The Manhattan Love Suicides — “Clusterfuck” — Burnt Out Landscapes
J.M. Coetzee buries a lesson on the linguistic value of the word “burnt” in Disgrace, his novel of transformation by crucible. It carries a totality, a conclusiveness that “burned” does not. ”Burned” hints there is more left to burn; “burnt” means the thing is finished, no longer a thing at all. If MLS’ brand of retro-pocalyptic pop isn’t deserving of that evocative signifier, then I shudder to think what is. The collected riffs drop like a nasty carpet-bombing led by the kind of homicidal lunatic pilot who only discovers his passions in wartime and won’t be too eager to go home: the songs are thorough, brutal and roughly double the tempo of whatever Jesus & Mary Chain inspiration they may claim. Makes you wonder how electronics colonized the club world and left guitars in the smoldering wilderness—but maybe the rockists are happiest out there.
