I can only assume it’s because they’re not deemed fashionable enough for the glossy weeklies, but it never ceases to amaze that Aberdeen’s THE NEEDLES remain the best-kept secret from north of the border.
Let’s face it, when it comes to tight, compact shots of adrenalised power pop/ new wave up the rear of rock’s bloated body, then its’ Dave Dixon’s boys who are administering the enema and with their third EP for Dangerous they’re again shooting us a lethally addictive dose.
Catchier than a warehouse full of docker’s hooks, “Dianne” goes from dynamo-kinetic staccato angularity to unpretentious barrelling ramalama in the blink of an eye and finds a smitten Dave swooning “from Kurt Cobain to Jack White, I screamed your name out every night” and sighing as he fails to get the girl once again. He’s not permitted to mope for long, though, as the ensuing “Delivery Day” ups the excitement ante to a dangerous degree. This time, the band come on like Rocket Science being fronted by a bilious, Stiff-era Costello and Dixon allows himself a rare guitar solo before they exit the whole frantic caboodle.
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Just to remind us they are even the tops when serving up something lighter, they leave us with the daft, but magnificent “Black Belt”: a “Comanche”-style instrumental with elements of Link Wray, John Barry in best spy theme form and a young and venomous Supergrass. Johnny Wolfe’s enormous, Sandy Nelson-style drumming is worth the price of admission alone and by time they’re stampeding for the exit you’re – again – realising you’re listening to probably the perfect EP band doing the rounds just now.
And that, for now, is that. Ladies and Gennulmen, The Needles have left the building. Phewee!!
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