Written by: Dave Cantrell
Though in existence for over nine years and thereby pre-(and now post-) dating Copenhagen post-punk titans MOTH, Melting Walkmen are a decidedly lesser-known commodity. That, however, is about to change. Storming back with a succinct, occasionally snarling mini-LP called Daylight Savings, released in the next few weeks on the Mastermind Records imprint (those damned pressing plant uncertainty woes), the MW crew, while displaying a more vigorous, teeth-baring aesthetic than the shadowy, dystopian ponders of the much-missed MOTH, are no less canny with their influences, drawing comparisons to the roiling, compact angst of Hüsker Dü, Iceage’s no-nonsense in-your-faceness, and the lurching hardcore of Venom P. Stinger. Us here at SEM? Well, some of that it’s hard to argue with, but there’s also a touch of Big Black’s fusillade of intransigence combined with the shouty dynamics of Killing Joke at their most primal. All of which, you must admit, amounts to a most intriguing proposition, and Melting Walkmen don’t disappoint. Blessed equally with the sinew of punk rock brevity and post-punk’s reflective moodiness, the result is an adroitly abrasive masterwork that manages to fit seven fully-realized tracks into a spry 17 minutes. And perhaps the better news for us foundlings over here on the other side of the Atlantic? Daylight Savings may well find its way into US record stores this coming summer, a decision that hinges on how well it does on its native shores. So come on, Euro-mates, give this record the boost it deserves so your yearning cousins across the vasty deeps can enjoy the same punky ecstasy without having to sell a kidney to afford shipping and handling. We’re all in this desperate post-punk ship together, after all.
Oh, and as a bonus, we’ve tacked on Melting Walkmen’s alluringly direct, just released Vimeo video covering the Daylight Savings‘ track “Skin,” which plays out like an REM fantasy in an alternate universe where they shed their inclinations toward world domination – rewarding as the places those instincts often took them were – for a more unsparing, umm, skin-flaying aesthetic. You know you’ve always wondered, and now you can see how fabulous that might have been. In any case, enjoy the fuck out these. You won’t be able to help yourself.