A-House's sound is built on the solid granite
foundations of a few rock cliches. You know
the sort of things: galloping drums, thunderous
bass, guitar chords that fly like shrapnel,
hearty vocals, spirited choruses, and lyrical
slogans. But don't let that put you off.
Where the value of A House could have plummeted
at the hands of a pop market keen to invest
in modernisiation, they retain an appeal
of great architectureal character.
Blanco-Y-Negro would like to think that while
Luddities such as The Wedding Present - with
whom A-House have much in common - seem to
be experiencing a temporary lack of interest,
their own properties - which also include
James - possess enough special features of
their own to warrant immediate attention.
When A-House open up with 'Call Me
Blue,'
they already have a fire in the hearth.
This
has much to do with David Couse's rallying
cry of a vocal which calls to arms
the band's
feverish support and, in an industrial
struggle,
would probably achieve a general strike.
He's an excitable fellow who, unlike
The
Weddies' David Gedge who affects a
deceptively
brutish vulnerability, seems to wilfully
encourage revence and retribution.
Although songs and titles convey an
abruptness
popularised by Morrissey and endorsed
by
Gedge ('I Want To Kill Something',
'Watch
Out, You're Dead'), and go on to assure
us
that what they say is socially real
so therefore
must be right, A House are the faithful
servants
of fairness.
'I'll Always Be Grateful' is a splendidly
pastcral admission of selfishness.
'That's
Not The Truth' poisons the ear that
poisons
the music journalist's pen, while 'Violent
Love' sentences the woman beater to
lifelong
shame.
Spiritually, A-House echo the literary
rather
than intellectual thoughtfulness of
James,
for whom words and pictorial images
are mysterious
pointers to a slightly elusive sensitivity.
Only A-House aren't as haunting. Snatches
of lyrics are splashed in bold, colourful
lettering on a sleeve which, like the
record
within, relies on evergy rather than
expertise.
A House are eager to please and do
not labour
the potential limitations of their
creeping
bombass content with 13 short songs
of speculative
importance.
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