So here it is, finally, the long-awaited first Cult Of Youth album.
Their previous efforts showed impressive maturity, this one just oversteps everything they did before. As simple as that. So let’s keep it simple, this is what this album is to me: simple and beautiful, just like the Ramones.
Cult Of Youth is a real band now, and there’s violin, and there are drums and no, it doesn’t make them sound like the fucking Pogues either… More Folk than Dark, Cult Of Youth plays a music of celebration. No militaria gimmicks, cheap pan-germanist occultism and disenchanted tales about western decay and homemade alcoholic decoctions. Cult Of Youth is through with the Dark Folk carnival.
No, here, ladies and gentlemen, you will hear throats get scorched and drums get pounded the punk way. Imagine a choir of sailors drunk on moonshine in a Bornese saloon (but a dive bar in the lower east side will do just fine too). This album got fever, rabid fever. The opener, “Wild West”, will picture you riding the trans-siberian as a blood red sun is cutting through the clouds and a pack of wolves is chasing the train. Romantic right?
Like the final hour of a prussian hussar on the battlefield, Cult Of Youth takes no prisoner and play its music as if there were no tomorrow. And that’s what I really like about this band. This intensity gets dangerously close to a fragile perfection (“Weary”), taking back the Americana folklore to a shamanic trance state (“The Lamb”) or simply writing a irresistible pop anthem (“Lace Up Your Boots”), all sounding like it’s an easy thing for them… The rest of the album is as good as the four songs mentioned in this article.
The influences are still here but they definitely left some room for the songwriting and I’m telling you: this band will be among the leaders of the alternative (name it indie, punk or folk) scene very, very soon. I mean they kinda are already, but not enough people are aware of it yet.
Get your copy here.