The Bats: The Deep Set

THE BATS: THE DEEP SET (2017)

1) Rooftops; 2) Looking For Sunshine; 3) Rock And Pillars; 4) Walking Man; 5) No Trace; 6) Diamonds; 7) Antlers; 8) Busy; 9) Steeley Gaze; 10) Durkestan; 11) Shut Your Eyes; 12) Not So Good.

Just another six years, just another Bats album. Yes, these guys are tenacious — they really are bent on earning their «AC/DC of jangle-pop» status. Same stable lineup, same pleasant sound, and... you know, as I am listening to these songs more than three years after I'd written my last Bats review, I realize that I remember very well what the overall Bats sound used to be, but I do not remember how even a single one of those Bats songs went. Not one. Not even the very best ones that I praised in those reviews.

So I am going to make this very short — yes, I listened to The Deep Set thrice, and I liked it, and I can guarantee any Bats fan that if he/she is buying this record, he/she is buying an authentic Bats record and not a polka or a death metal or a modern classical version of The Bats. Conse­quently, you will get yourself some steady mid-tempo jangle-pop (ʽRooftopsʼ), some slow stut­tery jangle-pop (ʽLooking For Sunshineʼ), some bouncy Merseybeat jangle-pop (ʽRock And Pil­larsʼ), some heavily overdubbed mid-tempo jangle-pop (ʽWalking Manʼ), some fuzzy, sharp-edged jangle-pop (ʽNo Traceʼ), some slow jangle-pop with elements of electronica (ʽDiamondsʼ), some jangle-pop mixed with power chords and shit (ʽAntlersʼ), some jangle-pop with a busier lead guitar part than usual (ʽBusyʼ), some jangle-pop with dreamy overtones (ʽSteeley Gazeʼ), some politically-oriented jangle-pop (ʽDurkestanʼ), some adult-contemporary jangle-pop (ʽShut Your Eyesʼ), and some totally non-descript jangle-pop for the last number, because God forbid you take this record off with memories of an outstanding finale (ʽNot So Goodʼ).

Needless to say, all of this should be taken as a hearty recommendation for those Bats fans who feel themselves strong and able and are in no danger of having their stomachs pumped from an overdose of jangle-pop. Everybody else please remember that The Bats in 2017 sound exactly like The Bats in 1987, and that this is the only significant point that this record makes.

The Bats: Free All The Monsters

THE BATS: FREE ALL THE MONSTERS (2011)

1) Long Halls; 2) Simpletons; 3) Free All The Monsters; 4) See Right Through Me; 5) It's Not The Same; 6) In The Subway; 7) Fingers Of Dwan; 8) Spacejunk; 9) On The Bank; 10) Canopy; 11) When The Day Comes; 12) Getting Over You.

A long-term fan of The Bats who would expect any change from the band as late as 2011 might as well expect AC/DC's Brian Johnson to star in a Broadway musical... oh wait a minute, he near­ly did star in a Broadway musical, so The Bats take first prize. Free All The Monsters continues the tradition of irregularly alternating «strong» Bats albums (cutesy folk-rock with hooks) and «weak» Bats albums (cutesy folk-rock without hooks), and it seems to me, on the whole, to be a minor improvement over Guilty Office, but with a huge stress on seems — it might just be the atmospheric pressure on the brain conditioning the judgement here.

Fans of Kaye Woodward might take a particular liking to such tracks as ʽSimpletonsʼ, where she sings harmony with Scott — the end result is a disarmingly charming twee pop nugget of a dis­armingly romantic nature; ʽSee Right Through Meʼ, where her role is mainly reduced to wispy ooh-oohs in the background; and, come to think of it, most of the other tracks have her vocal pre­sence as well — and when you put enough echo on Woodward's voice, it gives her the presence of an Elven Queen (it's a different question whether that automatically makes Scott an Elven King or not, but it does seem that they feed off each other, and that mixing their voices together helps soften their individual weaknesses and highlight their collective strength).

The instrumental parts, however, do not offer much respite — all atmospheric texture, as usual, no individuality whatsoever to the songs: even the instrumentals, like all Bats instrumentals, are predictable drones that are more likely to rock you to sleep than to rock you to any sort of action (ʽCanopyʼ). Only the title track can boast an anthemic riff, mixing tenderness with determination, but it took me three listens to single it out, lost as it is in the monotonous production jungle.

For the sake of objectivity, I must mention that the general critical and public opinion alike on Free All The Monsters was quite positive — however, I ascribe that primarily to a three-year long deprivation from fresh Bats material. Just another three years, just another Bats album.

Check "Free All The Monsters" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: The Guilty Office

THE BATS: THE GUILTY OFFICE (2008)

1) Countersign; 2) Crimson Enemy; 3) Broken Path; 4) Like Water In Your Hands; 5) Castle Lights; 6) Two Lines; 7) Satellites; 8) Later On That Night; 9) Steppin' Out; 10) The I Specialist; 11) The Guilty Office; 12) The Orchard.

A little bit more rock-oriented than its predecessor, as if Scott himself had realized that At The National Grid took things way too far in the rock-a-bye-baby direction. More electric guitar, louder drums, and even a whole new fast-tempo song (ʽSteppin' Outʼ) ensure that The Guilty Of­fice does not really intend to put you in a stupefying trance — it honestly wants you to think of it as a collection of individual pop-rock songs. With that in mind, let us see how many autonomous, self-contained, and positively stunning tunes Scott has managed to come up with this time.

ʽBroken Pathʼ could be one, creating an atmosphere of moderately deep gloom with its network of clean jangly, dirty distorted, and wailing psychedelic guitars. ʽTwo Linesʼ could be another, but not because of any vocal hooks — its main point of attraction is the guitar vs. strings battle in the coda, a very straightforward one, where baroque chamber atmosphere is pitted against purple haze and we may want to pick a favorite. ʽSteppin' Outʼ is not only fast, but brings back the idea of the «Moody Melancholic Melody» that the lead guitar plays in tandem with the rhythm strum, best represented on Couchmaster.

And this is pretty much it: even these particular descriptions are piss-poor, and the rest of the songs is thoroughly undescribable in layman terms. At this point, even switching from acoustic to electric guitars for volume, sharpness, and energy considerations does not help — the songs lack distinctiveness and may only be appreciated for the general style. I have nothing further to say.

Check "The Guilty Office" (CD) on Amazon
Check "The Guilty Office" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: At The National Grid

THE BATS: AT THE NATIONAL GRID (2005)

1) Western Isles; 2) Horizon; 3) Hubert; 4) Bells; 5) Single File; 6) Pre War Blues; 7) The Rays; 8) Things; 9) Mir; 10) Up To The Sky; 11) We Do Not Kick; 12) Flowers & Trees; 13*) Untitled.

Ten years later, The Bats are back to conquer the third millennium. But do they make any con­cessions? Do they even attempt to recognize how much has changed? Naturally they do not, or else the would not be The Bats. At The National Grid does not sound exactly the same way as Daddy's Highway, but if there are any differences in sound, they sure as heck ain't due to no sissy changes in musical trends and fashions. The Bats love their folk rock, and they couldn't care less about trends and fashions, and that obstinacy deserves respect — unless it comes from stupi­dity and lack of talent, which is not something Robert Scott could be easily accused of.

There is some bad news, though. With age, The Bats seem to have seriously mellowed out — not that they ever subscribed to the «rock'n'roll» idiom in the first place, but they did have a knack for  solid, steady beats and sharply focused electric jangle. At The National Grid opens with ʽWes­tern Islesʼ, a pretty, but highly fragile-sounding piece — acoustic guitars picked by elves, vocals contributed by hobbits, background vocals added by sylphids. Add the predictably monotonous mood (no dynamics or development whatsoever throughout the song's three minutes), and that essentially leaves you with three choices: (a) imagine yourself as a fairy, (b) plunge into deep sleep, (c) fail to notice that something was just played from your speakers in the first place.

The soporific effect is tentatively rectified already on the next track — ʽHorizonʼ adds drums, jangly rhythm guitar, and a distorted psychedelic lead guitar part. But «tentatively» is the key word, because the song is still essentially a drone (instrumentally) and a hum (vocally), the only difference from «shoegazing» lying in its fast tempo — yet whoever said that it is impossible to shoegaze with some acceleration? The whole point of this song, and this whole album, is in its at­mosphere and attitude.

Construction-wise, National Grid picks up exactly where Couchmaster left off — it, too, has a few of those brief instrumental interludes, usually consisting of one or two simple musical phra­ses locked in a trance-oriented cycle (ʽHubertʼ; ʽWe Do Not Kickʼ), that have no major purpose other than humbly introducing themselves to you. Hello, we are the interludes, we have no idea what we are doing here, they probably just forgot to add vocals to us, but you know, it was nice meeting you all the same, hope you have a good time out there.

But melody-wise, the album is not that strong because it has no such intention. The evocative lead lines of Couchmaster, such as the one that made ʽAfternoon In Bedʼ such a cute little clas­sic, are nowhere to be found — everything is melted down to acoustic strum and electric droning, with the vocals (particularly Kaye Woodward's sleepwalking performance on ʽMirʼ) floating on essentially the same frequencies all the way through. The atmosphere, as could be expected, is tasteful and friendly enough so as not to stimulate any thumbs down — in the end, The Bats are simply too good at their formula to ever make a truly bad record — but really, the album is only for diehard fanatics of this style.

Check "At The National Grid" (CD) on Amazon
Check "At The National Grid" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: Couchmaster

THE BATS: COUCHMASTER (1995)

1) Outside; 2) Afternoon In Bed; 3) Around You Like Snow; 4) Work It Out; 5) Train; 6) Land 'O' Lakes; 7) Chain Home Low; 8) Supernova; 9) Shoeshine; 10) Crow Song; 11) Smorgasboard; 12) Knowledge Is Power; 13) It's Hap­pening To You; 14) Lost Weekend; 15) For The Ride; 16) Out Of Bounds; 17) Down To Me.

Do not let yourself be scared by the huge number of individual tracks — several represent brief instrumental interludes, consisting either of atmospheric noise (ʽOutsideʼ) or simple rhythmic drones (ʽSmorgasboardʼ), inserted for the sake of... God only knows what. If you ask me, the idea of inserting little fluffy «links» in between The Bats' songs, many, if not most, of which are fairly little and perfectly fluffy themselves, is odd. Then again, odd ideas on Bats' albums are so rare anyway that this one at least makes Couchmaster stand out in some way.

Actually, there is a better way. The relative quality of a Bats album is practically always measu­rable by counting out how many memorable / evocative guitar lines and catchy singalong vocal hooks they offer the listener, and on that scale Couchmaster registers impressively high; at least, my gut feeling tells me that it is an improvement over Silverbeet. Brief isolated impressions of some of the better songs are as follows:

ʽAfternoon In Bedʼ — nice «murmured» guitar line, quite adaptable to the idea of spending an afternoon in bed. Not exactly ʽI'm Only Sleepingʼ-quality (too fluffy and friendly, almost invi­ting, and who the heck would really invite anybody else to their bed in the afternoon?). ʽWork It Outʼ — another fine line, either «weeping» or buzzing around you like a harmless mosquito; leave it to The Bats to synthesize that «sadness-lite» flavor, not strong enough to kill yourself but long enough to guzzle a pint. ʽLand O' Lakesʼ — no particularly strong guitar parts, but one of those clever choruses that are at once singalong-style / anthemic and dreamy / personal. ʽShoeshineʼ — subtly engineered piece of melancholic dream-pop; excellent idea to put Kaye Woodward on vocals, and an exquisite swirling guitar flourish on top of everything. ʽIt's Happening To Youʼ — from somewhere deep in the woods, comes a lilting guitar tone of sheer utmost beauty; if only its voice were a little louder and cleaner! ʽFor The Rideʼ — a little faster and angrier than everything else, with a phased / wah-wah guitar accompaniment that puts «psychedelia» ahead of «folk» for the first time in this band's career, so it seems. ʽOut Of Boundsʼ — best guitar melody on the al­bum, no doubt about it; this one just seems specifically designed for situations when you are alone, depressed, and are in special need of that one friendly pat on the shoulder to chuck you out of that needless silly state.

I think this is pretty much all that is necessary to convince myself that they took a little extra care this time around in the songwriting department, and came out with probably the best swan song they could have theoretically come up with. Swan song, that is, because Couchmaster turned out to be the last Bats album in a decade, after which they all went their separate ways to raise their separate families — but not before offering this very fair deal for their fans, because the overall quantity of pleasant melodic ideas captured here is, I think, several times as high as on The Law Of Things; and offering one tightly-packed album in ten years is certainly preferable to offering five with one memorable spot per record. Hence, a grateful thumbs up for a particularly moody way of saying goodbye.

Check "Couchmaster" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Couchmaster" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: Silverbeet

THE BATS: SILVERBEET (1991)

1) Courage; 2) Sighting The Sound; 3) Too Much; 4) Slow Alight; 5) Valley Floor; 6) Love Floats Two; 7) Green; 8) No Time For Your Kind; 9) Straight On Home; 10) Before The Day; 11) Stay Away; 12) Drive Me Some Boars; 13) Half Way To Nowhere.

The title is probably a pun on the Silver Beetles — but if this means that, in some way, The Bats are really trying to compare themselves to this early stage in the Fab Four's career, they are totally off the mark. Most likely, it just seemed like a funny wordgame to somebody, funny enough to be commemorated with an LP title.

And the LP itself is basically Fear Of God, Vol. 2: the same brand of «tough» folk-rock, played in a tight, disciplined manner, crisp-clearly produced, with a slightly ominous tinge and a small touch of «social consciousness» to some of the songs (ʽGreenʼ, for instance, is a commemoration of the Rainbow Warrior incident from 1985 — more firmly embedded in the minds of New Zea­landers than anyone else, since the bombing took place in their waters, but well worth remember­ing for everyone, including Bats fans around the globe). But just as The Law Of Things was a slightly less interesting minor brother of Daddy's Highway, so is Silverbeet, on the whole, a little more stale than the freshened up Fear Of God.

As usual, everybody here will have one's own favorites. ʽCourageʼ is often singled out because it opens the album and was its lead single as well, but I find it too repetitive (the song hangs on one simple guitar line from first to last second) and lacking a vocal hook. On the other hand, people rarely talk about ʽLove Floats Twoʼ, which I find to be one of their best love songs — guitars, lead and backing vocals all conspire to make the "you know love floats two, and there's room enough for you" chorus sound a little creepy, as if the boat in question were really floating out towards the world's end. Nor do I hear much mention of ʽNo Time For Your Kindʼ, featuring the album's most impressive chord change from verse to chorus — the lyrics are a little muddy, so it is hard to ascertain what exactly is troubling Scott on this particular occasion, but at least the main hook, a.k.a. the song title, is delivered to stern prohibitive perfection.

Some of the other songs place their trust in near-subliminal guitar lines, like the psychedelic elec­tric wail that appears in between the verses of ʽToo Muchʼ, or the even more desperate howling backing Scott on ʽStay Awayʼ — on the whole, the band's drift towards more and more somber melancholia, as compared to the easier-flowing, lighter-colored days of Daddy's Highway is be­coming more pronounced. But this change is neither for the good nor the bad — because Scott and Co.'s skills at writing melodies and dressing them up steadily remain at the exact same level of competence. Since the sound is unshakeably pleasant, and the humble hooks are as well hid as always, and ʽLove Floats Twoʼ is a kicker and all, Silverbeet gets another thumbs up — albeit with an ever so slowly decreasing level of enthusiasm.

Check "Silverbeet" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Silverbeet" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: Fear Of God

THE BATS: FEAR OF GOD (1991)

1) Boogey Man; 2) The Black And The Blue; 3) Dancing As The Boat Goes Down; 4) The Old Ones; 5) Hold All The Butter; 6) Fear Of God; 7) It's A Lie; 8) Straight Image; 9) Watch The Walls; 10) You Know We Shouldn't; 11) Jetsam; 12) The Looming Past.

On a strictly song-by-song basis, Fear Of God just might be The Bats' greatest album, narrowly beating out Daddy's Highway. The life-giving formula remains intact, but the overall impression is that they gave it their best by tightening the screws with all remaining strength — as a result, the riffs are sometimes sharper, the choruses occasionally memorable on-the-spot, and the sound, without losing any of its jangle foundation, is toughened and more «rock-bound». Some of the songs are, in fact, closer to that very early «jangle-punk» style captured on ʽMade Up In Blueʼ, and this gives the record a mildly darker tinge. And dark is good, as we know.

Above all, my own personal favorite Bats song is here: ʽDancing As The Boat Goes Downʼ is as «doom-laden» as this band ever got. The alarming guitar ring, the ominous viola dance (provided by guest star Alan Starrett, replacing Alastair Galbraith in the status of «our regular guest guy to do the bowing»), and the perfectly phrased deterministic chorus — what is this, Robert Scott preaching about the imminence of the end? And being fairly convincing, too, without having to resort to dark basslines and dreary gravel-voiced intonations? This is by no means «happy» music, but it is not «obnoxiously depressing» music, either. Very good stuff.

The only other tune on the album to share the worried grimness of ʽDancingʼ is the title track — a deeply paranoid love song, rather than having anything to do with stances on religion; this one does have a dark bassline, and a fuzzier rhythm guitar as well, but is not as effective as ʽDancingʼ because the chorus is not nearly as catchy. We couldn't really rave about a generally «serious» or «mature» tone of the album as a whole just because it happens to have the words ʽfearʼ and ʽGodʼ rather than ʽDaddyʼ in its title. Yet on the other hand, even the «lighter» songs also frequently give the impression of being more «mature», if by «mature» we mean «accomplished» or «re­quiring a little bit more time to bring them up to quality level».

Thus, the single ʽBoogey Manʼ opens with their purest-sounding set of twin guitar chords so far, spun in a pretty revolving loop together with the vocal verse melody, with the chorus providing, as its «counterpoint», yet another such loop in a different tonality — everything perfectly coordi­nated, if not altogether deeply emotional. The accordeon and organ flourishes on ʽThe Old Onesʼ nicely shadow the caressing vocal harmonies. On ʽStraight Imageʼ, the rhythm guitar is put in banjo mode, creating a particularly «busy» melody for the verses that contrasts with the melodic folk-pop line of the bridge — two entirely different voices co-inhabiting the same song without imposing on each other. ʽYou Know We Shouldn'tʼ does a great job of amplifying its hook by having the chorus doubled by an equally loud lead guitar line; together with the power chords that triumphantly conclude each verse, this makes it into one of the band's most efficient embodi­ments of the stereotypical «power pop» ideology.

As before, though, the band's weak point — though others might think it their strong point — re­mains the lack of a distinct frontman personality. ʽThe Looming Pastʼ, with its title and lyrics about the nighttime plight of the protagonist who's lost the capacity of being in love, demands to be taken seriously, but neither the music nor Scott's monotonous vocal delivery really live up to the drama. The delivery is tolerable, and the music, with its zydeco-ish accordeon echoes, is pretty, and that's it: not a whiff of drama. Ian Curtis, Morrissey, or Michael Stipe would probably have had a thing or two to say about it. But on the other hand, you might say that The Bats are just playing it safe — for every single admirer of Curtis, Morrissey, and Stipe, there is also a hater, whereas «hating Robert Scott» would be a totally absurd activity.

Then again, «personality bluffing» is a part of this game, too: there must be a reason why Joy Division, The Smiths, and R.E.M. are all immensely popular, while The Bats have, for the most part, remained a New Zealand phenomenon, and it doesn't exclusively have to do with the fact that the average person in the Northern hemisphere is usually unsure whether New Zealand is a part of Australia, a country in its own right, or a name for a particularly wicked cocktail. As good as Fear Of God is, it is also smooth, even, and not very inspirational. But it also works every time you are not necessarily in the mood for inspiration — and that's just the time to catch it, en­joy it, and give it a thumbs up before that old «yearning for something grander» starts to set in.

Check "Fear Of God" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: The Law Of Things

THE BATS: THE LAW OF THINGS (1989)

1) Other Side Of You; 2) Law Of Things; 3) Never Said Goodbye; 4) Yawn Vibes; 5) Time To Get Ready; 6) Ten To One; 7) Mastery; 8) I Fall Away; 9) Cliff Edge; 10) Nine Days; 11) Bedlam; 12) Smoking Her Wings.

If there is a «law of things» according to The Bats, it is unquestionably the law of preservation — the band's second album does not introduce even a single serious change to the formula. Same lineup, same twin guitar jangle, same guest violinist, same vibes, same moods. Same crude pro­duction style, too, except that Robert Scott's lead vocals frequently get clearer in the mix and are not as often double-tracked with Woodward's, so you can get a better picture of the sonic palette of New Zealand's Roger McGuinn — if you'd like to get a better picture, of course, because his voice isn't exactly the epitome of expressivity, to put it mildly.

The album is rarely, if ever, described as a «sophomore slump», but critical reaction here usually follows the well-known critical principle of «If A precedes B and B = A, then A is better than B», as the band is supposed to run out of its originally accumulated cloud of inspiration and slip into a «regular workman» routine. It is a dangerous sign when it is the opening and the closing track that are usually found listed as highlights — meaning that the listener, most likely, fell asleep right after the first song and woke up towards the end — and this is more or less what happened to The Law Of Things.

Granted, the closing track, ʽSmoking Her Wingsʼ, which was also the single, is a little different: if anything, it sounds like the little brother of Joy Division rather than The Smiths, with a vague hint of threatening doom emanating from its droning guitar parts and with an unusually stern, al­most «ceremonial» singing tone — yes, I think the late Ian Curtis would have dug this, even if The Bats, byt their very nature, are physiologically unable to generate those dark clouds: at best, this is just a slight patch of fog, but even in this way, it stands out from the rest.

And the rest is the rest: average-fast pop-rockers driven by pretty, but unexceptional folk-pop melodies and singalong-style choruses, almost always in the same relaxed-idealistic emotional state. I suppose that ʽTen To Oneʼ, stuck in the middle, is also a bit of a standout — guitar and vocals pack a bit more crunch, and even Alastair Galbraith's violin screeches and scrapes like somebody just stepped on its tail, er, neck. But that's just two and a half minutes out of a half hour of overall pleasant sameness. Feel free to pick your favorites — I, for one, think that the al­bum only loses if you begin to think of it in terms of individual melodies. (For instance, the melody of ʽNever Said Goodbyeʼ borrows its first chords from McCartney's ʽListen To What The Man Saidʼ — which, subsequently, makes its last chords sound like a botched version of that song's melody. I could easily see somebody preferring the ragged, unglossed-over production of The Bats as artistically superior to McCartney's «stiffly polished» arrangement, but in terms of general melodicity and catchiness, Paul wins over this particular phrasing, hands down).

Still, especially in the context of its times, The Law Of Things as a whole is quite a thumbs up experience. The title ʽYawn Vibesʼ may be appropriately self-ironic, but at least these are some happy, tasteful yawn vibes we are getting provided with.

Check "The Law Of Things" (MP3) on Amazon

The Bats: Daddy's Highway

THE BATS: DADDY'S HIGHWAY (1987)

1) Treason; 2) Sir Queen; 3) Round And Down; 4) Take It; 5) North By North; 6) Tragedy; 7) Block Of Wood; 8) Miss These Things; 9) Mid City Team; 10) Some Peace Tonight; 11) Had To Be You; 12) Daddy's Highway; 13*) Calm Before The Storm; 14*) Candidate; 15*) Mad On You; 16*) Trouble In This Town; 17*) Made Up In Blue.

The Bats are Robert Scott on rhythm guitar, vocals, and songwriting duties; Kaye Woodward on lead guitar and vocals; Paul Kean on bass; Malcolm Grant on drums. The Bats formed in 1982, released their first EP in 1984, but had to wait half a decade before releasing their first LP, Daddy's Highway, in 1987, featuring twelve original compositions by Scott and also making additional use of session guest Alastair Galbraith on violin. Oh, and they are, of course, from New Zealand (from the wonderfully named city of Christchurch, to be exact).

These are the dry facts that no one need deny. The accompanying assumption is that The Bats loved their homoplastic relatives The Byrds, and everything that had to do with folk-pop jangle in general. Subsequently, they did not exactly invent what is informally known as «Kiwi pop», but they very much defined it and helped substantiate its stereotypic «nice and jangly» image — and they themselves were never nicer and janglier than they are on this here LP debut.

Few things are simpler than the Bats formula — maybe the Ramones, but then, punk thrives on simplicity, whereas folk-pop need not necessarily be as one-dimensional as Daddy's Highway. Steady, danceable rhythm, usually taken in mid- or fast tempo for optimal effect; two guitars — one with lower pitch, one providing the jangly flourishes; quiet, relaxed vocals, either solo or with doubled harmonies, always keeping fairly low in the mix; inobtrusive, usually introspective, lyrics that are not meant to be paid serious attention to. This description pretty much applies to every one of these twelve songs, as well as the five bonus tracks taken from B-sides and EPs and appended to the CD reissue.

If you really like this sound as such — and, for all its minimalism, it is a pretty seductive sound, and it must have been even more seductive, coming on the airwaves in the synth-pop dominated 1980s — Daddy's Highway may appear to you as an endearing sonic masterpiece. Compared to something like R.E.M. or The Smiths, the music is clearly «fluffy», but, on the other hand, it is not here to ac­company a pretentious, «artsy-fartsy» personality like Stipe or Morrissey: Robert Scott humbly stays out of the spotlight, letting the music always speak for the man. This is not an endorsement of those who hate pretentious personalities — just a reminder that there is a time for everything, including a time when the simple, pretty, monotonous music of The Bats might work more efficiently than the more demanding, but not necessarily more satisfying music of R.E.M. or The Smiths.

Individually, the songs are not divided into highlights or lowlights: from the opening life-asser­ting guitar dialog of ʽTreasonʼ and right down to the bass-heavy sounds of the title track, the songs are all nice, mildly memorable, and generally interchangeable. Vivacious tempos help out a lot — every time the band slows down, like on ʽMiss These Thingsʼ (with surprisingly out-of-tune guitar, which might have been intentional), they tend to lose my attention. But almost every song, at the very least, tries to generate and develop its own hook, even if it does not always suc­ceed — subsequent listens, once you've gotten past the similar atmosphere and start picking up the actual differences in melody, reveal that some songs are better written than others.

For instance, I would suggest that ʽTreasonʼ, with its ascending-descending riff, is better than ʽTra­gedyʼ, with its rather tired and worn-out folk chord pattern; or that ʽNorth By Northʼ, with its gritty rhythm section workout and «quasi-spooky» echoey vocal overdubs, rocks harder than the happy bounce of ʽTake Itʼ; or that the siren-esque double guitars that open ʽBlock Of Woodʼ are a much catchier introduction than the somewhat distracted strumming that opens the way-too-Smiths-like ʽSir Queenʼ. I could suggest all this and more — but then, in the end, this would all look like nit-picking, and rather belong in some parallel world, where The Bats are recognized as the greatest band of all time and armies of musicologists are paid to offer competing interpreta­tions of each chord change in each of their songs.

Therefore, having said all I really have to say, I leave you here with a thumbs up and an extra recommendation for the bonus-tracked edition: the last song here, ʽMade Up In Blueʼ (the title track from their 1986 EP), shows that The Bats were capable of «anthemic» choruses as well, and rocks almost as hard as ʽNorth By Northʼ.

Check "Daddy's Highway" (CD) on Amazon
Check "Daddy's Highway" (MP3) on Amazon