DUELS' success seems preordained. They have already received strenuous big-ups from both Zane Lowe and Steve Lamacq and signed to Suede's old label, Nude. Their NME coverage is underway and they hail from the mass media's current favourite hangout - Leeds. So what could possibly go wrong?
Yes, I know this synopsis sounds horribly cynical, but mostly it's the truth. The only fly in the ointment of what is probably beginning to sound like a hatchet job is simply this: Duels' music - which on the basis of these three tracks - is actually rather good. Drat and double drat.
"Pressure On You" - produced with crisp efficiency by every indie pin-up's fave producer who's not Paul Epworth (i.e Jim Abiss) - is surely a well-executed affair. Jon's vocals are a pleasant surprise for a start as they carry a whiff of Howard Devoto-style intrigue (I thought indie vocalists had forgotten there's such a thing as reserve), while the immediate, staccato-ish chorus has tangible elements of Pulp. Not such a bad thing at all.
They proceed to cement their reputation with additional tracks "Things" and "Idiot." "Things" comes with an intriging co-production credit from ex-Spaceman 3 man Richard Formby and features a thick, throaty vocal from Jon before sweeping into a big, well-cut chorus. The way he sings "Look at all these things we've done" carries a wonderful combination of pride and abject sadness and you're forced to admit there's always room for classy pop like this.
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Closing track "Idiot" is strong once again. This one's vivid and restrained (that word again) with a dark, narrative feel ("We poor ghosts, we can be all alone, sat in the dark with one hand on the phone") even Luke Haines would approve of. It's the most introspective of the three tracks here, and might just pip the other two to the post.
Duels, then, sound like they might just be able to make this on merit, regardless of their media headstart. They have that elusive element known as charisma and can obviously mug a good tune when they hear one sliding around the corner. Slap them around the face at your peril.
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