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Jun 04, 2015 Palma Violets By Kate Bennett

When London racket-makers Palma Violets emerged back in 2012, the British music press had been looking for the new Libertines since 2004. Palma Violets seemed to fit the bill—they had the anarchic, slapdash energy, the unapologetic Englishness, the two vocalists (Sam Fryer and Chilli Jesson) riffing off each other, the lyrics mined from the tedium of being an English twenty-something desperately looking for kicks—and the press latched onto them like a leech, declaring it the dawn of a new era of British guitar music and Palma Violets the saviors of rock ‘n’ roll. A couple of years on, the dust has settled somewhat, and as the Violets emerge from the hype storm we can see more clearly whether they were worth any of it.

Danger In the Club, the band’s second album, sees them continue churning out the devil-may-care, Velvet Underground-inflected garage rock—but there’s something missing this time round. It starts off well enough, with raucous openers “Hollywood (I Got It)” and “Girl, You Couldn’t Do Much Better (On the Beach)” promising another collection of soaring, endearingly ramshackle anthems to be shouted along to at festivals this summer. The title track is another success, a languid, surfy trip through chiming guitars and swirling keys; “Coming Over to My Place” manages to be simultaneously mournful and uplifting, Fry shouting, like a drunken friend at the end of a night out, about how he’d rather die than be in love.

It all deteriorates from hereon in, though, running out of steam and running out of ideas. It’s not so much Danger In the Club as Mild Peril In the Pub Toilets—there’s something seedy and slightly stale about it all, at times dragging like the small hours of a party when no one’s ready to go home yet but no one really wants to be there any more, either. “The Jacket Song” boasts some pretty terrible lyrics to go with its uninspired acoustic balladry, the moody mournfulness of “Matador” doesn’t quite build to the heart-tugging climax it’s clearly aiming for, and tracks like “Gout! Gang! Go!”, while suitably energetic, feel tired and uninspired, interchangeable with countless other chirpy garage rock tunes. Essentially, Palma Violets are revealed as a bit of a one-trick pony on Danger In the Club, with the novelty of their jangly pub-rock fading as quickly as the taste of the violet-flavored candy that they’re named after. (www.palmaviolets.co.uk)

Author rating: 5.5/10