A muscular clatter of pulsing guitars, head-spinning percussive thuds and harmonic, brotherly vocals provide the backbone to a rich throng of giddy, excited ideas and ageless, wry lyrical themes. Truly, Young Knives are a band for our times, and all times.
It's been quite a spell for this most resplendent, distinctive of respectably dressed men. Based upon an inimitably tight, irreplaceable unit, comprising brothers Henry and Thomas 'House Of Lords' Dartnall and original school-friend Oliver Askew, who all met in Ashby De La Zouche near Loughborough, it was years of rubbish music-making and ironic cover versions before anything particularly viable was to form. Then university got in the way altogether, rendering the band temporarily redundant. Eventually, the rolling Welsh hills that surrounded their stint at Uni led to a cultural and physical shift - to Oxford. It was here that it started making sense to take things a little more seriously. Exploiting the town's rich musical heritage and set of venues and arch promoter types, the trio began a vigorous assault course of excessive gigging and recording. Early results include their first, mini opus - the jagged and unrelenting, Brit-Pixies jar of 'The Young Knives...Are Dead'. It was an early nod to the band's penchant and celebration for home-grown eccentricity and close-to-home irreverence, surreal and infectious in equal doses.
Constantly evolving, consistently shifting, always appealing, Young Knives' comeback is the most important and influential of our decade so far, a band destined to redefine genres, better lives, and for the first time with this album, touch its listeners. Lord knows where we'll all end up next.
