I’ll confess: I thought the opening ten-or-so second looped sample on this, That Fucking Tank’s second studio full-length, was something I’d heard on a Beastie Boys album, or at least a hip-hop record of some kind. No. Turns out it’s Reef’s ‘Place Your Hands’, at about two minutes and fifteen seconds in. The title, ‘It’s Your Letters’, should have been a give away – the TFI Friday segment of the same name opened with a burst of music by… Yup, Reef. The very same song, actually.
Hang on… should? The connection is tenuous to say the least; you’d need to have had a bizarre flashback to the mid-’90s for it to leap out as manically as Gary Stringer would across a stage when the Butleigh surf-rock crew were, briefly, A Big Deal. More obvious is the Leeds duo’s homage to Bruce Springsteen’s ‘Dancing In The Dark’, titled ‘Bruce Springstonehenge’ – it doesn’t even try to mask its blatant thievery, thus providing a window of absolute accessibility on a record that, at times, tries its hardest to make life difficult for the listener.
Actually, no – backtrack, for a paragraph. First, who is That Fucking Tank? That’ll be James Richard Islip and Andrew Derek Ross Abbott. Secondly, what’s their angle? Well, their angles are sharp but friendly, their sound one that’s mostly instrumental with parallels there to be drawn to both Battles (the wobbly bits) and Big Business (the skull-rattling loudness of it all). Thirdly, what can they do for me that said bands don’t already offer? There’s always the aforementioned act-aping playfulness, a cheery humour that carries over into further song titles: ‘Keanu Reef’, ‘Dave Grolsch’, ‘Stephen Hawkwind’.
And, we’re back, in the room, this on loud. Through the delivery of twisty riffs and pummelling percussion, That Fucking Tank present themselves as a confrontational duo on paper, but in practice their output has gradually become more accessible, and ‘Tanknology’ represents their easiest-on-the-ear release yet. The follow-up to their debut LP ‘Day Of Death By Bono Adrenalin Shock’, this set opens properly with the rugged-of-riff ‘Keanu Reef’, a toe-tapping number that rides a wickedly repetitive beat for two minutes before pausing to contemplate its next move; which, inevitably, is to crank everything up and rock the listener just that little bit harder. It’s immediately engaging, and showcases quite prominently the band’s greater grasp of melodic structures and deep, wide grooves.
‘Mr Blood’ increases the malevolence, but refuses to let the listener loose with more instant-fix instrumental hooks – the rollicking bassline alone is worth the asking price of this whole album. And when everything’s turned upside itself halfway through, twisting from something DFA1979-coloured to Lightning Bolt noise meets ‘Atlas’ stomp, chances are your heart rate will peak at fuck me, this is mighty. It’s truly invigorating stuff, and gets the tips of the fingers tingling with excitement – raucous but controlled, dance-friendly but more metal than any of those chumps at Download. Maybe.
A couple of slower numbers serve as breathers when the album’s listened to in a single sitting, but taken on their own terms don’t stand up to the dramatic clout of the record’s more bombastic arrangements, of which ‘Ludwig II of Bavaria’ stands proud as the most senses-scrambling extreme. The album’s penultimate track, it leaves such a sting in the ears that it’s near impossible to make out the details of climactic number ‘Stephen Hawkwind’.
While those unaccustomed to this type of rock music will find much of ‘Tanknology’ heavy going – no vocals, nuances slight enough for newcomers to miss – fans of the above-referenced acts should waste no time in picking it up. It’s certainly one of 2009’s finest albums to go deaf to.
But Reef… what the fuck was that all about?
8/10
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Clash is presenting That Fucking Tank live in London, at The Social on August 17, with great support from Fair Ohs, Andrew Hung (Fuck Buttons) DJ and more live acts to be announced next week – click HERE for the Facebook event and HERE for tickets, priced at £4.50 advance.
