Prinzhorn Dance School (self titled)

Nomadic duo Prinzhorn Dance School’s eponymous debut is one of the rawest efforts you’re likely to hear this year, its primitive rhythm-driven aura resurrecting the most unrefined facets of the post-punk era. However, its one that remains almost constantly alluring, with nods to cult legends the Fall and Wire, and a strong DIY ethos amidst the simple bass-driven melodies.

Toby Prinz and Suzi Horn share vocal and drum duties, with the latter providing that driving bass and the former the few chords of wiry guitar that are thrown into the mix, coming across like a half-speed Futureheads. The pair remain reclusive and shadowy, as in their formative days, when they would pick and choose where to send their handful of demos, before a chance sighting of a flier saw one winging its way to the world-famous EMI subsidiary, New York’s DFA. A contract followed, and their first album was recorded in cottages and barns across the English countryside, the DFA influence inevitably meaning it has been expertly produced.

Their press release rambles on about provincial demigods like Ray Davies and Morrissey, but although Prinzhorn Dance School also conjure up a picture of an England that only England knows (dilapidated leisure centres, Travelodges and rubbish libraries), its again done in a minimalist, pragmatic fashion, the simple (if lazy) comparison to Mark E Smith and the Fall again carrying more weight than those to any Kinks or Smiths song.

Prinzhorn Dance School still have enough ideas of their own to render the album worth a listen though, although whether there’s enough to stretch over sixteen tracks is open to debate. There’s less anger than in a E Smith vocal, a more vacant, eerie style preferred on top of the running-on-empty tunes.

One other important differentiation from the Fall is that the duo are very much that, a duo. Whilst the oft-egotistical Smith has hired and fired dozens of band members over the past thirty or so years, usually to the detriment of the group, the Dance School ethic is focussed very much upon a co-operative effort, something that is demonstrated in the tight collaboration of the two main instruments and the mutual vocals. These taut soundscapes, coupled with the observational lyricism, can create a bleak picture of 21^st Century Britain, closer to Blade Runner than any green and pleasant land, but nevertheless its one that draws you in, and manages to entertain you with its stripped-down pessimism.