Tales from the industrial North West of England are transported to the Wild West via the use of one singular instrument. Seemingly forgotten by indie rock bands who’ve succumbed to the increasing pressure to sound exactly the same as each other, the small brass instrument that makes more noise than something that size should is defiant as ever on Red Rum Club’s debut long-play, which feels like a Tarantino wet dream.
Whilst at times the sounds seem repetitive, there’s enough tempo changes, and just enough breaks from the rampant trumpet sounds for it to remain fresh. Unashamedly inspired by spaghetti westerns and cowboy culture, there’s a cinematic feel throughout the record. The vocal’s have a whiff of Britpop about them however, keeping the sound friendly, not distancing the band too far away from their Liverpudlian roots, despite the constant imagery of a defiant cowboy riding off into the sunset on a pure white thoroughbred after victory in the final shootout. Tales of failed romances don’t feel to sad, which makes a change, but the continuous tales of a tormented lover gets tiresome at times, regularly saved by the energetic delivery and pompous choruses.
Albeit a little rough around the edges, Red Rum Club’s Matador is a refreshing change from the bland landscape of male guitar bands in this present moment, and sets them on the way for what will hopefully be a breakthrough year. Giddy up, Cowboy.
