Currently making headlines for their already-legendary parties/ gigs in their native Eel Pie Island HQ and for having singer Blaine's Dad Henry in the band, MYSTERY JETS ought to be feted for something far more important: the music.
Yes, I know that's a novelty in our impatient, soundbite-crazy modern world, but the Mystery Jets really are a classic what-the-fuck-was-that??? kind of experience, at least if the three tracks on this enigmatically fabulous single are anything to go by.
Main track "On My Feet" is really quite a headrush. It's initially beaty, discofied gear featuring a mantra-fuelled chorus of "Get me...on my feet!" which prepares you to get up and dancing...only to stop dead. Ha! Gotcha! Then it goes all wonky and Syd Barrett-esque before Beach Boys/ Futureheads harmonies start lapping at the shore and seducing us with that lovely bittersweet refrain "all our yesteryears will be erased". Then, just as you're getting orientated again, they pull the rug away with squalls of guitars, synths, melodicas and finally bring the initial refrain full circle once again. Sheesh. In terms of comparisons, only the best muggleheaded sonic explorers such as the Super Furries and The Beta Band spring to mind, but even these are sketchy at best.
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Although not quite in the same league, additional tracks "Drownin' Not Wavin'" and "The Tale" are still worthy of investigation too. The former is downbeat and acoustic from the off, but takes on the requisite psychedelic moodswings as it see-saws its' way to its' stoned and immaculate conclusion of "Every time I drown in quicksand, I mistake it for the beach." Super. What did you say your dealer's name was again, lads?
Final track "The Tale" is pretty damn fantastic, too. It's real sparse and frail, with acoustic guitar and treadrops of piano being ousted by rolling, martial drums and a queasy, sea-shanty feel taking over. It's childlike and almost baroque and very, very different and once again confirms that there's something pretty special stirring in the collective loins of this mighty strange, but rather wonderful band.
So time to clear the runway and alert air traffic control, then. For The Mystery Jets are about to enter the great unwashed's airspace and cruise at precariously high altitudes.
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