Chasing Shooting Stars on Vespas

Dai Disco on Trick Mammoth, Colour Me Wednesday, Astro Children, and Slowcoaches

Stranded upon the bleak, lifeless island that is January, where even the rainbow trout dwell safely in their lairs, hope can fade into despair. But as morning broke the light revealed a Pop tidal wave heading for the shore. Sparkling debris that should have been glowing like fairy lights on the end of year wall float into sight like glowing treasure escaping a wreck, and new stars light up the night sky like beacons of fire in forgotten times.

First to chance upon these shores via the excellent Dunedin-based Fishrider Records was Trick Mammoth’s beautiful Floristry. Guitars float on the shoreline of youth, one hand holding the delight, one hand holding the torment. ‘Baltimore’, ‘Delphine’, ‘Vesper’, ‘Days Of Being Wild’, magical lo-fi Pop beauties shoot through the sky like Mordecai and Margaret chasing shooting stars on their Vespas, and when they are out of sight you’ll be reaching for the play button faster than Burroughs reaching for his stash.

After the Vespas have fallen into the night something else lurks in the streets of Dunedin, in the darkness. The ritualistic spaceship-Pop sounds of Astro Children’s Proteus flicker with the edge of street lights from the window of Burroughs flat. Amongst the noise, driving guitars, tormented backing vocals and screams give birth to the haunting pop delights of ‘Eden’ and ‘Big Muff (Strikes Again)’, before all fades back into dark noise.

From the darker corners of Dunedin to the hazy Pop streets of London via the brilliant Colour Me Wednesday. I Thought It Was Morning unzips with the eloquence of a small tent with an emerging Jack the Rat seeking out the first can of the day, Fuzzy guitars collide with huge choruses and Pop beauties spring from the wreckage like the aforementioned Scrumpy bearing Rat springing from his wellies onto the dance floor of the finest indie disco. You won’t be the first or the last to end up dancing like the Rat if you have it on loud enough.

A few blocks over on the same London streets Slowcoaches stopped to offer a ride. Speeding on from the thunderous We’re So Heavy, Thinkers screeches off like taillights heading for town. Guitars fly and words jump through the windows into oncoming traffic, scorching a blazing trail over your chest through the garage wall and directly onto the dance floor.


Dai Disco

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