From the off, immediately a band that doesn't sound like one called The Burning Hell, playing a record called Garbage Island. Declaring itself early as a band in the line of Lou Reed at his friendliest and most indie rather than one in thrall to Tony Iommi's school of thinking as you might anticipate.
The record soon declares itself as one of those cutesy, back to t-shirts and shorts kiddies parties way, way back we're well accustomed to. Male and female harmonies, rinky dink keyboards and the kind of obsessional nostalgia fests for early teenage scrapes that we've become familiar with on Jeffrey Lewis, Wave Picture and Daniel Johnson.
Juvenilia essentially but a whole vein of the Indie Canon has been tied up with this strain of thinking since the early days of Jonathan Richman, Jad Fair and Dean Wareham. The Burning Hell make you feel like you're watching Juno or one of your favourite Wes Anderson movies just one more time while organising all the B-52's and Postcard records you bought in your youth one more time, and that could never be a bad thing. File under Quirky.
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