Souls She Said
Bio: Ever been to that party? Scuzzed-out, sleazed, drugged-up and loved-up party in a house where it looks like it is only seconds before that police ... (more) bust is going to happen? Yeah? Well now you've got your soundtrack. Souls She Said are Joe Cardamone and Don Devore of the Icarus Line. Yes, that Icarus Line, the Altamount-era Rolling Stones, glam-crunch-not, Blag Flag, last-punk-rock-band-on the-face-of-the-earth Icarus Line. However, Souls she Said is a sister band but ask them that and they will tell you it's more than a sister-band to the Icarus Line, it's an alter-ego, a honest alter-ego to LA's premier bunch of psychedelic super heros. Souls is a collection of musicians that Don put together to show off his musical prowess. None of the material was rehearsed prior to the recording sessions, an experiment in on-the-spot songwriting and musical freedom. Singer, Joe Cardamone is much more succinct: SSS is about Don Devore and myself chopping down the powerlines and making music in the dark. With our eyes open. Its about continuing the legacy of the song. A honest alter-ego that started as late-night jams happening at the same-time in Los Angeles and Philidelphia and what have this LA mob came up with? A potent threat to the internal security of rocknroll? Yes, their maximum punk-soul-riot has told them to dance. First up was a limited release EP Rub The Sleep Out on buddyhead.com and the second stop is this As Templar Nites to free yer proletariet ass to shake some serioius botty with all the sweaty agitation of a LA street riot at an old-school Hacienda rave. And the sound? Safe-to-say that Souls She Said offerings have their pop tardis forever parked in Factory-era Manchester; this duos manifesto is of retro-intent, with the loud/low bass rumblings of prime New Order and the arousing psycho-psychedelics of Jesus and Mary Chain with the little-boy-lost vocals of Bobby Gillespie before switching over to the street punk attitude of Janes Addictions doomtown art-rock antics. From the mantra-like simplicity of Four on the Floor, where Joe shouts out Everybody on the Floor like the last extra to a Patty Hearst raid through to the sun-bleached angular psyche-pop of Riverbloat which is a beautiful come-down of the morning after. Their alchemical way of creating pop world is addictive; if you dig it, you'll never want this crazed post-punk caberat to never end. (less)
