Singapore Sling, Life Is Killing My Rock N' Roll (Stinky Records)
They're the living dead, electric zombies, blazing through alleyways and streets at 3 a.m., looking for trouble. Singapore Sling are on a Rebel Without a Cause, Cruel Story of Youth vibe - "we go nowhere/and we don't care," they proclaim at one point on their new album Life Is Kiling My Rock N' Roll. They've got their guitars, and they're turning them up loud. But the musical reference points here aren't garage rock, aren't Elvis, aren't Chuck Berry...at least not directly. Singapore Sling aren't from the U.S. of A, they're crusing the streets of Reykjavik. They don't sound like the Cramps, they sound like a slowed-down Jesus & Mary Chain or a less hyperbolic Spiritualized. Their vocals are slow-motion but down-and-dirty cool, their guitars are layered and prepped to take you to some kind of urban dreamland. Or urban nightmare, maybe. Singapore Sling give off a spooky vibe but yet they don't. "Rockit" is all car crashes and darkness, but there's also a bubblegum pop feeling about it. It isn't going to scare the beejesus out of you, it's going to make you shuffle about the dance floor. "Nightlife" pours surrealism into city club life ("my drink is on fire") but it's also lush enough to feel comforting, like a pillow. Life Is Killing My Rock N' Roll is both eerie and menacing, and an ageless Friday night rock n' roll party. They can space out with the best of them, but there's something fun and harmless here too, something as elemental as your blue suede shoes. - dave heaton
Water School, Break Up With Water School (Self-released)
Take the ballsy, sequined confidence away from Sloan, or the burning spliffs from Lou and Jason of Sebadoh, and you might have Water School. This Baltimore quartet tepidly continues the long tradition of dual singer-songwriter, male-fronted indie rock bands with a retro-melodic fixation and a bit too much self-obsession. Some songs go down easily but leave little impression (opener “Talkin’ ‘Bout Us”), while others scratch your ear canals all the way down (the awkward, over-earnest “Forgive Me Robert”). Really, this stuff isn’t horrible. The songs are coherent, the production is appropriate, and all the members find comfortable orbits around the guitars and vocals. And certainly, no one would mistake this for punk rock. So why fault the guys for being wimpy? Because their none-too-subtle reference to John Lennon’s “Oh Yoko” on “The Home We Never Had” is disconcerting and borderline insulting, and because three quarters of the songs sound weirdly familiar, but not in a positive, Bob Pollard-at-the-broken-jukebox kind of way. There’s promise poking through (“Firefly,” “Andy”) but it’s mostly buried under repetitive, ill-advised riffs, limp-wristed performances and inane lyrics. I’d love to hear Water School’s next album, if only to set my mind at ease that these guys either descended into total crap or actually improved. Until then, they’re stuck in a frustrating No Man’s Land. – john wenzel
Issue 28, November 2004