Dry Cleaning - New Long Leg

WATCHING A LOGICIAN PARRY DISTRESS

Apart from the ascendant quality of U.K.'s competitive Art Punk scene, what's most riveting about the movement is the sheer versatility between each respective artist. They all have their own identity, whether it's Squid's frantic anxieties, black midi's revolutionary Avant-Prog, or now Dry Cleaning's tempered dissection. New Long Leg is notable from one thing alone; Florence Shaw and her deadpan Spoken Word. Though the grimy production exists - mimicking 80's Post-Punk with wirey garage tuning and reckless forward momentum - it's really nothing more than placeholder. A submerged scene at the back of a seedy club for Shaw to psychoanalyze. The one straight edge concert-goer in a crowd of zonked out hipsters cosplaying as punks. Her tone, never assailing to anything higher than snarky contempt, cements her position as a rising iconoclast in a community filled with dissenters.

Though Dry Cleaning's style is a breath of fresh air - respite after For The First Time, Bright Green Field, and Cavalcade's demanding presence - it's not entirely original. Sure, one can namedrop Laurie Anderson or Anne Clark or even, in more recent circles, Jenny Hval when she retreats to parol tangents on the self. But there's no denying the direct connection Dry Cleaning have with Algebra Suicide, an under-appreciated Minimal Synth duo helmed by Lydia Tomkiw, who approached the same crossroads between Spoken Word and homemade, Art Punk production. New Long Leg isn't as raw, or deranged, or tormented by affliction, which provides distinction between Shaw and Tomkiw. The former, essentially, is more level headed, gracing abstract concepts with the sterility of an historian reflecting on matters presented before them. Each of the ten songs adhere to this concept, whether it's 'Unsmart Lady' which critiques female strife in the workplace, or 'Her Hippo' and its escapist fantasies. These are commonplace issues, with tangible emotions in tow, elucidated by a logical annotator. The perspective, when examining the lyrics, is jarring in the best way possible.

However, New Long Leg's best moments tend to occur when Shaw strays from her monotone perusal into subtle, melodic levity. This, in conjunction with the production, again, at its best when musicality arises from the dreck. Tracks like 'Strong Feelings' and 'More Big Birds' titillate around soothing patterns that grow and unfurl, the latter even finding Shaw cooing softly like Suzanna Vega. These moments are irresistible in the cerebral sense, warming the mind to acumen using clamorous chichi. Really, only 'A.L.C.' fails to deliver via its clunky disruption. Every other song finds merit amidst the glistening filth.