Cold In Berlin- Give Me Walls
It often seems to be that retro rock n roll bands fronted by ballsy frontwomen can become less Siouxsie Sioux and become more unadulterated banshee. Dabbling with such a classic and gutsy sound can be challenging, results possibly being either dilute or abrasive and sometimes stale. So party poppers out if you please, for Cold In Berlin have sauntered along and stuck their middle finger up at all of that nonsense. 'Give Me Walls' is a keeper.
There's no faux attitude here. They aren't playing at rock n roll kindergarten. It is so apparent through every track on the album that it would be impossible to be a masquerade. Like the moment you realise the vacuous twit on Big Brother really must be as stupid as they seem. There's no way they could put on that show 24 hours a day for a gazillion weeks. If you had to play the comparison game with Cold In Berlin's sound it would probably boil down to being Blood Red Shoes evil twin, clad in leather and being put on the naughty step at school for swearing at Miss. We certainly have the infectious toe-tapping beats of the good twin in tracks like 'Total Fear' and blistering opener 'God I Love You'. The latter has been smothered in the muck and motorika of chunky bass lines, and don't even get started on the muck of the lyrics. That lady with the microphone, My, is one sexy bitch. Just have a listen, but make sure your Mum isn't in earshot.
There is a definite presence of 'hipster indie' spiky guitar, the type that wriggles around like aural ants in one's pants, particularly on tracks like 'Destruction'. As a result, this is likely to be a record with the appeal to reach out to your sulky trendies wanting to name drop as much as those liking to indulge in a bit of filth. The kooky syncopation of 'What Went Wrong' and catchy crashes of 'Break My Bones' are tracks that can pad this album out from being one of your generic, run of the rock n roll mill type affairs. Cold In Berlin aren't exactly a band to hold back. Closing track 'Powerful Woman' is an all out tirade flinging absolutely everything they have musically and lyrically to batter you into submission like a pissed off dominatrix with a new whip to break in. It may not be to everyone's taste; the noise, the hysteria, the raw howling of 'I am not fucked, I am not fucked yet. I am not dead, I am not dead yet'. My cat seemed to think the lyrics rather vulgar. But she isn't that punk. That is the bottom line of this album. It is punk.
Aggressive, potent and as roasting as a summer's day sans sun lotion. If you fancy something with metaphorical balls but literal boobs, then this is the album for you.