NOISETTES - What’s The Time Mr. Wolf?

The most effective answer to Yeah Yeah Yeahs comes from London. At least according to NME. The band in question is called Noisettes, a feisty garage-blues outfit fronted by the smouldering Shingai Shoniwa, who deliver one of the best debuts of this year (to be precise, the record has already been circulating in England for several months), worth appreciating if nothing else for its anger and its (coherent) variety of themes. This trio's strong point is an original amalgam of abrasive, raucous guitars in the style of New York Dolls, Stooges and MC5, spiced up with glam-scented hip-shaking and a soul-blues swagger halfway between Jimi Hendrix and James Brown. Many have brought up the Bellrays (one could also think of the Detroit Cobras), and perhaps the reference isn't so inaccurate or approximate after all.

What makes the difference is undoubtedly a never banal or anonymous songwriting craft, embellished by the singer's sensual, hysterical and scratchy voice, which shapes and moulds the melodies, making them even sharper and more piercing. "Don't Give Up" climbs on the roars of a furious hard-rock guitar, tearing apart a structure that's already disjointed and panting in itself. "Scratch Your Name" has an even more vertical thrust, crowning itself in the unleashed garage gospel of the chorus, gouged out by extremely acidic and powerful guitar riffs foaming like waves along the hull of a Sabbath-esque cruiser.

From the cover art onward, this record is all about walking into the lion's den to be torn apart by it or to feed on it, and hyperkinetic tracks like "Sister Rosetta (Capture The Spirit)" (dedicated to Rosetta Tharpe) or "Bridge To Canada" let themselves be assaulted by the heaves of an animalistic, regressive hunger (an appetite). There's no shortage of moments to catch one's breath and lick one's wounds ("The Count of Montecristo"), set to the welcoming sound of a swaying acoustic sketch, but the electric orgasms resume with the tangled swarm of torpedoes unleashed by the gorgeous "IWE" and "Nothing To Dread", with guitars screeching and yelping like bitches in heat. Forget Artic Monkeys...

If the comparison weren't excessive or subtly disrespectful, one would almost be tempted to speak of a more accessible, and if possible more "pop", Birthday Party (or Grinderman) (listen to "Mind The Gap", with its Velvet Underground-esque spasms, writhing within the coils of an atonal, deconstructed blues, before mirroring itself in flashes of subtle, controlled jazz in the style of Billie Holiday).

The sexual charge of this intrinsically black music has already been noted, and "Cannot Even (Break Free)" transforms the hushed jazz sacristy of the track's first part into a screaming Sodom, pouring a beehive with a metallic sting all over itself. "Hierarchy" is a bit more fragmentary and too long, mainly due to a melodic structure that isn't exactly rock-solid (though the vocal performance is spine-tingling), while the closing "Speedhorn" goes back to riding the furious garage-blues rodeo of the record's first half, clawed at by the razor-sharp talons of this impressive black Janis Joplin.

A debut rather removed from passing fads and trends, this "What's The Time Mr. Wolf" could be the first step of an important journey. Or at least that's the hope, which, in this specific case, is more than justified.

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30/07/2007