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In truth of course what we usually end up with floats flabbily and far adrift of this big idea – classless Justice clones whose My Space pages you can’t visit without getting an electric shock or guitar goons for whom the ideas of ‘big’ and ‘best’ are compressed into the same horrible missile and flung in our wincing faces.And even if a band sounds truly apocalyptic, their dead-world visions stretch small-mindedly to a silver-suited retro-futurist pastiche of the initial impact, rarely moving beyond that or taking into account that anyone left standing after an epic nuclear or environmental disaster may not want to relive the whole thing through the medium of pop music. Here I go, damp-panted and screaming – there are moments on Crystal Castles’ debut record that make you wish all the plaudits weren’t so blown-out and valueless. You smell of great disease 'Cause we're young Fell in from the stars When your skin is dead On a pile of your head Now then, I look so smart Stove burn on my hands Show them to my friends Make you participate, okay Eyes roll back around When skulls hit the ground Visions to procreate Heaven should interfere I'm coming from your tears When they wander into their cage So their arms and thighs And their holy covered eyes Just yet, will never age Stove burn on my hands Show them to my friends Make you participate, okay Eyes roll back around When skulls hit the ground Visions to procreate Stove burn on my hands Show them to my friends Make you participate, okay Eyes roll back around When skulls hit the ground Visions to procreate Stove burn on my hands Show them to my friends Make you participate, okay Eyes roll back around When skulls hit the ground Visions to procreate Stove burn on my hands Show them to my friends Make you participate, okay Make you participate, okay © UNIVERSAL MUSIC PUBL. Supposedly the duo of Ethan Kath and Alice Glass rocked up for a headline show in a rather intimate and unassuming Irish venue and found themselves utterly bemused when the equally befuddled management wouldn’t accommodate a request to drill holes, mount lights and generally get their avant-garde DIY on.I’m not trying to bang a drum for working class authenticity here, either – it’s impossible to conjure survival music when that survival’s already insured, so instead we get destruction music, which again has a long history, particularly among the various tribes of teenage suburbia.Memories of this tacky heritage are what sometimes drag Crystal Castles down – aimless blitzkrieg splurges like ‘’ could easily have been cut from a record that’s three or four tracks too long, though it’s arguable if there are many who would’ve planned to listen to this from start to bitter end.

It’s a bluff, really – they’re most at home within the crumbled walls of their post-disco apoc-rock; a crystal castle of technological rubbish fusing together under the harsh gaze of a falling sun, Kath and Glass digging around in the molten plastic for things to bang together, new-age Stigs dreaming of leisure’s lost golden age in a data dump.

Crystal Castles’ debut record that make you wish all the plaudits weren’t so blown-out.

They strike out to the edges of their own sensibility and return with the uncomfortable sounds found there' itemprop='description'It doesn’t take much to stir sweet visions of tragedy in the loins and guts of music critics.

No matter how effective Frances’ turn is here – and it often is – she ultimately registers as a device, one that Kath retains full control of.

What’s more, Amnesty (I) is wall to wall the kind of thing Crystal Castles would have played onstage a decade ago when they weren’t trying to transform the place into a wall-bothering temporary art installation. Crystal Castles, with or without Glass in tow, are highly unlikely to serve up a curveball at this stage of the game – Kath is clearly much too invested in and enamoured by his chosen aesthetic – and so it’s fine when just about every single second takes you back to various hipster bars and student club nights in 2008.

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