Damien

Offering the scene a sole ep in ’84 were four German-transplanted Brits that looked more like late-’70s casualties than late-progenitors to a decade that was already well on its way. Yeah I know, looks aren’t everything, but with the help of some upper-teens song titles, this decade profiling unfortunately is the rivets that make steady this disc’s much-mirrored musical description. Yep, time to prepare for disappointment, and let’s face it, if a femme fatale cover like this didn’t hurl a bucket of molten doubt and fear into the heart of the serious shaghead, then he should really consider a headband or even a barrette or two to keep the hair outta his eyes.

Then again, who am I trying to kid? We’re no better than that guy, and eventually we all get suckered into purchasing a dunce cap we’ll wear a few times before finally wising up. Yet I thought I was onto something here with “U+Me 2” and its immediate flair for fairly wild, free-for-all guitar chaos that began to shine the cover’s butt to an insightful sheen, a sheen that I construed as optimism or, y'know, maybe even hope.

Falling for this good-fer-nuthin’ surprise = a fall flat on my face.

As I lay face-first in the dirt, it turns out the basic needs of these songs are fueled by good ‘ol everyday hard rock, and almost only through luck sputter with just enough early and fat-free traditional metal to keep them within lobbed lowball swinging distance. Good, where’s my bat?

While I rummage through the garage, five tracks wander through cornfield after cornfield of this done-near-death stuff the really early ‘80s would keep closer to its breast if it had more than just guitarist Tony Clark’s Roland Jupiter 8 and guitar synth softening up the start of “Words” (along with some Spanish-style acoustics), the ep’s half-decent closer, accepted mainly due to its chorus. “U+Me 2” follows its opening subterfuge with “Big Tits (We Know)”, two songs that would be the disc’s liveliest 7+ minutes that try pretty hard to party but are just a little too lame to get people outside to watch. “Credit Card Lover” is motionless like a statue and is about as agile, meanwhile the shrubbery in front of her house is more expressive than “The Girl Next Door”, and it’s in these songs especially where songwriting succeeds in being as detail-packed and technique-filled as the lint trap of my dryer. And depending on how fully more keyboards were integrated, it could’ve either blessed Damien with broader vision or diced it up even narrower for the garbage disposal, and don’t even think I’m losing any sleep over the possibilities.

Surely there are people who would and do dig this, but I find it bland to say the most.

Fun facts 98 and 14f: 1) according to the fine print, special vocal credit go to Manuela Ruszcynski on “Last Change”, a song that doesn’t even appear here, and 2) there’s no word on where, when, or why Words became the part-time title of this thing.