pyncher: Every Town Needs A Stranger EP                

Cracked Ankles Records

Download out now
Vinyl available 24 October

Soon to be Mancunian royalty collect up their recent musical past and draw a line in the sand for future reference. Currently touring both with the mighty The Wytches and out on their own, this is simply the release that proves their brilliance, notes MK Bennett

A journey through the deep south of both America and the UK via Salford and Withington Baths, this magnificent collection of songs is designed to be played on a loop with the utility of an appropriately large bass bin. Partly, its magnificence comes from the egalitarian approach to songwriting and influences, where the criteria seem to be that there’s no criteria at all. The ‘if it sounds good, leave it in’ approach is reminiscent of The Fall when Brix was in the band, when the abrasive parts were offset by a Californian sweetness, a lighter touch that suited the band, and this band,  entirely.

Perhaps the decision not to capitalize the name (uncapitalise? ) is a reflection of the general attitude of fairness and their belief in commonality and family; perhaps they preferred the aesthetic. The whole Spotify issue, which has led them to remove a couple of songs from digital and release them only on the vinyl edition, and the lead single and work of effortless excellence Steely Dan, will be released as a seven-inch single instead, proceeds from which will go to War Child. Being ridiculously decent remains a political act, now more than ever.

In its full form, then, what pyncher have dubbed ‘permanent media ‘means this EP runs to 11 glorious tracks, an assembled amalgamation of the last 40 years or so of outsider music into a perfect capsule of ice-cool Gen Z wonder.

We start with ‘Get Along,’ a propulsive Krautrock meets 70s Europop number with a vibrant oddness, a deft and changeable mix of Devo and Suicide, the weirdly superb breakdown, and haunting backing vocals are a good example of how the constant push and pull toward their art keeps the songs always on the move. It shouldn’t work, but it does so gloriously. Back To The Country is something else entirely, T-Rex reimagined by The Beta Band, a skipping bass groove locked into a punk sneer; it would have fitted in Performance while Jagger and Pallenberg enacted reality through soft focus filters. Even the ending is outstanding, where it sounds like the drummer simply gets up and walks off, something different grabbing his attention.

Hippopotamus Boy is all angles and squared off riffs, another fantastic bassline rumbling under the floor as they reinvent themselves as the vampire bar band from Dusk Til Dawn, the ghost of The Cramps and Lux Interior prowling the stage behind them, Screamin’ Jay Hawkins opening his coffin in approval. A voice that moans, ‘ Oh, I don’t wanna be like you. ‘Steely Dan itself follows, their glued together vehicle coaxing both a vocal that sounds like a condemned man confessing, and a song that is somehow both CBGB’s era Television and Witch Trials era Fall, it is a song wise beyond its years, a stumble through the unknown, it locks in and stays locked in, the guitar surfing through into resolution. Song of the year, presuming it was released this year.

At The Seaside starts with another slinky alien bassline, a whispered slow build toward an initially ghostly stream of consciousness, which occasionally breaks into a swirling mass of profoundly dystopian dread. The backing vocals snake in and out of the mix and disappear. A sign of the times. Space Rocket Simulator returns to ground zero with a slight glam stomp before it drops down to a C86 mumble. It then swaps easily between the two somehow, while a joyfully melodious noise climbs to the front and centre.

It is a high compliment to the four of them ( Sam, guitar and lead vocals, Brittany, bass and vocals, Harvey, guitar and vocals and Jack, drums and vocals ) that what seems like a disparate cocktail, sometimes in the same song, coagulates into the brilliance that it very often does. This insistence on the team as a whole, a collective working toward a common goal is often claimed by bands selling themselves as an ideal, but it is rarely heard in the music as clearly as it is here.

Shapeshifter skulks through alleyways, blood dripping from its hands, a Birthday Party slice of gothic splendour bearing down before a magnificent break of descending chords splinters into a near run, a witness to shredded guitars as the bass continues on its malevolent way. There is a clear and deliberate coherence here, a theme of decay, of things that seem broken, that are broken. The music connects us all, though, and this music is joyous and brings you home, brings you peace.

Tired Eyes and Every Town Needs A Stranger itself are the vinyl exceptions, with Tired Eyes first, a rock and roll song passing through southern strangeness, a sound heard when your ear is pressed to the wall of a strange hotel room, muted suggestion and Lynchian bar rooms. The guitar is tremulous, winding around the vocal until the rhythm section comes in and straightens it out. Every Town Needs A Stranger is less mysterious but just as evocative, the melancholy just below the surface, a seemingly straightforward Motorik grind with a robotic call and response and enough hooks to knock a horse unconscious. Lead singer Sam sounds permanently on edge as he tries to push back against the world, his nervy brilliance forever wavering between northern surety and a Transatlantic curse he can’t quite name.

Dirty Feet is the accumulation of a million different influences, the soaking in of past Mancunian genius, Magazine meets Mark E Smith meets Devoto’s drawl and Shelly’s mannerisms. It is slightly under 5 minutes of pure northern beauty. You can hear Hannett grumbling and Wilson laughing. Appropriately, it doesn’t attempt to move past the glory of Dirty Feet, as Goodbye Old Friend is a short sketch, an echo of a forgotten folk song, a ballad brought up from the mines finishes the record proper.

A lot is being written about pop music currently and rightfully so, but this isn’t that. There’s no ephemeral nature to this; it sits squarely within a regional legacy of off the square, left of centre works of genuine marvel. A contender for album of the year at this late stage is unexpected but happily heard. This is a timeless and often stunning bunch of songs, everything and everyone at the top of their game, and an absolute triumph; these are truly and wonderfully songs from under the floorboards.

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All words by MK Bennett, you can find his author’s archive here plus his Twitter and Instagram