Shocked Elevator Family - The Luge (Vol. 1)

Through some inflated backlash against the current wealth of digital instruments on the scene, or maybe just a failure to afford them, lo-fi has taken a poignant stand, no longer a niche genre for the intrepid or pretentious. Bands like Hot Club de Paris, Johnny Foreigner and Sunset Cinema Club have made genuine, distinct musical followings off the premise, while many more stunt their own growth, bowling head first into a faceless mediocrity, where the risk of becoming typecast and vapid are all too common. Birmingham’s Shocked Elevator Family deem themselves a recent product of the process, deviating from main outfit The Reverends. Nonetheless, whether the band are anything to be esteemed remains to be determined.

‘The Luge (Vol. 1)’, the band’s second EP as signed artists, immediately makes a slow, tempered entrance. Opening track ‘Wet Ender’ establishes a comprehensively lethargic style, where a generally understated rhythm section accompanies an emphasis on laxative beats. Byrn Bowen’s vocals, similarly, are lunged outward reluctantly, accentuating the lack of tempo and absence of anything exceeding momentary tremors of energy. It’s a dynamic replicated gratuitously across the record - ‘Sturt and I Say Hi!’ retains allure less through the music than through its narrative vocal streak, while ‘Over The Brother’ presents flitting, thin guitar and steady, meticulous percussion, arguably ‘The Luge’’s weakest track. Of further detriment is a pervading crude quality throughout, not helped by Sunset Cinema Club’s Dom James’ somewhat compromising production effort. Some of the arrangements sound awkward and convoluted, probably reflective of this rudimentary stage in the band’s prowess. This, coupled with the infrequent failure of Byrn Bowen and David Morris’ vocal harmonies, creates a mild but undoubted nonchalance towards the music.

‘The Luge’, however, is never completely introverted. Neither is it a shambles. The subdued melodies of songs like ‘Over The Brother’ and ‘Swarm’ are perturbed by short, scattered intrusions of energy and almost whimsical shifts in tempo, revealing an organic charm rarely found elsewhere. The twinges often assume themselves into complete tracks - ‘B.V Lice’ is a potent, vivified schematic in zeal, augmented by David Morris’ aggressive vocal style. ‘Chavez (Quaalude)’, too, showcases the band’s veracious lyrical talents, accommodating both singers. They present a welcome departure from the leisurely pace predominant throughout ‘The Luge’, incorporating variety where the EP would have otherwise suffered as an absolutely uniform, stock set of painfully similar tracks. The unorthodox musical arrangements, meanwhile, reveal a palpable vein of punk- vocal inquisitions are frequently bashful, punctuated by the intricate instrumentals. Their faults, and the EP’s generally coarse demeanour, though, remain too apparent to be completely disregarded.

‘The Luge’, then, is certainly malleable, genuinely innovative at points, but it never quite exerts itself or becomes completely unique. The result is a “safe” record, posing no significant challenge, albeit projecting a possibly colourful future for the band.