Album Review : Extradition Order - Since The Bomb Dropped
- Written by David Lichfield
Adopting their position in a curious middle ground between Echo and the Bunnymen, Black Sabbath and The Horrors, Extradition Order's post-punk psychedelia is loosely described by the Warrington trio as 'anti-folk'. Although, at 14 tracks it's arguably overlong, there are at least a handful of genuinely enduring ideas to be found within their first long-player. Towering, techno-borrowing basslines flirt wildly with samba-reminsicent percussion in 'Petrol Meets Matches' (a gothic doom-laden take on 'There Goes For Fear'), whilst morbid, ominous organs a la Deep Purple are abundant throughout the majority of proceeedings. Wildly playful, and largely coloured by the more gothic side of the UK guitar lineage, it's difficult to compute or pigeonhole on initial listens. White Lies it is not however.
Though an overriding influence appears to be the Bunnymen (the most weighty example being 'Peterloo', which could easily have been lifted from 'Crocodiles'), there's a scratchy, rockier feel to several tracks than that comparision would suggest, with testing, scratchy growls utilised alongside a vocal delivery that at various points invites comparisions to the more folky work of Graham Coxon (the Syd Barrett acoustics of 'Precious Home'), Ozzy Osbourne (album highlight 'Laura In The Water', a rousing, rapacious Nick Cave-indebted waltz) and a genuinely convincing impression of Ian McCulloch's indie-Sinatra tones (barefaced at various points but most evidently on 'Peterloo').
Next to Primary Colours it could be a neo-psychedelia spoof, but the stomping semitones of 'The Bullet, The Knife and The Ice', suggest an invigorating live experience and substantial cult appeal. Only a contrived, needless attempt at anthemics forming the chorus of 'Candide' spoils the tension whilst at the same time sounding limp and forced. By 'And She Breaks', the Doors-heavy tenth track, the attention begins to wane, and the choice to fit 14 tracks onto the collection seemsa tad indulgent, especially when the tail-end of the album adds little else to the picture that hasn't been exhibited beforehand.
Gothic post-punk with a late 60s/early 70s tinge, and with moments of muted contemplation amongst the belligerent, punk-prog ('Islington Creeper' could almost have been released in 1969). There's a sneering, knowing sense of absurdity and hysteria looming large over proceedings, but a troubling lack of idenitity alongside this. A confusing, collection which would be aided by some robust editing, but a promising template and a smattering of boisterous, unhinged singles.