High Voltage review
Billy Ruffian - My Secret Life
(Filthy Little Angels)
The vicarious and peculiarly disturbed Billy Ruffian have a secret life that you might not want to know about, but you will listen intently anyway with lurid fascination as they pin bizarre corners of their tale with grit, brass, drum machine, abrasion and Stephen Ruffian's fantastic persona.
If you're not listening carefully, then you might find that your little tale has quickly warped out of control. This is the fearless success of 'My Secret Life' - the way 'Ballad Of Billy Ruffian' bobs shantily on weary trumpets and snarled stories, or the way 'Death Of A Band' drowns behind its own uncontrollable guitars before emerging in a tongue-in-cheek victory. Maybe even a whiff of Mark E Smith's lyrical genius passes by the obscurely commentary likes of 'Youth Club' and the undecipherably brilliant '(My Girlfriend Is Like A) Trojan Horse'.
Like any good band akin to their mental selves, Billy Ruffian know not to enforce any of their fits (as individually charming as they are) for longer than the three minute mark. Though they didn’t quite know to make the whole listen ten or fifteen minutes shorter, as even the most totally wired heads will be straining to this albums ends, even if the band don't let go of the reins (well, not to any detriment anyway).
But still, quite which of Manchester's basements Billy Ruffian broke out of I'm not sure, but now they're loose be warned - an imaginable absorption on stage, and a none too shabby album already at that.
(Filthy Little Angels)
The vicarious and peculiarly disturbed Billy Ruffian have a secret life that you might not want to know about, but you will listen intently anyway with lurid fascination as they pin bizarre corners of their tale with grit, brass, drum machine, abrasion and Stephen Ruffian's fantastic persona.
If you're not listening carefully, then you might find that your little tale has quickly warped out of control. This is the fearless success of 'My Secret Life' - the way 'Ballad Of Billy Ruffian' bobs shantily on weary trumpets and snarled stories, or the way 'Death Of A Band' drowns behind its own uncontrollable guitars before emerging in a tongue-in-cheek victory. Maybe even a whiff of Mark E Smith's lyrical genius passes by the obscurely commentary likes of 'Youth Club' and the undecipherably brilliant '(My Girlfriend Is Like A) Trojan Horse'.
Like any good band akin to their mental selves, Billy Ruffian know not to enforce any of their fits (as individually charming as they are) for longer than the three minute mark. Though they didn’t quite know to make the whole listen ten or fifteen minutes shorter, as even the most totally wired heads will be straining to this albums ends, even if the band don't let go of the reins (well, not to any detriment anyway).
But still, quite which of Manchester's basements Billy Ruffian broke out of I'm not sure, but now they're loose be warned - an imaginable absorption on stage, and a none too shabby album already at that.