Hardly a rock historian, who is what the Americans aptly call “in his / her right mind” and whose negation we so charmingly call here in Vienna as “not entirely with consolation” will deny the Gun Club signpost merits. Neither can anyone seriously claim that the band around the singer and songwriter Jeffrey Lee Pierce, who is infested with many unhealthy addictions, has formally launched any innovations. On the contrary, the stylistic devices she used were, to put it casually, as old as humanity itself. What made the Gun Club exemplary was the composition of these fossil idioms and the self-image with which this mangy bastard presented and with his time was short-circuited.
Archaic stylistic devices
It is no wonder that over the decades, bands have been taking lessons in this school time and time again. The White Stripes were the most commercially successful; Sorry from London, also a woman / man duo, are currently their most interesting graduates. On the one hand, they are typical representatives of the present by demonstrating – above all, of course, in the texts – what modern technologies cause in the psyche and behavior of people. However, in that they represent associative volatility, fragmentation, driveability musically not with “contemporary”, that is, adequate to the causer, but on the contrary, completely archaic stylistic devices, they pay homage to the indestructible fascination of the incompatible like the great ancients: somewhere in the hereafter two parallel ones meet Straight lines together.
Sorry have made their way – also in this very much today – over the Internet. First with mix tapes from their demos. Only then did the compulsory singles follow, with which they developed a veritable insider reputation. This has created enough material for a proper official LP debut (and probably also a good supply for its successor). It is remarkable how little energy was lost on this route. The sound on “925”, as Sorry’s full-length debut is titled, has passed through several stages of refining, but still sounds raw and gripping and often slides along the edge of the explosion.
As can almost be seen from the above-mentioned recourse, the dominating sound producers in Sorry guitars are: Loud, powerful, rough guitars, played by the two protagonists Asha Lorenz and Louis O’Bryen. There are also a few cheap analog synthesizers, occasionally languishes in a sad or outrageous saxophone, and everything is based on the compact rhythm axis from Lincoln Barrett (drums) and Campbell Baum (bass).
Murderous blues rock
Both Lorenz and O’Bryen sing. But their parts are not divided equally, but clearly dominated by Lorenz’s deceptively sonorous, often a little cunning, sometimes boring sounding voice. O’Bryen is allowed to supplement here and there with his deep, somehow almost patsch sounding organ, to give keywords, to comment, to counteract, and sometimes to enter into dialogue with the protagonist. In any case, he’s always only second – not necessarily in the band hierarchy, but in the dramaturgy of the album.
It starts with murderous blues rock and a story that Lorenz and O’Bryen tell from their different perspectives: In a bar, which both apparently visit each night, a woman tries to get a man’s attention. This is not hidden from him, but only creates an escape reflex in him – which in turn spurs her ambition to fish him even more.
Wanting to experience lust for the price of possible frustrations is a prominent topic on this record, which Lorenz most explicitly describes with a description of a manic, but anything but romantic night with a worn skirt.’n’-roll star. Losing fear and depression are his natural relatives. Sarcasm and (pop) historical awareness are added as sporadic companions: “Then I think to myself / what a wonderful world / what a hell of a day.”