The Cool Greenhouse

Been kinda waiting on this one to reach U.S. shores and it just so happens that yesterday a crop of shops have this UK treat in stock. So have at it, and here’s a few reason’s why. The band’s chewing on the burnt ends of post-punk in a most satisfying way. The Cool Greenhouse locks onto repetition like a life preserver and paddles further out to sea and away from the stench of the masses of civilization they clearly can’t stand. The band shucks the concepts of hooks, chorus, and musical structure in general – snatching the sneers of The Fall and hot gluing them to the acid attack of Pere Ubu ‘round about their Dub Housing heyday. Even then, the band isn’t really tied onto influences so much as they’re just focusing the force of disgust and aiming it at a microphone with an intent to let the listener itch for three to five minutes.

The bass hammers at the temples, guitars floss the ripples of grey matter with a haphazard hand. Synth strains jump and twitch like they were stuck in a socket and it all weaves together into the kind of record that rumples in the perfect way. Atop the din and damage the band lays into the everyday drip of banality and atrocity that surrounds them at every turn. The delivery of singer (term used loosely) Tom Greenhouse is slouched but levied squarely on his victims. The disdain and exhaustion drips off their debut with the dead-eyed delivery of a spoken word take down with the victim sweating under the spotlight for everyone in the room to see. There’s been a good ol’ fashioned return to the ravages of post-punk of late, from the rubber snap of Lithics, to the acerbic insistence of Native Cats, and fried-wire infections of The Uranium Club. The Cool Greenhouse slots right in with the discomfort set. There’s no keeping the band’s eponymous LP in the background, it fights its way to the front and melts the smile from your face in a wonderful way.

Support the artist. Buy it HERE.