The Four Corners: Say You’re a Scream

The Four Corners
Say You're a Scream
2001-09-25

You don’t need a wittily bespectacled comp. lit. grad. student or a fully qualified theorist of the postmodern condition to tell you that nostalgia’s somewhat fashionable these days. But just in case you need another crash course in pastiche, take a listen to the winners of this month’s prize for (cultural) recycling, the Four Corners — an Athens, Georgia, group comprising members of Kindercore bands Kincaid, the Ladybug Transistor and the Essex Green.

The ’70s have been hip again since the late ’80s and the ’60s are perennially fashionable, in a Beach Boys/Beatlesque power-pop way. But while Say You’re a Scream has an almost entirely ’60s feel to it, the Four Corners’ sources are slightly different from those mined by more mainstream pop acts these days. The primary roots of their sound lie in ’60s British R&B and, to a lesser extent, American garage rock.

Even before you listen to Say You’re a Scream, its artwork gives you a good idea of what to expect as the Four Corners wear their influences very much on their (record) sleeve: simple, bold colours (red, white, black) and the band’s name in mod lettering complete with arrows evoking the Who’s Maximum R&B poster logo. Then, a cursory glance at the tracklist — which includes titles like “Miss Moneypenny” and “The Girl from U.N.C.L.E.” — underscores the transatlantic scope of the band’s nostalgic sensibility.

But, of course, the most important feature of the Four Corners’ retro equation is the music itself. With its vibrato guitar and sitar, “The Girl from U.N.C.L.E.” transports listeners back in time to Swinging London for a short-and-sweet one minute and forty seconds. The same time-warp effect is produced by harmonica-fueled, beat-driven mini rave-ups such as “Don’t You Wanna Hear Me” and “Long Tall Shorty”. Penned by Herb Abramson and Don Covey, the latter was done by all and sundry back in the day — the High Numbers (the Who), the Graham Bond Organisation, the Pretty Things, and the Kinks to name a few — and, notwithstanding the female vocals, the Four Corners capture the spirit and feel of those earlier versions. And talking of the Kinks, the stop-start beat of “All Day and All of the Night” lurks beneath the surface of the album’s eminently catchy title track.

A cover of the Stooges’ “No Fun” accentuates the Four Corners’ more raw garage-rock tendencies while tracks like “Dinosaurs in Brooklyn” and “Summer’s Time” have a slightly jangly psychedelic-pop feel, bringing together the sounds of Swinging London and the ’60s American West Coast. That psychedelic dimension is expanded on “The Pastel Queen: Compassionate Lotus Blossom of Immense Destruction”, complete with spooky, sci-fi theramin.

Despite the distinctly ’60s flavour of the music itself, the girlish vocals of Farfisa-playing frontwoman Tracy Hatch — often with harmonies from bassist Julia Rydholm — bring the proceedings a little more up to date, evoking the sound of mid-’80s indie-janglers like the Shop Assistants and early ’90s twee-poppers such as Heavenly. Still, Hatch’s vocal style is far from twee, perhaps having more in common with the cool, affectless style of Blinda Butcher of My Bloody Valentine.

Cynics might dismiss Say You’re a Scream as the work of a band who’ve had one too many Nuggets from the recent Original Artyfacts from the British Empire & Beyond box. Indeed, the Four Corners may well be simply regurgitating by-the-numbers replicas of earlier forms and there may not be much originality beneath the surface of their pastiche. But who cares? This is rock and roll we’re talking about after all and, although it’s only a minor release, Say You’re a Scream is infinitely more entertaining and listenable than a great many of this year’s records.

In true postmodern fashion, while the Four Corners have their tongues in their cheeks, they take their pastiche very seriously: they even include a mono mix of the album on the CD, which actually precedes the stereo mix. All of this is perfect fodder for questions like “which one’s the original text?” “which is the copy?” and “shall we propose a conference panel on this?” To all of that I say — quoting Peterborough’s post-punk organic intellectuals, the Name — “fuck art, let’s dance”.