Brighton band Assistant always existed in a half-imagined past- one created as much by their record collection as their lived experience- and it is somehow perfect to see light once more shone on their first two LPs – the first of which entered the world 21 years ago, but which even then perhaps belonged to an earlier decade…that half-imagined past kept alive- and I’m very glad that is was and continues to be.
I can almost see the knackered television crackling in the corner of the room as this plays, the half-finished cans gathering sun-dappled dust in another bleary morning. This is music for fictionalised flat-shares and youthful possibilities. It’s nostalgic but it’s also fresh as a new dropped calf- giving an eager, open ear many wonderful moments to explore across its varied and enthralling 60 minutes.
Guitars jangle and vocals soar with meandering, plaintive enthusiasm – offering snapshots of youthful observations; there is a romance at these songs’ core – a sense of tense yearning that comes from both looking back and looking forward. The production lends a cracked sheen to the band’s crisp playing – tight enough to allow these melodies to shimmer gracefully, loose enough to let the light shine in. The band formed in response to an advert posted by frontman Jonathan Shipley on a local message board in early 2002 calling for those ‘hopefully lacking ambition and musical dexterity…’ with ‘musical eclecticism welcome’ to join him in a musical adventure. Listing Beefheart, Mercury Rev, Stereolab, Blur, Can, The Strokes, Pavement and the Clash as sonic touchstones, Peter Simmons was first to answer the call and alongside Anne-Sophie Marsh, Ali Gavan and Andy Le Gresley (the latter two have since moved onto pastures new) these songs were brought into homespun existence. You can sense the fervency that such playfully exuberant beginnings would encourage across all these songs – that sense of working one another out – many hours spent honing their craft – and above all the sheer joy of collaboration.
Opener John Wyndham has the sort of wide-eyed jangle that immediately draws you in- romantic and unapologetic- you can almost see the sunlight breaking through the clouds. Beginning with burbling abstractions, the second track Freaks is a bass-driven delight – the space in the mix allows for greater impact when those guitars start to slowly rumble or clatter louder. What a joyful thing it is! It feels like a song that could have been… that should have been… but for some reason didn’t get the same level of attention as others of the era. This is a theme across the albums: an intake of breath the present permits whilst thinking about what the past could have been.
Bomber feels much more influenced by New York – a Velvets/Bowie shuffle – there are even hints of New York Dolls in the distorted vocal sleaze and barroom piano. In a parallel universe again this would have been a hit; it has all the ear-worming sensibilities of all manner of airwave bothering hits of the 90s. It’s the high point of the album for me – it finds that perfect space between the ramshackle fuzz of youthful experimentation and a knack for pop melody driven by years spent listening to great music. It’s joy in abundance.
Musically indebted to such indie-pop luminaries as Stereolab, Felt, and Galaxie 500, vocally this feels different again – offering a curious hybrid of Pete Shelley yelp, Brett Anderson camp and Albarn’s estuary croon – it works beautifully- melodies pulsing along wildly – veering in and then away from the rhythm section like a wayward child. The sort of open-hearted attitudes that brought this music into existence can mean that these songs go places that others would be more self-conscious to go- lyrics clang unabashed with their narratives and imagery – but that is what wraps its arms around all these songs – an utterly enthralled energy and enthusiasm – and you can’t help but be swept up by it. When subtle keys punctuate the jangling guitars, it offers creaking calm, as on Criticism – where backing vocals and synth warbles shimmer aside one another in beautifully restrained harmony.
The opening track on the appropriately titled Second LP begins with a bounce and vintage organ sway that feels almost pop-reggae; I’m Shit is certainly far from it where once again that vocal line toys with the edges of the melody – emotional clout placed far higher than technical precision. There’s less jangle to this second album – guitars more angular and the sound more visceral – vocals fizzier too, the songs seemingly aiming for broader atmospheres, though the jangle doesn’t disappear entirely. Anything For You has more gothic undertones – a greater sense of desperation pervading – the keys building a church-like sombre sonic shift. What It Means brings the sun back in though- bright piano notes vibrating and the vocal melody rich in feeling – taking on an almost Robert Smith-like tone at times. August Song sways with a jam band verve – that bass high in the mix again – allowing for a sinuous melody to entwine. Engines and Anvils, what would have been Second LP’s final track, is a squelchy, slow burner – a classic end-of-album ambience, mid-period Blur a clear influence. Once more piano takes the fore and a delightful melodica interlude sidesteps in to boot. A couple of bonus tracks thrown in add a further cherry or two on the top of a wonderful set of songs – and, ending in a thirty-second punky thrash called I Want A Cigarette makes this return to youthful abandon all the more fitting.
Jonathan Shipley and all who sailed with him captured a perfect little moment in time here on these two albums – back when everything felt possible and possibly just might have been too. It’s wonderful to see Subjangle release them into the world once more- perhaps after all these years, Assistant’s moment has come.
Written by M.A Welsh (Misophone)
Music | Misophone (bandcamp.com)
