Washington Social Club may hail from, uh, well, Washington D.C., obviously, but
their politicko punk-rock roots don't draw from the city's history of
mighty-uptighty hardcore heroes. Instead, the combo seems t'have a real
Anglo-punk love, their energetic dance-up-a-storm anthems born of a love
of The Clash, The Buzzcocks, and New Model Army. Whilst this might make
them seem like a bunch of jack-boot'd roughneck tough-nuts ready to gob
in yr gob, that kinda misses the mark with what Washington Social Club
are about. If I was pressed for any DC comparative with which to tie
them to their city's recent musical history, I'd probably have to turn
to... Velocity Girl. No, like, really. WSC's own label describes their
hip-swiveling, groovy-times punk as "old-style indie," which assumedly
means the band hark back to those times when indie-rock bands actually
rocked. More than likely, it's a point made to establish the fact that
they have absolutely no relationship nor association with that corporatized
kiddie-punk machine that churns out bands who all sound like All, something
backed up in the combo's touring-buddy associations with the likes of
Hot Hot Heat and Ted Leo/The Pharmacists. Musically, Washington Social
Club dare to step away from the crutch of distortion, building their
tunes on the base of a rhythm section who push the beat into beat-combo
territories, WSC knowing nothing if not that the rock is very much about
the roll. Over this, frontman Martin Royle punctuates proceedings with
his English-accented sneer, never more theatrically vintage-punk than
on the band-getting-stoned-on-the-road anthem "Are You High?," where
he, along with join-in-the-chorus boy/girl backing-vox, threatens the
crowd — "Before we leave this town tonight/ Can I show you fuckheads
something?" — whilst, simultaneously, trying to cop the band an
invite to a party after the show. Most of the time, such combative frontman
shenanigans go with the metronomic staccato guitar-chords typical of
this type of gear, but Royle's playbook isn't just three-chords-and-a-cloud-of-dust.
Going without fuzz, his strings are clean enough that, occasionally,
their ringing clarity even evokes the tone of Roger McGuinn(!), the jangling
pop-hooks of "Simple Sound" clocking in close to, uh, The La's. If that
sounds confusing, wait 'til you get to "Backed to the Future," where
Royle spins some capricious and convoluted tale about time-traveling.
Or, then, to the functionally-titled "Dancing Song," a jumped-up cut
in which the night's darkness, in anthropomorphic form, tells the combo
that it can stop the day from coming if they'd just play it a Danzig
record. And, with Washington Social Club's reigning aesthetic, you know
the nighttime incarnate just must be referring back to when Glenn was
but a teenager from Mars.
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