Another day, another kooky New Cross dwelling three-piece emerge to warp your minds and break your hearts. Pull Tiger Tail deal in the kind of languorous, lo-fi post-punk ditties that Pavement might’ve dreamt up on a smoky summer’s day back in nineteen ninety-indie had they ever developed a penchant for Casio keyboard lines and prepubescent Morrissey impersonations. Harmony-drenched, baroque, and enticingly ramshackle, their exuberant live shows and a handful of DIY-lite demo recordings have set tongues wagging at a very hospitable rate. The trio consists of Marcus (vocals/guitar/keys), Jack (drums/“vibe”) and Davo (bass/synths), who graciously took time out from his no doubt unrelenting schedule to talk tigers, dinosaurs, and Cat Stevens bootlegs.
Humble beginnings, then, and that most glorious of band-shaping concepts: destiny. “We’ve known each other since fate threw us together at school and Jack stole Marcus’s modern language homework,” Davo enthuses. “A band seemed like the logical thing to form.”
Safe to say, logical isn’t the first adjective that springs to mind when lending your ears to this particular racket. And then there’s that toothy feline of a moniker. You’d as soon pull a tiger’s tail as yank a lion’s cock; neither of them particularly sensible concepts, eh lads?
“Hey, you say stupid, we say bravado. It depends on the tiger; age, bellicosity, legs. Also the name stands in defiance of every band who lack the fortitude or imagination to have already used it.”
Fair enough. It’s not just the name smirking in defiance of the done-before, either. Need convincing? Just listen to the infectious stutter-pop of ‘Animator’, or synth-slathered bedroom epic ‘Lock ‘N’ Key’. Not to mention the fuzzed up sad-to-be-young melancholy of ‘Even Good Kids Make Bad Sports’ (key lyric: “Please assume foetal positions as I trample on the best years of our lives”).
Ask him what they’re currently digging musically, and Davo’s well-nurtured wit springs back into the ring for round two. “We’re digging up all the forgotten relics of bygone ages. Peel sessions, Old Grey Whistles and tape cassettes of live Cat Stevens collaborations with Wire.”
Further random fact-seeking reveals that “Marcus doesn’t like spiders and makes the extraordinary claim that they would be easier to deal with were they the size of dogs, Jack is absurdly fond of rollercoasters and will probably design the one that kills us, and I plan to write the Great American Novel. From the perspective of a caged circus tiger.”
Great American Novels aside, the immediate future will apparently be spent recording a demo or five, and “fitting in as many life-shaping experiences as possible, so as to have something to write about for future albums beyond the ‘humdrum of touring’ or ‘the flipside of fame’. Possibly skydiving. With sharks.”
“Just wait; Glastonbury, six years from now. Main stage, end-of-the-world fireworks, and full-sized animatronic dinosaurs.”
Oh, and lest he forget: the band will be unleashing a single upon the buying public come September through label of the moment Young & Lost Recordings. Ask him to think really far ahead, however, and that ever-fertile imagination reaches dizzying new heights. “Just wait; Glastonbury, six years from now. Main stage, end-of-the-world fireworks, and full-sized animatronic dinosaurs.” Pull Tiger Tail, then. Hear them roar.