Despite their ties to cosmic-kraut rockers Cave, Columbia, MO power trio Heater bring a huge sunshine-y racket on God and Hair, their
debut outing and as far as we're concerned, one of the pre-eminent
noise-pop records released this year. Anyone expecting anything other
than shimmering, good-time southern rock 'n' roll from this lot may as
well turn around and walk back out the door, because despite the fact
that its members share time in heavy hitting kraut/psych-jammers — Jerusalem, and the Starbaskets, and the aforementioned Cave — the album
revels in the grotty, grungy DIY spirit of '93, mostly to stunning
result.
Ramshackle production (provided by Cave's Cooper Crain) only helps
to bolster the stuttering guitars and rough-hewn melodies of “Rad Boys”,
while the sneaky synth lines shot through “Beside Me”'s jaunty guitar
rave-ups are oddly redolent of mid-'90s almost-rans Certain Distant
Suns. Side one closer “Fire Fight” finds the boys getting a bit arty,
as a flail of voices fight to make their way through a sea of chiming
guitar murk before a wash of percussion sends the whole thing drifting
out to sea. The second side begins with the decidedly Guided by
Voices-esque “Dead Byrd”, with ZZ McLuckie even approximating his best
faux-Brit Pollard sneer. They follow that up with the frenetic
three-chord stomp of “Evie Peacock” which they've apparently taken as
their chance to blast out some blistering pop-punk, you know, the kind
you might have found on Doghouse or Big Wheel Rec back in the day.
Despite a few toss-away tracks — “Stoned Roses” and “Tragedy/Infinity”
don't have the crackle or tattered imagination of their counterparts –
Heater have unleashed a debut album that bristles with wry energy and
enough hooks to fill a tackle box, the kind of album that makes you wish
that endless summers were a reality, rather than some far-fetched
fairytale.
