The first full album by Wiltshire’s finest purveyors of psychedelic indie shenanigans, Clock Radio, was knocked out to an unsuspecting world last week. It’s called Turfin’ Out The Maniacs, which perhaps should be fact-checked as it sounds to me like they’re letting them all in, as they arrive on yellow submarines and check into Frank Zappa’s 200 five-rhombus rated motels…..
Self-described as “easily triggered, dishonest, cryptic yet flirty deluded jangle rockers,” Clock Radio have produced a string of catchy slacker pop wonders here, as they continuously reach inside the box, like they’re four elfish Rowan Atkinsons all cast as Paul Atreides. But one thing is for certain, Chris Genner, Oliver Daltrey, Gary Martin and Fraser Wilson will entertain you.
Turfin’ Out The Maniacs sound like the results of the Coral offering The Divine Comedy a hashpipe in a moulded teenage boy’s bedroom; that’s a compliment by the way.
The opening tune Blood on Chrome certainly reeks of that breezy retrospection of Merseyside garage bands or sixties surf-rock, with an added preliminary Quo guitar riffs. Stoned at the Dojo, which follows emphasises the mock lounge style of The Divine Comedy. It’s vaudeville throughout, all Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band’s twirling circus, and an accordion welcomes in the next song, yet the tempo is upbeat indie rock. Handsome Weeping Man might leave you questioning if it’s necessary to connote the narrative, but it will leave you amused.
Clock Radio knows precisely what buttons to press to evoke a mood, and press them with free will. To say it’s a tad bonkers, it’s only a tad, and Mountains Beyond the Sun kindles a gentle side, drifting surf-rock, sunny side of the street vibe.
There’s ten three minute heroes on this impressive debut album, recorded, mixed and mastered by Dominic Bailey-Clay at Nine Volt Leap Studios, with Fender Rhodes piano, percussion by Dominic and a triangle by Shoshi B. If we’re content with getting halfway through and assuming they’ve calmed slightly, No Death takes us back onto the weird and wonderfully expressed if questionable muses of the opening.
Turfin’ Out The Maniacs is a comfy yet nippy prank, like being stung in the bottom but launching away from it to splash into a chocolate lake. Not so unlike Noël Coward playing a Bond villain, with Bowie as Bond; something you couldn’t imagine happening, but being Marie-Georges Méliès directed it and it’s on FilmFour at 3am, you might as well grab a bag of cheesy puffs and thirty grams of Amber Leaf, stay up watch it in your pants. “Cactus is cooler, I’m no Ferris Bueller, I do as I’m told,” is just one line I’m cherry picking to illustrate my point, you’ll be amused and rocked in plentiful equal measure.
It has an acoustic ending called Complex 5 which will leave you incarcerated in the meandering yet meticulous peculiarly pulp portrayals of Clock Radio, as if you melted into a bubble sofa. It is available now on the streaming platforms, or buy the digital album from Bandcamp.
devizine.com 