We have to face the awful truth: Dead Jericho’s sound terribly as if they want to be the Arctic Monkeys but, perhaps in a fit of absent-mindedness, hired the wrong singer. There’s a definite modern punk angle to their stuff, though you wouldn’t guess it until the vocals kick in, sounding like Sid Vicious doing his best Alex Turner impression. That faux-Larndon, bovver boy twang and exaggerated vowels pervade the record, as if his tongue has been anaesthetised by too much Tennants Super/Thunderbird/MD2020 (delete as applicable). The lyrics also ape the the Monkeys (no pun intended), but lack the wit and canny turn of phrase. Even ‘Braces up High”, with its manic ska-infused feel, gets dragged back to Sheffield with its bluesy guitar breaks.
Now that I’ve incurred the wrath of the band, we can get on with the good stuff, because actually, for all that, the Dead Jericho’s are pretty damn effective at what they do. They’ve got a feel for the bigger picture of their music, and don’t seem to be just knocking out random songs: there’s a feeling of continuity about the whole EP. I don’t know if real fame and fortune this way lies, and it’s not exactly ground-breaking stuff, but the band nudges into the more accessible end of the punk market- they are danceable without sounding as if they need to smash glasses over each other, they write lyrics that will resonate with the older punks as much as the new blood, and show musical
references from both the new and the old school that keep things interesting.
After the building, atmospheric, alarm bells intro of “Introduction” (see what they did there?), “Red Dancefloor” kicks in with a glitchy three-chord riff, dropping a neat pseudo-Police, even slightly Foals-y turn of guitar phrasing into the mix. It’s a dumb-as-rocks account of a night in the club (where’ve I heard that before…?) and they do a good job of making things feel down and dirty – all the sleazy night crawlers are here, fighting, snorting, getting kicked out by bouncers and so on. But
ultimately… it’s the Arctic f*****g Monkeys again. Once that’s into your head it becomes all-pervasive, inescapable and bloody annoying, because the Dead Jericho’s would be really good if they could just stamp a bit of their own identity on things.
They’ve escaped the first trap of punk by sounding smart (musically, if not lyrically), keeping things clean-ish rather than brutally heavy and swapping chugged power chords for picked guitar licks, fluid bass lines and lively, propulsive drumming. They’re clearly all very good players, with everything brilliantly performed, expertly constructed and virtually flawless in execution. The only anomaly is that the whole record is drenched in a massive hall reverb. In places, this makes it sound quite expansive and atmospheric, but for the most part it sits somewhat incongruously with the material, and the title track in particular suffers from this slightly amateurish touch. It should be close, dense and unnerving to match the subject matter, whereas it sounds like they’re playing in the school hall. Which is a shame, because on the whole it’s superbly performed and well recorded, the band sounding confident and assured.
The title track closes the EP with a similar formula to “Braces up High”, being a mid-tempo (relatively speaking – it’s still pretty rapid by most people’s standards) tale of life as a pissed-up punk outcast roaming the streets, with all its attendant trials and tribulations. Problem is it’s all a bit ham-fisted, and the lyrics and delivery seem especially lumpen next to the lively and exact musical arrangement underpinning it.
And as such, “Under the Streetlights” is pretty symptomatic of the EP as a whole – dumbed down, slovenly vocals and lyrics attempt to reflect punk life, but seem grafted on top of what is a pretty highly polished replica of… you know who. Musically smart and incisive but lyrically and vocally shooting for the lowest common denominator. When it comes to social commentary, Gallows they ain’t. So for the most part it’s B+, 8/10 stuff and a great debut from a potentially exciting band, but the identity crisis leaves them in a strange place. They need to decide whether they want to pursue the punk thing wholesale, or develop the hard guitar pop angle. Given the accomplished playing and catchy music, I’d go for the latter. I’d hate to be around when they get rumbled by the *real* punks.