Like so many scrappy, pub-rocking British blokes before them, Palma Violets face an awkward proposition when presenting its debut record 180 on this side of the pond. Because they've received ecstatic acclaim from the most excitable parts of the English music press, they will inevitably be described as “hyped” or (worse) “over-hyped.” And this will impact how 180 is perceived in this country, because of the aforementioned long line of scrappy (and hyped!) pub-rocking British blokes that have tried and failed to make an impression in the States. But Palma Violets aren’t actually being shoved down any American throats-- the group’s energetic classic-rock re-workings are the polar opposite of what’s considered fashionable in our national music press. Over here, Palma Violets are in the untenable position of seeming vastly oversold while really being a huge underdog.
180 is an appropriately modest yet likeable effort for an underdog act-- bigger on heart than brains, the record’s lack of sophistication speaks to the bands members’ age and limited experience (they’ve been together for less than a year and a half) as well as their dearth of cynicism or guile. Palma Violets play proudly sloppy rock‘n’roll that unapologetically draws from the most obvious sources imaginable for a young band from London: the Clash, the Velvets, the Doors, a little Springsteen, Oasis’ Definitely Maybe, Clinic’s Internal Wrangler, the first couple of Libertines singles. Given that the band members all hover on the north and south sides of 20, it’s fair to assume that they’ve only been listening to those bands for a few years. Rock music probably entered their lives with the Arctic Monkeys, and they’re still thrilled by it. 180 is an act of evangelism from giddy enthusiasts who don’t know how well-worn these sounds are because they’re new to them.
The single that started the mini-wave of Palma-mania in the band’s home country is “Best of Friends”, which is placed at the start of 180 like an invitation*.* Truth be told, it is a great song, with a tightly strummed guitar riff pitched somewhere between punk and Merseybeat and a bear-hug of a chorus hollered with beery gusto by guitarist Sam Fryer and bassist Chilli Jenson. The excitable chemistry between Fryer and Jesson is what ignites Palma Violets’ lauded concerts. On “Best of Friends,” they consciously grasp for the legendary shouty harmonizers of Brit-rock’s past, and while they’re no Strummer and Jones, they squarely nail the pint-hoisting romanticism of fresh-faced pals forming a gang and striking out against the world. Lyrically, “Best of Friends” is like a prequel to Faces’ “Ooh La La,” where the sting of a busted-up romance (even if it’s brushed off when the guys sing, “I wanna be your best friend/ I don’t want you to be my girl”) is still fresh and not yet imbued with the wisdom that will come in retrospect. “Best of Friends” is also the rare instance where women show up in the universe of 180; what follows is strictly boy stuff.
The production on 180 (capably handled by Pulp bassist Steve Mackey) wisely emphasizes the fevered intensity of Palma Violets’ live show over the songs, which don’t add up to much beyond their record-collector parts. If Mackey’s only instruction to the band wasn’t “just plug in and plays, lads,” it could’ve been: 180 is structured like a gig, with the attention-grabbing hit followed by fun but less memorable tracks that build gradually in excitement. The secret weapon throughout is keyboardist Pete Mayhew who, judging by his licks, is influenced exclusively by the Doors’ “Light My Fire”, the Velvet Underground’s "Sister Ray", “and Faces’ “Stay with Me”. Mayhew supplies trance-y drone to “Step Up for the Cool Cats” and a menacing psychedelic patina to “Chicken Dippers”, almost single-handedly preventing 180 from relying too heavily on the more predictable, monochromatic guitar-rock bravado of songs like “Johnny Bagga’ Donuts”, the album’s loudest and dumbest track (in a good way).
No, Palma Violets don’t deserve the amount of ink they’ve received overseas. The songwriting is a little undercooked: “We Found Love” is rife with lyrical groaners (“gonna find myself a ladyfriend and stick by her until the end”) and ends with a direct lift of the riff from “Sweet Jane". Palma Violets aren’t there yet; if they aren’t tossed on the young rock dude scrap heap too quickly, they might just get there. But the best moments of 180 transcend matters of craft. Palma Violets are reminiscent of what it’s like to hear rock music for the first time, and not have anything clever to say in response. Sometimes a good racket speaks louder than words.
