Ipecac have a knack for locating the weird and the wonderful, and Les Butcherettes’ second album release, ‘Cry Is For The Flies’ is definitely wonderful.
The garage-punk trio are pitched as being like the brilliant offspring of Luis Bunuel and PJ Harvey, and it’s a magnificently spiky, serrated work, raw and passionate.
‘I find it hard to articulate / I find it hard to pronounce these words’ Teri Gender Bender yodels and hollers at the front end of the album, on the stomping ‘Burn the Scab’. She’s selling herself short, of course: when she’s short of words, the music and the delivery speaks for her. And this is driving punk rock at its best. It’s perhaps a sad indictment on society that a female voice against such an abrasive noise can still stand out in this day and age, but by the same token, Les Butcherettes pack such force they’d stand out regardless.
The slower bass-led ‘My Child’ is dark and malevolent before the slow-building ‘Your Weakness Gives Me Life’ gets anthemic. Henry Rollins steps in with some spoken word action for the intro to the heads-down punk mosh of ‘Moment of Guilt’ and if that’s not a recommendation for the band, I don’t know what is.
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Shirley Manson guests on ‘Shame, You’re All I’ve Got’ and brings a different kind of feel to the dislocated guitars, something crisp, sultry and dramatic, something more accessible, something even approaching pop, albeit with some dark hues. Edgy post-punk informs ‘Normal, You Were’ and it’s as sharp as a dagger, a noirish, gothy piece that surprises with its twisted flamboyance and sense of theatre.
The gypsy punk ruckus of ‘Poet from Nowhere’ provides another change of angle, before the desperate ‘Crying Out to the Flies’ grinds the album to a gloomy close.
Wildly unpredictable, ‘Cry Is For The Flies’ feels tense and beautifully dangerous, like someone who you know you should give a wide berth but can’t resist because they’re so utterly compelling. Intense.
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