So, here I was thinking I had my finger on the pulse and was discovering the best things in life before everyone else… but turning up to a Lost Animal gig at 8pm to find it had sold out was something of a wake-up call. Word must’ve got out on this one already, damn it.
Lost Animal is the first solo outlet for Jarrod Quarrell, previously of St Helens. Ex Tropical retains the dark sneer of the excellent St Helens album Heavy Profession, but lets in a bit of dirty funk, sunny calypso and icy electronica – elements that shouldn’t really work together at all. Quarrell plays around with a dark disco sound, not unlike the current directions taken by Geoffrey O’Conner and Darren Sylvester. But the end result, a satisfying twisting of St Helens’ hypnotic darkness into something more playful, is difficult to compare to anything else.
This is very much a solo affair, with a sparser electronic backdrop shedding a little more light on Quarrell’s sinister lyrics and distinctive vocal. But the album also benefits from having some great support musicians in tow. John Lee matches Quarrell’s multi-instrumentalist skills and co-produces the album. Shags Chamberlain (Pikelet, The Smallgoods) has a lot of fun with the bass throughout and also makes a great zombie – check out the gallows-humour clip for Say No To Thugs.
The music takes stripped-back beats, synths, xylophone and – less commonly – guitars, then drops a vocal alongside that feels almost improvised but completely connects to its surrounds. It falls into place from the start of the introductory song, but Quarrell really sinks his teeth in with the snake-charmer groove of Say No To Thugs. The title track, an instrumental that recalls the cool grandeur of Bowie’s Low, makes for a well-judged mid-album break from the established sound, before we’re treated to the restrained beauty of the album’s best track, Lose The Baby.
A key part of the St Helens sound was the dual vocals which helped give the compositions a confrontational edge. When JoJo Petrina’s backing vocals drift in for the sweet, swaying Old Lovers it’s a more comforting accompaniment. You’re coaxed into a false sense of security as the album winds down, with only the closing Sundown recalling the claustrophobic paranoia you’d associate more with St Helens or The New Season. It’s perhaps the least effective thing on here, but only because the other nine tracks hit the nail squarely on the head.
This is an album manages to celebrate T-shirt weather but still keeps its mysterious maker cloaked in darkness. If this is the one and only Lost Animal album, I won’t be mourning its loss like I did when I heard St Helens were disbanding. This is one animal that suits being lost and restless. Who knows what form he’ll take next?
