The first time I encountered the Graceful Slicks was more than a year ago in the Port Mahon, where they were somewhat awkwardly wedged between an experimental instrumental artist and a local sludge outfit. In this context their keen take on the trippier, dronier side of sixties psychedelia was a little out of place. More than that however, their songs seemed to lack direction, and the vocals were nothing more than the various members mumbling into the microphone in between five minute wig-outs. Part of this might have been down to the less than excellent sound system in the Port Mahon at the time, but it nonetheless left a lasting impression of the band with me. There was certainly something promising about them, but so early in their existence they were a little clumsy and clearly happy to accept gigs with bands that didn’t necessarily compliment their style.
Since then their name has continued to pop up in the Oxford music media regularly, and with each performance and recording their sound seems to be getting more clearly defined, their songwriting more focussed. This is without a doubt the best sounding recording the band have so far proffered, and while there was a rugged charm to the previous (presumably home-recorded) demos, this new emphasis on making their songs sound good does their songs wonders.
‘Bul Bul Tarang’ is the side of the Graceful Slicks that I remember from that night in the Port Mahon: hypnotic, slow, groovy, repetitive riffs, but where there was once a barely audible vocal there is now an assured, confident vocal performance from Patrick Coole, one that is reminiscent of Gomez’s Ian Ball. In fact ‘Bul Bul Tarang’, with its Indian overtones and subtle groove, would fit well into Gomez’s early catalogue, and when the drums crash in the combination of atmospheric guitar shimmers and bending lead parts suggest a slight Happy Mondays influence. Or perhaps it’s just a coincidence of mutual influences, as the Graceful Slicks strike me as the kind of band that would sooner smoke a joint than pop a pill. Either way, the song strikes a great balance between melody and drone, fitting for a song inspired by it’s namesake, an Indian banjo with one string for creating drones and another for playing melodies.
‘Fire’ is the most impressive song in the collection; something about the way the song segues from the driving beat of the instrumental section and descends into the riotous, bouncy chorus is infinitely pleasing. The call-and-response vocals screaming “There’s smoke and there’s no fire” is reminiscent of the Monks and, in the spirit of such things, this band manages to recapture the energy of those they seek to emulate. The same could be said for ‘Jalapeno’, which sounds like a combination of early Rolling Stones and 13th Floor Elevators – it’s kind of a throwaway song, but it’s fun.
The best compliment that I can offer the band is that while I was listening to these songs, I was able to forget that they were made by a bunch of young guys from Oxford in 2011. On repeated listens their attention to detail reveals itself, and their obvious love for sixties pysch and garage rock bands is so genuine that I was able to trick my brain into thinking that this was one of the many long-lost sixties bands – and that I had just discovered them.
On the other hand, this does mean that for the most part the songs sound like rehashes of existing songs and sounds. ‘Bul Bul Tarang’ certainly seems to take some cues from more recent bands, but the other two songs here could be outtakes from Nuggets: Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era, a compilation that the Graceful Slicks have clearly immersed themselves in. But there is never any pretence that the band is trying to create anything new, so if they’re happy to keep making summer-of-love garage rock then I’m happy enough to hear it.