This is a collection of singles from WALL’s debut EP out on 15th january 2015
With each sonic movement on the introductory self-titled EP from New Yorkʼs WALL there’s a commitment to defend a punctuated duality between curiosity and triumph. After all, whatʼs a band worth but its message? A certain self-awareness of the very question is at the heart of the WALL apparatus and listening along as they discover themselves throughout this EP is invigorating and scary. Tone and rhythm whirl together, like an emergency exit door choreographed to swing flawlessly in time to its damned and chaotic Pavlovian alarm bell. From the first rigid and cautious seconds of their EP, WALL unleashes an uncanny self-awareness that methodically slips pages ripped from demented No Wave legacies through a shredder of their own design. Their spirit is exceptional and candid; generous heaps of raw energy and inspired moments of tension demand repeat rotations on your turntable. With this debutante artifact, WALL have invited the world to witness the birth of a toxic-new tempestuous bloodwave of post-punk, exactly the transfusion the scene needs to stay alive. Edition of 300 Records.
First drummer Vanessa Gomez took to the stage, small and steely-eyed, pointing her drumsticks skywards, like one of those Ancient Egyptian dog-man creatures stood guard over the Temple Of No Wave. Then Elizabeth Skadden joined her, in sensible knitwear, her bass slung preposterously low like Paul Simonon’s. The soon pair locked into a groove that could not have been more urgent had it been sent by cycle courier with red tape up the edges.
Guitarist Vince McClelland – a tall pretty boy with a Jerry Lee corkscrew of mousy blonde hair – was up next, striding out to scratch at the neck and the bridge of his guitar, whipping it like a disobedient donkey until it gave him the coarse atonalities he was looking for.
Finally, Sam York – long streak of piss, all 6ft limbs – jittered onstage, opened her long thin lungs, and unleashed her stream of consciousness that sounded like Dadaist pamphlets assembled from shredded brochures for Upper West Side therapists.
WALL were the sound in my head. The sound of a fantasy New York of cracked pavements and broken lives, the rattle of subway cars, the whine of elderly people being assaulted, the fast staccato chop-shop rhythms of a tumbledown global capital. They were sharp and uncompromisingly so. Like early B-52s if they’d grown up on Wu Tang, this was swagger music, designed to make the weak feel stronger and the strong feel indomitable.
That sense of riding on the rim of a moment, circling on the edge of chaos, is the result of four very different minds coming together – a musical friendship that has taken on a chemistry above what its participants had anticipated.
In fact, when Elizabeth Skadden moved to New York after a three-year stint on the arts scene in Berlin, she wasn’t necessarily looking for a new band. “But being in a band is like falling in love. It always happens when you least expect…” WALL started when she hooked up with her childhood friend Sam York, who became the singer, drummer Vanessa Gomez who had only started playing a couple of months earlier, and guitarist Vince McClelland, of 60s moptop homagers The Keepsies.
The Fat Angel Sings 