As I sit down to write, I am less than an hour from finishing Phil Taggart’s debut book. The Slacker Guide To The Music Industry, aside from having a dual purpose as an excellent beer coaster, proved to be an excellent resource with one main takeaway - There is no ‘correct’ way that suits every act looking to make it in music, only the correct way for ‘you’. Chipping away online and sneaking onto curated playlists suits some, yet Reading founded group The Amazons favoured the old fashioned route. That is, getting the head down and playing shows in any space that could be classified as a venue. Some would have you believe that such a strategy will lead only to burnouts, missed opportunities and disappointment. They’ve clearly not paid much attention to rock and roll.
The environment in which they develop will have an effect on any act but seems to have been a particularly profound one on this English quartet. Being face-to-face with a rabid fan base flavoured their sound and energy, helping them craft an album that catapulted its way up the charts. Their self-titled debut was informed by their crowds; optimistic, bright eyed, full of charm, promise and indie sing-a-longs. Their second has become compounded by their exeperiences. Now with two years spent on the road, hardened by their new lifestyle, The Amazons have abandoned the frills and thrills and replaced them with a more intense, grounded narrative that is more concise, concentrated and better all-around.
And yet, there is much about the group that seems inconceivable. Bar the likes of Muse and Biffy Clyro, guitar bands seemed to have largely died off in the collective popular mindset of the world. But I suppose going against the grain is really the point of it all isn’t it? One of the few acts making rock music and its roots admissible once more, their sophomore effort ‘Future Dust’ is filled with fire, smoke and distortion and we are better for it. Drawing on their past (The Rolling Stones, Howlin’ Wolf, Led Zeppelin and Jerry Lee Lewis are all named as direct influences. Not a bad foxhole to find yourself in) to advise their future sees the band fully invest themselves in the anti-fashion of the music industry. The innate mysterious identity of those bands that forged themselves in the shadows of the ’70s still has an allure, and with their modern spin on the genre, The Amazons have tapped into something that might not be groundbreaking musically but may do so physically.
This approach is typified by opening track ‘Mother’ and its defiance of modern convention. In a streaming landscape that demands instant satisfaction from its charting tracks, to hear a popular band begin their album with a misty instrumental introduction, followed by a rollicking, hard-edged riff is akin to a dunk in an ice bath. Sore in all the best ways. This number is also a tangible demonstration of the maturity the group has garnered since their debut: Vocal harmonies that were once luminous and floaty are now throaty, headstrong and gritty. The climactic solos’ that seemed previously self-indulgent are now directed and stable. Their indie rock glamour is now braced with a dose of blues, garage and desert supplements of the genre and accompanied by punk and modern rock rhythms. It flies in the face of everything a hipster focus group in Dalston will tell you works, which only accentuates the beauty of the track. Its gloriously uncomplicated take on the recalcitrant ethos of rock and roll in the modern world is serious, believable business.
If ‘Mother’ is a preface then the following contents read like a penny dreadful, with two songs in particular embodying the mood of the record. ’25’ has all the malice of a 1960’s outlaw cowboy band, all bite and over-layered guitar barrages, while ‘All Over Town' is a vocal-driven optimistic foot-stomper that appeals to critics and fans alike. Such is the flavour of the album, the old and new balanced in delicate, political ballet in which each takes a turn showing their hand, uneasy allies that pounce during their time in the spotlight (See the echoing clang of ‘Dark Visions’ or the haunting, ‘The Eagles’ meets ‘Boston’ quasi-Americana of ‘Georgia’ for further examples). This mutually-assured existence fuels much of ‘Future Dusts’ drama - the grainy, ancient (by musical standards anyway) overtones of their lyrical content, the steely guitar attacks and bass/percussion backbone are all spliced with a modernity and personality that lets The ‘zons forge and elevate their own identity without tumbling from the paths that brought them here. It’s a fascinating act of equilibrium that only serves to accentuate their rollicking sound.
But what is most impressive, and indeed most important, about ‘Future Dust,’ is that it is guitar music that’s genuinely fun to listen to. With it becoming seemingly harder and harder to make fresh rock ’n’ roll that stays true to its roots, The Amazons have composed a record that’s suited for both window down speeding on the motorway and shirtless, post-shower headbanging. And in a world where rock is doing its best to turn left-field in order to survive, maybe sticking to your guns is the most rebellious things a band can do. Captivating and magnetic, this is an essential album for people who like to enjoy themselves.
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