Blood Meridian - Kick Up The Dust

Genre rock Publisher V2 Records External Links Official Blood Meridian Website Official V2 Records Website

Hello, dear readers. Sadly, your normal reviewer has been taken ill after a particularly nasty case of food poisoning contracted at Mrs. Hubbard's last night (though, having sampled large portions of her dumplings in the latter parts of the evening, that the spoilt ingredients were a chance occurrence rather than the good lady trying to kill off a generous portion of our village). Anyhow, as Mr. Pointer was driven off to the local hospital, he made me undertake a promise to provide this review, so as not to disadvantage you, the reader in need of some musical direction.

Now, I am not a stranger to music, not at all. As you can imagine, I attend the Proms every year, and enjoy a good Tin Pan Alley tune most afternoons before the taking of a toast and tea. Looking at the associated papers that have been packed alongside this "compact disc," I see that the music combo in question appear to hail from Canada. Excellent! Let's see what these colonials have got up to while I nibble on a selection of Mrs. Hubbard's freshly-baked current buns.

Hmm...I might have to give the Governor-General a ring. We went to Harrow together. Many jolly japes in the dorms late at night, much to the exasperation of the prefects. A slightly rotund fellow, and a bit too fond of the port, but a great body to have by your side in a scrape, I can tell you...Oh, yes. I believe I'm here to talk about this collection rather than regaling you with tales of my past. I am reliably informed that this type of music is referred to as "rock-country," a rather vague description, as it doesn't seem to refer to any particular country, but we work with what we're given, don't we?

I must say that I'm disappointed in the general Canadian resolve. The second song, "Work Hard, For What?" seems to be a general rejection of the work ethic that made our Empire great, not wishing to waste their free time "on someone else's dreams." Thoughts like that didn't make the East Indian Tea Company the envy of the world, you know. And these guitars aren't the gentle folk guitars that we see on the village cricket green every August; no, these are raucous, loud instruments, plugged into a generous electricity supply. A supply, I hasten to add, born from the hard sweat of our coal miners. It's a good thing all round that they don't have the same attitude as these musicians.

And the language! Well, I must say that I've never heard quite so many expletives committed to song. While I'll admit, to the disappointment of many respectable ladies present, I'm sure, that sometimes the air of the Hum Club can turn quite blue, with many a "damn" and "bloody" being thrown about during some of our more riotous moments, this group seems to delight in their perverse use of language. It reaches a height in "Kick Up The Dust," a song which disavows the name of Christ for more hedonistic pursuits. I will not list the words used in the song; I will only recount that Mrs. Hubbard had the misfortune to walk into the room during a particular frightful section, and felt very faint. We had to resort to smelling salts to bring her back to the land of the living.

Just as I was about to give up on this rather disturbing piece of plastic, I was paid a visit by Mr. Higgins, my friend, confidante, and agent. After remarking that Mr. Pointer seemed to be recovering quite satisfactorily from what was apparently a very nasty portion of spinach, he paused to contemplate the music with myself. Mr. Higgins is a fan of many popular "beat combos" of the current fashion, so I asked him for his opinion concerning these Canadians.

I must confess that I didn't thoroughly understand all his references, but, to sum up, after careful consideration, he observed that "it appears to be a fair facsimile and synthesis of Nick Cave and Neil Young that sadly never quite manages to veer into the dizzying heights of Neko Case and Her Boyfriends; instead ploughing familiar avenues and themes. Competent, but not inspiring. Has Mrs. Hubbard whipped up a new batch of her famous Bakewell tarts? I think I smell something truly scrumptious from the kitchen."

Indeed she had. We tucked in to her inviting fancies, and looked forward to a sumptuous supper. All that remains is my final summing up, viz. Should you head out to your local music emporium and hand over several of the Queen's good currency for this new release on the hit parade? I cannot, in all good faith, give a wholehearted recommendation, but, as Mr. Higgins says, "it may find favour with those that have a collection of gramophone records in a similar vein." Alas, it has not swayed me from my Ivor Norvello collection.