Toasted Heretic : Now In New Nostalgia
I have put off beginning this review for several days
because I just dont know where to begin. What could bring a hackneyed
ex-reviewer such as Phil Rose esq out of retirement and back to the
keyboard when he could be taking pictures or playing with his kid? Well,
none other than the brave, the manly, the anything but obsolete, reborn
like a Celtic Phoenix Toasted Heretic.
But how shall I review Toasted Heretic? This band who once squatted
in my Walthamstow basement and ate cream cheese dipped in baked bean
juice? This band with whom I appeared on stage dressed as a Roman (see
fig. 1) and pinged Tony Wilson on the head with my tin tray which was
emblazoned with the likenesses of Charles and Di? This band who waved
me off on Slatterys coach from Galway with white paper napkins
waved like the white handkerchiefs waved to spare the life of the bull?
This band, without the lead singer of which I would never have had the
nerve to approach that wondrous topless vision in the desert and my
daughter would not be here at all. (see fig 2)
Well I suppose I could shut up about myself and talk about the band.
Toasted Heretic are the biggest band never to be a big band. They strode
Irelands fair isle like a colossus and tales were told around
the fire of the day that daddy hitch hiked to Dublin to see them play
the ball. They routinely packed out venues, they were forcefully ejected
from their own festivals, they courted, seduced and ultimately insulted
Tony Wilson (as mentioned) and thus narrowly avoided the fast approaching
rubble of an imploding Factory Records. Every great opportunity for
success they routinely fouled up in the most glorious of foul mouthed
mid-day radio or lack of corporate line towing. And still they had a
number one hit and were the only cassette-only release to be reviewed
in Q Magazine and on and on and on.
But what is the music, I hear you squeal? Well, for best results turn
on your twiddly Internet browser and point it here
for a snippet of Lost and Found and Ally Seren Rose esq
dancing like a devil. Toasted Heretic are the purest form of intelligent
pop. They are all about the lyrics except that they are arse kicking
musicians of a standard not seen too often in this dirty, dirty world.
Every song is in a different style spanning jazz, pop, rock, country
and punk, and each style, whether its desired effect is to haunt, to
exhilarate, to entrance, each does so with a 10.0 accuracy rating and
a 180 i.q.
If one begins to quote Toasted Heretic lyrics one might end up wasting
the whole page listing the words of J. Gough. All I can say is that
all I ever wanted was to write a lyric as perfect as all you ever
wanted was to write a song as perfect as Take the Skinheads Bowling
but of course you never did. Here be songs that cover the whole
world of emotions, of love, of loss, of scary parties, of loss of childish
drug enjoyment. Nothing is obvious, nothing is clichéd, nothing
is lazily written. If you like life, youll like Toasted Heretic
(note to Julian, that was the pull quote.)
So why the hell should you go to your local record store and buy this
album? Why should you act the lazy goat and stay home and spin your
way to www.CDBaby.com
or maybe www.stephenkingcreative.com and order a copy from the comfort
of your chez longue? Why should you approach you local radio station
and demand with menaces that they play every track off both CDs back
to back and all day long? Why should you throw every other song from
your iPod and replace them with this album burned to the vile little
white plasticky widget over and over until all forty gigabytes are full
of Drown the Browns, You can Always Go Home et al? Why should you have
the cover of their first album painted on the back of your black leather
jacket like a moron?
Ill tell you why, shall I? Because they are quite the greatest
thing to hit the sorry world of pop music since I dont know when.
Utterly original they would put to shame every other fool, buffoon and
dunce who is recording their feeble twittlings if only those buffoons
OK, Im talking shite here. If you really need a list of good attributes
they would include Toasted Heretics range. They can break your
heart with their jazz licks, they can blow your socks off with their
power chords, they can destroy you with their punk rock and they can
lull you to sleep with their classical guitar. They can even rap though
not in a way youd be terribly proud of. Actually I love that track-
not that youll ever hear it for tis lost in the meandering
back alleys of time on a cassette in my cupboard. A word from
Toasted Heretic, dont suck corporate dick. Sage advice indeed.
They can make you laugh, lust or cry with lyrical dexterity such as
I have genuinely never found anywhere else. Indeed, such a list of fine
attributes would also undoubtedly include the fact that their lyrics
turn you into the worst kind of bore, the kind who recites lyrics to
other people because theyre so goddamn great. And what an annoying
fool that will make you.
Best of all, of course, is the fact that the booklet has a picture of
I, Phil Rose esq. urinating in a London street and dressed like a tit.
Well, Im sick of this. Im reminded of why I gave up writing
reviews. They so infrequently actually talk about the product in question
and instead wander off into endless aimless ramblings about me. Blah
blah blah I go, on and on until finally I get to the end of the page
and can hit the Publish to web button.
Visit Toasted Heretic here
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