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๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ - this week: Another Summer by Death By Elephant

Updated: Feb 18

Welcome all to ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ป๐—ป๐—ผ๐—น๐—น๐˜†โ€™๐˜€ ๐—–๐—ผ๐—ฟ๐—ป๐—ฒ๐—ฟ, a series of weekly reviews by Charles Connolly - an artist in his own right. Here, Charles delves into the greatest brand new singles brought to you by the best unsigned artists on our electrifying and eclectic set of ๐™‰๐™š๐™ฌ ๐˜ผ๐™ง๐™ฉ๐™ž๐™จ๐™ฉ ๐™Ž๐™ฅ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™ก๐™ž๐™œ๐™๐™ฉ playlists.


๐˜ผ๐™ฃ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ง ๐™Ž๐™ช๐™ข๐™ข๐™š๐™ง - ๐˜ฟ๐™š๐™–๐™ฉ๐™ ๐™—๐™ฎ ๐™€๐™ก๐™š๐™ฅ๐™๐™–๐™ฃ๐™ฉ


Charles rips his trousers - on purpose. This may not be suitable for children - or even adultsโ€ฆ


This is the modern world. And it often makes me want to take a step back, to a time more real. More tactile and organic. Where things happen in front of your face, rather than via a screen. But then I see the problems of the old English class system, and it makes me want to break free. Free from the rules. Free from the ordinary. Free from the stale and robotic. I want to stand out. I want to be different. I want to rebel. I take to ripping my jeans to relieve some pent up aggression. I pull on my old Dr. Marten boots - irritatingly trendy and in fashion these days. My leather jacket still fits! The final gulp comes with the hair. I razor the sides and reach for the glue. No no, The final gulp comes with the safety pinsโ€ฆ! Here comes Death by Elephant, with their single Another Summer.


Had I been alive, this would have taken me right back to 1976. The official dawn of punk. Itโ€™s rough and real. Death by Elephant seems to naturally capture the smell and fug of the music scene back then. The sweat. The eagerness, youth and energy of a time so long gone. The band is essentially one man - Arthur Francis Piccio, from the Philippines, and only really relies on other members for live gigs - another memory of the pastโ€ฆ? Arthurโ€™s mix is not perfect. Far from it. Which is exactly what makes Another Summer so genuine and vital. It contains exactly zero artefacts from this century, which ironically is what makes it sound utterly fresh and necessary. The guitars clang and jangle with a limp. The drums bash their way through the mix, with no click-track in sight. This is both pent up and pilled-up. Awkward and angular. Jarring and uncaring. It has the Liam Gallagher attitude of โ€œthis is what I do - if you like it: great. If you donโ€™t: fuck offโ€. The Sex Pistols live again! Arthurโ€™s boisterous vocal unashamedly takes centre stage as his shoulders jolt violently and erratically.


But as soon as we get to the chorus, we go back further to where punk really started - the mods. The Who, pre-Polydor. Then the mod revival of The Jam in their prime. Essentially smartened up and more accessible punks. And back we go for another round of pure punk. The bridge however, is somewhat unusual and takes a turn for the different. Arthur throws away the mic and concentrates on bringing the band together for an instrumental section. The guitar turns almost to shimmering celli, building tension before releasing itself back to you in that fine chorus. Eventually Death by Elephant goes half-time for the long and mesmeric outro, with an impressive final long vocal holla from Arthur. A deeper reverb pours in like a general anaesthetic gas, and multiplies fast - dare I say - like a virus. The band hits the floor from exhaustion.


I have kept this short and sweet - or maybe short and sour - for that is the purpose of punk. You may love it. You may hate it. It may shock you. But any way it affects you, it will do just that.


Play it loud, and jump up and down on the spot. May it rid you of our new technological era. Forget for three minutes that the last few decades even occurred. Now THATโ€™S entertainment! Never mind the bollocks.


Listen to ๐˜ผ๐™ฃ๐™ค๐™ฉ๐™๐™š๐™ง ๐™Ž๐™ช๐™ข๐™ข๐™š๐™ง HERE!


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