London/Finland originates Deathline here present a single, two remixes and an original demo.
A proposed amalgam of Suicide, Neubauten and The Jesus & Mary Chain, this track has a few crucial problems, chief among which is the performance.
Far be it from me to try and instil some sense of pride in the sonics of a duo I have never met, but this sounds as though it was recorded while other things took priority. Washing the car, for instance, or placing ornaments from a charity shop run on an unused shelf. The drums sound like bouncing socks, the guitars flopping across the track in the manner of a dropped mattress. The vocals are, in true trad-gothic style, bored and disinterested, and while this adherence to the stylistic norm is commendable, they do the track no service.
Unfortunately, matters take a turn for the worse when Holm Mirland’s remix appears. Simply applying the existing vocal to some sub-par 90’s chart dance is so misguided as to be insulting to both the original artists and the listener. It’s as though Mirland decided that what the song needed was an inappropriate backing in the wrong key – something that has cursed dance remixes of non-dance material since the dawn of time – with the icing being the appalling manner in which the vocal is edited and applied. Like a christmas present so poorly wrapped that the excess paper is hacked incompetently with scissors, this disappoints and annoys in equal measure.
Astonishingly, The Dead Zoo step in with their own version of …Breath, saving the day in a shocking left turn, by converting the framework around the vocal into a shoegazing Bond theme. I was so surprised by this that I shared it with my flatmate, who correctly observed that this remix makes the original redundant. Fun, astutely realised and with its tongue firmly in its cheek, this saves and damns Deathline’s foremost rendition expertly, something that it’s creators cannot have intended.
Closing this baffling quad-pronged melange is the demo version of The Deathline, which is as woozy and strung out as the band profess. With hints of the Warlocks and a very relaxed Brian Jonestown Massacre, this is a more appropriate rendition of what the band seem to be about than the restrained, boxed-up actual single. Slack as the notes at a narcoleptic board meeting, this is desert dream rock, all slurred and ragged, which is how it should be.
Releasing a single that doesn’t show your band’s true colours is unfortunate. Pairing that with one remix that overshadows it and another that misses the point of the brief completely is bonkers. If I’d been sat listening to an EP composed of material in the manner of the final song, then the score would be significantly higher. As it stands, this is a confused, uncertain release from a band who need better quality control. To be on your second album and not know how you want it to appear to the public is inexcusable, and whoever suggested working with Mirland should get cold latte’s forever.
Daft.