Dunno if it's something they're putting in the water up in the North-East at present, but haven't there been some fantastic bands coming from the region of late? If memory serves, we've been introduced to Eastern Lane, Won Mississippi and The Futureheads in recent times and they've all happily enriched our lives on their own inimitable terms.
THE GOLDEN VIRGINS, though, are something else again, and possibly the best of this whole bunch. Like The Futureheads, they hail from Sunderland, but instead of wide-eyed angularity, they proffer songs of unbridled sexual tension, acute jealousy, melancholic regret and nasty obsession, usually fuelled by copious amounts of alcohol.
Besides, in singer (and ex-English teacher) Lucas Renney, they have a frontman who walks it like he talks it. Few bands are capable of introducing themselves with a press release stating: "if you want to say anything worthwhile you've got to really peel back the scalp and not flinch at the maggots writhing around within", much less proceed to unleash a debut album that does just that. Yet, thanks to Renney's angrily erudite songs of diseased passion, the Golden Virgins have a crucial headstart.
And "Songs Of Praise" offers up some startling variations on traditional indie guitar pop. For starters, the first real song here "Shadows Of Love" opens with the damning lyric: "Well fuck you love and fair thee well/ Inside your gold-barred prison cell, your wedding bell's a funeral knell." Ulp. And it's set to acoustic melancholy akin to Jarvis Cocker fronting early Fairport Convention. Like, huh? Wait 'til you catch the sting in its' tail too.
Elsewhere, Renney's psychotic intent makes for frightening slices of voyeuristic life such as the drinker's lament "Staying Sober" ( a song of dreams being torched if ever there was) and the lunkheaded riffing of "I Want To Believe You", where he refuses to let go of the crumbling remains of a rotting, deceitful relationship. Arguably even better is "Light In Her Window", where over a trembling beauty of a tune, Renney's jealousy is only barely concealed. "I've got a head full of whisky and gin, I don't know how or where to begin when she lets me in," he threatens before the warped, Neil Young-style guitar solo only ups the tension further. Cripes.
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Sensibly, The Golden Virgins counterbalance the psychosis with some sublime, Glam-my pop moments, though admittedly these are still usually pretty lascivious. For instance, try on "The Thought Of Her", where the initial Spy theme guitars give way to lairy riffing, Allan Burnup's funked-out, twisted nerve basslines and Renney panting "I wanna die inside her dress." Then there's the previous single (and Peel fave) "Renaissance Kid", which - musically at least - is a joyous, Modern Lovers-style cruise. If anything, though, it's outclassed by the brilliant "I Am A Camera", where Renney delivers the irresistibly sly catchline "Only you can make my shutter click" over the spunked -up, Sparks-y backdrop.
Perhaps inevitably after such lusty intent, the band sequence three gentler, wistful tunes at the album's close. "Never Had A Prayer" is a minimal ballad, though it has the menacing kiss-off line "I hope you get yours in the end". "We'll Never Be Friends" sounds like a skiffly sister piece to this and the final "I Don't Want No-One But You" has starlight guitars, an early hours feel and a bitter, if dignified aftertaste. Even when defeated, Renney and the boys remain stylish to the last, it seems.
"Songs Of Praise", then, are hymns to deceitful Goddesses who appear to have kneed Lucas Renney in the balls and stolen his wallet more often than allowing him to talk them into bed. Still, all's fair in love and war, and The Golden Virgins are revelling in the chance to report it all from the frontline.
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