So, this is the way you are supposed to find out about Green Buzzard. Having never released anything prior to this, and not playing their first show until July 17 in Sydney, they are announced as the new signings to I Oh You, and a video is dropped. These are the facts as we have been allowed to know them about the song:
- The video is shot in a house and contains a considerable degree of farting about
- There are a lot of quite hairy, angularly good-looking blokes smoking cigarettes
- It is shot in deliberately awful quality
- There are no women in the band
- The song has that phased guitar riff over some meatier rhythm, with the standard-issue indie beat rattling away under it, while the singer sneers a bit whie delivering proper earworm-quality melodic hooks, while making no real narrative sense.
Take all that together (including and especially the way we have all ‘discovered’ them) and as if by magic it’s the 90s all over again. There is something in this track that is absolutely dead-on from something I heard back in the day, but for the damn life of me I can’t place it.
It’s too scratchy for Mock Turtles or Northside or Shed Seven (or even early Oasis), but it’s too polished and Mancunian and hint-of-dance for Ned’s Atomic Dustbin. It’s not Scottish enough for Urusei Yatsura, or bleepy enough for fellow instant-famers Bis. A mate reckoned he heard some Cocteau Twins in there too, for crying out loud. It’s doing my mind full in.
While I ponder that though, I’m going to go back to the way this band came into the world – via a record label. Seriously, when was the last time *that* happened? A band sitting at home, recording demos, sending them to labels, getting signed, recording a video and then being spaffed out onto the airwaves. Is it just me marvelling at how pre-internet this all is?
Anyway, we’ll no doubt learn more, but for now – and as much as my innate suspicion of this sort of thing wants to disagree – this is a brilliant damn song, an escape hatch from real life’s grind and drudge. It’s radio-friendly but it’s still scratched and scuffed, It’s Friday night in the local after a tough week, distilled and bottled. It’s beaming in from another age for sure, but it certainly ain’t the weaker for it.