Forget Cassettes

As a music writer, I feel almost obliged to dig bands like Forget Cassettes. I wish I could commend ‘Salt’ for its rudimentary, bare arse production, lack of discernable melodies or how it schizophrenically veers from cobweb-blasting’ thrash-outs to dark, fragile interludes. But, whilst the Nashville-based trio enable reviewers to overstuff each sentence with fancy words and adjectives, ‘Salt’ is, ultimately, a terribly dull listen. It reminds me of these two riot girl-types I knew in school who used to lap up dirge-like indie-rock like a cat does milk. It didn’t sound much better even then.

There’s a certain rough n’ ready charm to ‘Venison’ and it sounds like Forget Cassettes are making a big old racket to their hearts’ content. Nowt wrong with that, but any charm is cancelled out by a seemingly po-faced, indier-than-thou approach, as if to say Forget Cassettes are too cool for tunes. By the time ‘Nicholas’ rolls around, it seems like an age since this album started and I’m only on track four. It may find a more sympathetic audience with fans of early PJ Harvey but, all told, I’m simply a sucker for songs - bit fat choruses and all.

Ross Halewood