Strange Boys

Be Brave

By Simon Rowbotham

Strange Boys are peculiar lads. As a group of hip young men hailing from Austin, Texas, their sound is an almost predictable mixture of dusty sixties riffage and Brit-rock swagger of early Stones proportions. However recent interviews have seen the band indignantly decline comparisons with rock ‘n’ roll revolutionaries like Chuck Berry and the 13th Floor Elevators, even claiming that the vastly influential late 60s garage rock compilation Nuggets as “filled mostly with boring stuff and horrible lyrics.” ... What?

Album opener ‘I See’ demonstrates an obvious influence from the Nuggets book of rock, as a dusty harmonica worthy of Cannon’s Jug Stompers (yes, that’s a real band) soulfully croaks atop a hazily bashed-out drumbeat. An artfully decrepit chord progression provides the platform for singer Ryan Sambol’s Dylanesque slurring vocalising to stumble in drunkenly, ostensibly after having one too many a sarsaparilla at Big John’s Saloon. From this track alone it’s quite clear that, despite their attempt to distance themselves from it, Strange Boys’ invocation of the classic rock ‘n’ roll sound is as authentic-sounding as they come.

The raucous opener quickly fades into ‘A Walk on the Bleach’, opening with soporific surf lullaby, over which Sambol croaks bluesy lyrics invoking the old American trope of an escape to “the promised land”: a loaded image which seems to signal the reintroduction of the full band’s swinging rhythms which were seen so clearly earlier in the album. Lyrically, there seems to be hypocrisy in the band’s slagging of Nuggets, as ‘A Walk on the Bleach’ seems to provide very little for a lyric-leaning listener to sink their teeth into - that is if they even manage to discern the words through Sambol’s drawl. Instead, the listener’s attention is directed towards the rolling guitars, pounding bass and cohesive drum efforts.

The title track is an intensely bluesy number, rife with a penchant for call and response. Every instrument or voice seems to have a reply to every dominant melody and, as a raspy saxophone delightfully squeals over the top of them, Sambol replies by croakily imitating the sax in his own vernacular. It’s a triumph of modern rock ‘n’ roll that The White Stripes could only dream of. Whatever it is Strange Boys are trying to achieve in disavowing the past can be forgiven. Their album is bloody brilliant. (8)