(In-Fidelity/Inertia)

Melbourne social commentators make good

To confess, I have been highly critical of Witch Hats in the past. 2006’s Wound Of A Little Horse EP rubbed me the wrong way at the time, and I took a rather vapid oppositional stance to the Melbourne four-piece. Perhaps such an innocuous reception was a folly of youthful journalism, because I ultimately kept that CD, and found myself considerably more enamoured of it late last year. The garage post-punk of the EP is consolidated considerably on Cellulite Soul. The writhing guitars and begrudging tone of the bass craft caustic environs of belligerence and disappointment. Kris Buscombe’s yowls stalk menacingly between pillars of drumbeats that berate the ears like construction work. But this is not the sound of blind anger, as the band exhibit here a parodic admonishment of the world’s wiles, and tap into an aesthetic that’s immediately raw and real – a near-perfect representation of chaos amongst order. For while the record could afford to lose a song or two towards the end, Cellulite Soul does everything a good debut should: it entertains, it excites, and most importantly it goes a long way to differentiate Witch Hats from the throng of their contemporaries.

JAKEB SMITH

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