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Dogbox Records Download Singles

The discerning ladies of Dogbox (who cleverly unleashed the delovely Luxembourg’s last couple of records) are offering you, yes YOU, the opportunity to download their next two releases for free. That’s two tracks by The Bridge Gang and two by Mitten. Quite frankly it would be rude not to wouldn’t it?


The Bridge Gang’s ‘Pangs Of Guilt’ has chipper, choppy, tuneful guitars and suggests the crashing singsong whirligig of early Primitives, but when the vocals kick in it’s no Tracey Tracey a-warblin’ away. It’s a geezer cracking out the lyrics like he’s shouting above the racket of a particularly busy motorway, rather than this appealing bite-size chunk of bish bosh rammalamma punkpop. ‘Sarah’s Brother’ is a sorry tale of the aforementioned sibling who ‘was in the boys brigade, navy blue jersey found by the lake’, told to the march of scuffed guitar and snottily simple drums. Reminiscent of ‘Surfer Rosa’ era Pixies (yum! my favourite) stripped of all but the very barest of necessities.

I once saw Mitten, possibly on the occasion of their live debut. They were oddly compelling, featuring an assortment of tin-pot noisemaking and the screechy/breathy voice of a grown woman in a pinafore dress sounding, well, like a barmpot, quite frankly. It all went a bit pear-shaped when the singer forgot how one song went and exited in tears, but this kind of added to their air of intrigue in a way. Here, on the fantastically named ‘Slob From The Record Shop’, you get plenty of Ophelia-like woman-on-the-verge vocal curiousness. Ranging from little girl whispers, to the sound of weary swooning, to lines like ‘I want that slob, I want to make him sandwiches’ muttered through the gritted teeth of unstable longing. Meanwhile, in an unconventional approach to the concept of percussion, someone does a spot of hammering in the background, apparently crashing away on a spare piece of plywood.

‘No More Weeping’ is like unearthing some scratchy gramophone record and hearing the sound of tortured flappers trapped in the vinyl. An acoustic guitar is muffledly picked, what sound like a recorder gives an overblown wail. ‘I won’t huurrrtt you’ wheedles the singer lady though you remain unconvinced, especially as she starts ,um, improvising with her voice, expelling staccato squeaks. When people say something is haunting they’re not really referring to this kind of thing. This is haunting in a different kind of way. The kind where poltergeists might be involved. Brrrr.

Run along now to and fill yer boots.

R.R.R.G: Fighting comfortable participation

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