Britpop. The rhythm section stalks onward with a wonderful compressed energy, and when the (possibly ironic) exhortation comes in to “Dance, you fuckers”, we feel Dial F have got a fighting chance of getting their wish. So, not the greatest demo we’ve ever heard, but hugely encouraging all the same, especially for a youthful group – they’re playing neatly together, creating a well thought out, coherent sound and they have the makings of a vocalist who’s able to carry a song, even if he’s not likely to be swooping the octaves (why are there so few good singers around?). The question is whether they’re able to develop the compositional chops to keep the energy going; we’ve no idea of the odds, but we look forward to finding out.