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While they could scarcely be pigeonholed as a grunge revival revue, it's evident to the keen observer that Male Bonding are acutely aware of the legacy with which they've aligned themselves by signing to Sub Pop. The–really rather nice–packaging for Nothing Hurts includes a black and white poster of the band that looks like it might be a lost snap of Nirvana circa 1989. Their actual songs, while fuzz-coated and anti-commercial in their ramshackle delivery, tend to evoke youthful naiveté and carefree downtime rather than rage, gloom or desperation. A number of American guitar rock bands–Pavement, Superchunk and Sebadoh most prominently–issued records in the late 80s and early 90s without which Male Bonding effectively wouldn't exist.
Not that this zippy 29 minutes is all one-note nostalgia. Like the best bands from the contemporary UK and US scenes they lurk in–Nottingham's Lovvers, pals of theirs, or Portland's Eat Skull, with whom they shared a split single–they twist recognisable styles into fresh shapes. Partly this is done by dropping in outside influences: Pumpkin rattles along at the pace of classic American hardcore punk, yet is followed up by Worse to Come, a wigged-out folk-rock nugget strummed with clammy urgency. The gauzy glow of the prime-era shoegazing bands also looms large during several songs. Just as significant, however, is Male Bonding's ability to convey the impression that they are answerable to no-one, making precisely the music they want at this moment in time. --Noel Gardner
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Customer Reviews
Male Bonding's bread and butter however is fuzzy, slacking punk-rock, and in their brief 30 minutes, where no track lasts longer than 2:45, there is little-to-no pretence. Their quick-fire catalogue is open and summery, though John Webb's apathetic and disinterested vocal draws it languidly toward the dark.
The rattling, speedy punk of the opener "Year's Not Long" sets the tone with echoing, rough n' ready garage symptomatic of today's zeitgeist. Yet, it's not in the same league as the distant sounding, tumbling, melodic jangle of "Franklin", which comes with curious, seeming underwater production. And, it really surfs an early 90s sort of wave as a result, coming off like a fuzz-free Dinosaur Jr demo, which due to its curt length leaves you wanting decidedly more.
"Weird Feelings" goes for and hits Vampire Weekend "Mansford Roof" riffs and pits them successfully against growling grunge guitar. The spiky, urgent, beer-fuelled sing-along punk anthem in waiting that is "Pumpkin" comes punctuated by pogo-ing guitars entirely suitable for sweaty-venue moshing.
Fellow Londoners Kasms and their self-appointed genre shriekbeat are brought to mind on the wailing "Paradise Vendors", who in turn have a track under their belts called "Male Bonding". Even the acoustic, consistent afterthought of a closer "Worse To Come" brings in kindred spirits Vivian Girls on backing vocals to ice-cool Male Bonding's cake.
It isn't true to say that Nothing Hurts. The truth reputedly does, but with such a confident debut it doesn't look like hurting Male Bonding anytime soon.
Whilst these guys definitely tread a fine line between Dalston hipsters and something rather special, they certainly deliver the goods.
Even if at times the goods are a bit irritating.
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