polaroids of androids

In the attached press release for this, their second EP, Guns Are For Kids namedrop just as much as any other band. However, in place of phrases such as "the new Klaxons" or "2008's Wolfmother" the band make references to Peter Garrett as the former Cold Chisel front man, the late Shannon Noll and how they studied the work of Kylie Minogue in their preparation for this EP. If their chosen moniker or the title of this release, a parody of Public Enemy's classic 1988 album, wasn't already enough of a clue that these guys weren't taking their shit too seriously, then their biography certainly gives them up.

But the jokes stop as soon as the music starts and, although it's clear the band enjoy not taking themselves too seriously, they also are far from being a joke band. Firstly, the initial rumbles of noise on this record sound like a jangle of chains. A repeated whipping then comes into play, which is in turn overpowered by a triumphant drunken choir. It's at this point it all becomes very clear that these ruffians are doing a lot more here than just having a bit of fun.

The intro abruptly ends and the screeching guitars of the first actual song of the release, Cockroach Killer, swiftly remove the confusing vibrancy of the introduction from memory. The song packs a confident swagger and an aggressive overtone but this is not where the Sydney group are most lethal. It's not until we arrive at the seven and half minute middle point of the fifth track of the release that we see where the band really flex the muscle that separates them from the pack.

Thanks For Pissing On Me (I Was On Fire Up There) builds slowly with distant vocals and a somewhat manic, rhythmic jolt. The vocals sound as though they are shouted from a separate room and the fragility that comes from this effect creates a much more emotive sound. This is not only where Guns Are For Kids are strongest but also where they are able to, more importantly, stand out from the large flock of local bands who pack a similar dirty, confident swagger.

The tracks that follow, Not Bright Kid and 1865, don't move with the same haunting nature as Pissing, but instead melt together the confidence and chest thumping nature of the other half of their style with a undertone of insecurity and emotion. The chaotic arrangement of the music works extremely well with the almost spoken-word vocals that the songs are built around.

The combination of everything that is so appealing about this band is thrown together fantastically for the closing number, Oh, Tropical Worthless. The slow building riff, which the listener is tricked into thinking is going to form the backbone of the song, is quickly discharged and replaced with a potent mix of aggression and vulnerability. Layers of stabbing guitars and the haunting vocals that work so well for them earlier on the EP return as the track switches back-and-forth between shouted, call-and-response style vocals and a lovely chaotic mess of instruments fighting to be heard. The track then, mirroring the way in which the EP opened, triumphantly collapses into nothing.

This EP runs for only about twenty-five minutes but the amount of quality work that the band has packed in makes it seem a lot more like a full release. When they let their own unique style flourish and fuse together the distant vocals, celebratory choirs and confusing noise they are successful in creating an exciting and highly enjoyable sound.