Welcome to the shambolic, testosterone exuding, over-dramatic world of The Brute Chorus. Like a bull in the china shop, the four-piece come stomping in uninvited but a few minutes in and their presence becomes welcome. Full of so much youthful energy that its almost contagious, this, their debut album, plays and distorts a plethora of musical directions and styles of lo-fi, Indie, Pop and Folk, to name but a few of those recognisable.
Recorded, rather ambitiously for a debut, at The Roundhouse’s FreeDM studios, the album maintains all the best points of a live show, without the annoying attention-grabbing girl standing behind you screaming to hear herself fill the silence, rather than to show support. The atmosphere is catching and leaves the listener wishing they were at the live show and anticipating when they might well be.
Musically, it album smacks of the newest work of The Rumble Strips with all the chaos and shambles kept mildly under raps by the binding strings of retro 60s chords. There are hints of Franz Ferdinand style theatrics and early Matt Pritchard vocals but in a way that seems wholly organic and does not in anyway undermine the far-from-mainstream sounding tracks. Think of it as Pritchard meets Kapranos’ badly behaved younger brother, who, rather than follow in his model brother’s footsteps, has turned to legal highs and Marlborough Lights.
The Brute Chorus show has arrived and be warned, once they barge into your unsuspecting little world, you’ll have trouble getting them to leave.
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