Back in the mists of, ooh, 2003, W&H discovered a high-quality two-track demo from North-Western quartet THE SHALLOW CALL. It came with quite a pedigree, with production from Steve Powell, of La's, Shack and The Coral fame. Not a bad big-up for an unsigned band, and highly justified on the basis of the two songs involved.
Now, a lengthy 18 months later, we receive a fully-finished EP from the band. Powell isn't in evidence and it seems the band remain unsigned, though it's again hard to comprehend judging by the contents.
Still, while the world catches up, let's enjoy THE SHALLOW CALL while they continue to exist on a relatively small scale, because this enigmatically-housed three-tracker "A Dark Ballad In Three Parts" is a devilishly good calling card.
The songs are a trilogy of sorts and clearly murder most foul (along with feverish desire, obsessive jealousy and hellish revenge) is on the agenda. Opening track "The Bride At Every Wedding, The Corpse At Every Wake" is a fine piece of work, with Phil O'Driscoll soon caught up in murky, sketchy skullduggery. "I tore her dress, under the lonely bridge, I got my fingers wet," he confesses early on, as the tense, descriptive music chimes, but never jangles. Despite the La's/ Shack comparisons that came with Steve Powell, The Shallow Call are darker and more windblown, favourably recalling noted moodists like The Open on occasion.
The pace refuses to slacken as the EP progresses. Steeped in Mexicano blood'n'weirdness, "Rouse The Rebels" has a far more authentic outlaw spirit than Liverpudlians The Bandits could ever muster, although on this occasion the staccato guitar figures aren't entirely in a different ballpark to The Coral. Nonethless, the comparison certainly isn't odious and the band ride out the drama to fine effect.
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And talking of things south of the border, the EP is rounded off by revenge-instilled set piece "Mexico Blues": a tune that made the band's initial demo in (I think) a slightly improved form, though the Love-style Mariachi trumpet (from guest Trevor Banks) was present back then if I recall correctly. "And now I've got blood on my shoes," sings Phil in a half-gasp, before concluding with "in the end the only truth came from the web of deceit you spun" and sounding stung and utterly duped into the bargain. It paves the way for an impressive final diablo-fuelled coda that's played with guts, inventiveness and proficiency.
The Shallow Call, then, are a name to whisper with some reverence. Their dark, enigmatic guitar pop suggests they should be wanted men with a price on their collective head (or at least with the promise of an advance) in the very near future.
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