A post-punk scrapbook
The Scottish/American band's second album is one that could have been released at any point between 1990 and 2010 and still have had the dubious distinction of sounding dated. Each of the twelve songs seems a variation on a tested post-punk format, it’s hard to see anything here that wouldn’t fit in between The Chameleons, Echo and the Bunnymen, Joy Division and Bauhaus. Martin Metcalfe, who once fronted a band containing Shirley Manson (Scottish cult-heroes Goodbye Mr. Mackenzie ), and his new vocalist, Stacey Chavis, pass the songs between them ranging from a spiky, masculine drawl to brooding Debbie Harry-esque female vocals. Also from Goodbye Mr Mackenzie are bassist, Fin Wilson and drummer Derek Kelly.
Opener “Jim’s Killer” starts a slow, soulful track fronted by Chavis, with twinkling yet somehow-menacing guitars (he killed Jim, after all) that is at its most exciting when it gains the smallest of shoegaze inflections towards the end, complete with crashing drums. “New Town Killers” is a similar, although higher tempo affair, this time with Metcalfe taking vocal responsibility and third track “Honey For Sale”, which sees the microphone switched back to Chavis, seems rooted in a Blondie B-side. The album highlight “Big Blue” proves the first burst of energy since the murderous openers, taking a page out of Metric’s book to craft a catchy tale of rejection set to driving bass and the sparsest, most direct guitar on the album. “Memories” is oddly reminiscent of Muse’s “Starlight” if it swapped the orbiting stations and spacesuits for Glasgow alleys and floor length raincoats. “Call Me” finally cements the impression that Chavis-led tracks are best, with a punk temperament and twanging guitars over faster garage-rock vocals. The other tracks, largely Metcalfe’s, wash by, leaving little impression but twangs of nostalgia, each as consummate as the bands they reference but never as captivating, nor as relevant.
Isa and the Filthy Tongues do deserve credit for carrying the torch well, but add so little of their own flair it’s hard to credit their invention. Even so, those much studied inspirations coupled with the past glories of Goodbye Mr Mackenzie make for a listenable album. It seems questionable if there is enough depth, or more precisely individualism, found here to do any more than dip your toes in post-punk nostalgia.