Not since France’s Committee of Public Safety invoked the guillotine to tear apart the fabric of French society has there been a more pertinent time for a record inspired by decapitation. But while the promotional material for Pale Heads’ debut album suggests it’s predominantly about that brutal procedure, Headless is less an act of terror than a series of confronting punk rock moments.
It starts ominously with Thomy Cut Off a Head; a simple lick surrenders to a cascade of punk noise and Tom Lyncoln’s emphatic ranting (“Everybody’s cutting off heads” – of course they are). The manic musical narrative of Pale Head makes Pixies seem like The Beach Boys, while I Can’t Lose You is Digger & the Pussycats and Fitz of Depression in unholy matrimony and Milk Eyes is Mark of Cain on horse tranquiliser. Transitioning Out is a frantic journey down the back roads of the ’70s LA punk scene, Devotion is snotty English punk through a disaffected Australian suburban lens and Homeless is the soundtrack for dislocation in a world obsessed with conformity and sameness.
Small Town Casualty offers an invective-laden counterpoint to recent government-sponsored attempts to talk up the benefits of life in regional Australia, Power and Privilege blends abrasive political commentary and Dinosaur Jr licks, and Accountancy is Hard offers a euphemistic, eardrum-shattering explanation of the unfavourable economics of the rock’n’roll lifestyle. The Pits is anything but what the title suggests – check out the lick for an example of the subtle beauty of caustic punk rock simplicity – and the sparse, no wave elegance of Chrome is to die for. The album’s final track, Headless, mutates from an English pop song about love into a cathartic expression of emotional pain. There’s a lot to love about Pale Heads – you’ve just got to lose your head to understand.
BY PATRICK EMERY
