Cults - Cults

This review’s a few weeks late. It’s on purpose (it’s obviously not on purpose, it’s just a handy hook to hang the review off). It’s definitely on purpose. A point is being made about savouring music, about kicking back against the internet rush, the need for the ‘oh-my-God-it’s-so-new’, the lack of patience, the exhausting pursuit of buzz. If an album’s good enough to listen to for years, then the vagaries of a release date shouldn’t be that significant. This stuff isn’t healthy, it’s not good for you and it’s not good for music.

 Anyone want to take a survey? No, of course not, so let’s just ask this: Your top ten albums of last year; that list you fretted over, that took an inordinate amount of time to get oh just ever so right. How many of those records are you still listening to? Can you still even name the full list? Honestly, when was the last time you listened to that Radiohead album the world exploded over? I’m not filling in that survey either, it’d be embarrassing. Most of us are guilty. We’ve got the whole world a tap’n’swipe of the finger away on our magic phones, we don’t need to spend time on anything, and if we waste time we might miss The Next Big Thing. Time ain’t money, time is cred, time is being front of the queue. We all want to be first, but if you’ve had to do an hour of Real Life work, you’ve missed 200 tweets, you’ve got 97 incoming tracks on Soundcloud and suddenly a three minute song seems just.too.long. The next one might be better, or maybe the next one. Most of it, of course, is going to be a lame, half-arsed version of whatever already washed out genre is currently getting the most tags on any one of the countless blogs you follow. Our attention span lasts abo… erm, what was I saying?

Oh yeah, Cults. Cults are a buzz band, or were a buzz band, might already be a so-over-it-band. They’ve been around roughly no time, have released roughly nothing. They don’t stand a chance. I’m going to give them a chance. I’ve taken my sweet time over Cults, listened to them like I would have once listened to a new cassette, no fast-forward and no rewind (too much like hard work on a tape player), no shuffle, tracks in order, start to finish. Then listened again. And again. It’s been worth it.

‘Abducted’, starts it all, starts it all with a barely audible whisper and then simply erupts into interchanging boy/girl vocals trading despair, guilt, love and heartbreak; you know straight off Cults are in thrall to the big pop ideas, that they know that every song that sticks with you all your life will always revolve around matters regarding that damned beating heart of yours. That’s how you get people to take notice in the first place, and that’s how you keep ‘em hooked.

This isn’t a masterpiece, but it is a great debut record. It’s got the faults you might expect from a first offering; the influences are beyond worn-on-the-sleeve, they’re almost tattooed onto their eyeballs. But, hell, when those influences ricochet between The Ronettes and The Ramones with a healthy dose of JAMC scuzz thrown in then bring it on. Let’s revel in a band so in love with music, and, hell, with such impeccably refined taste. Anyway, if this was just a dumb rehash of what’s gone before it wouldn’t work. It needs smarts, it needs to playfully toy with the nostalgia. ‘Bumper’ is so utterly The Shangri Las’ ’Give Him A Great Big Kiss’ that at first you’re dumbstruck, then thrilled with the knowing cheek, and finally just adoring a genuinely brilliant pop song which outgrows its roots and develops its own storming personality.

The more you listen, the more the weak points matter less, or find a counterpoint to balance them out. ‘Never Heal Myself’ doesn’t do much, but contains a moment of pure gold. A turn of the heel, wink of the eye, perfectly poised two fingered ‘well, fuck you’ that makes you rejoice in the genius of a perfectly timed swear and tells you all you need to know about Madeline Follin’s character. This ain’t someone to muck around.

Sure, ok, for a thirty four minute album there’s maybe two or three moments that aren’t quite memorable enough. ‘Go Outside’ quickly loses is lustre and ‘Bad Things’ has passed by on every listen without making ears prick up or the heart skip a beat. But, then, right at the end there’s ‘Rave On’, a precious glimpse into the Cults’ future and promise, a swirling monster of a song, destroying any accusations of too much sheen and one-trick-ponyisms with a metropolis sized chorus telling you to face up to life’s problems, get over the crap, get over yourself and just, yeah, rave on. Priceless advice and a stunning finale. Worth listening to again and again and again.