Born out of a deep friendship between ex-Moldy Peach Kimya Dawson and Jeffrey & Jack Lewis, The Bundles break away from all that the term
with their coming together being an almost organic occurrence.
Unsurprisingly this has led to an album where there is no clash of egos
and no one voice crying out to be heard over any other,
which is no doubt key to producing an album rich in the personalities and idiosyncratic tendencies of all involved.
Rather than temporarily wriggle out of the shackles their regular outfits offer, though, they have seen fit to continue wearing them,
which, when dealing with songwriters of this calibre, can’t help but feel like a wasted opportunity.
It’s a move that has resulted in an album of, rather predictably, reliable lo-fi
alternative folk laced
with a helping of geek humour that cements this as being a release that will suit the needs of aficionado’s
nicely enough but leave those not so keen content with what they already possess.
Peter Hook presenting the whole of ‘Unknown Pleasures’ without a hand from anyone else involved with the seminal record’s creation was,
let’s face it, never likely to be great, The Bundles but as the bassist warbles through Joy Division’s and post-punk’s greatest work,
sometimes imitating Ian Curtis’ baritone croak but mostly giving it a Vic Reeves club singer spin, most soon trade the red-faced novelty for Flats in the Rough Trade Shops tent.
In Hooky’s defence, as clearly misjudged as his performance is – and
regardless of his motives – he couldn’t have performed in front of a more difficult audience.
The 1234 folk not only know ‘Unknown Pleasures’ like the back of their
Ray Bans but, quite rightly, adore every second of it.
And even if they didn’t, there’s a definite sense of the unimpressed hanging
around Shoreditch Park
Wavves getting mumbles of “fuck off” between songs, for no real reason; Fucked Up receiving a reception far more muted than their ferociously belched set deserves.
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