2:54 - album review
- By Robyn Lynch -
- May 31, 2012
At the beginning of every year a handful of bands are grouped together and labelled ‘the next big thing’ in a bid to keep things interesting by every music publication going. Some will wilt and fade while others will blossom gloriously. In the latter category are 2:54 who after just 18 months together as a band have been hailed as the saviours of... well everything.
The two sisters behind 2:54 are London based Hannah and Colette Thurlow who have a penchant for dressing in black, and as it would seem, for making perfectly polished shoe-gaze albums. Touring with The Maccabees, Warpaint and Yuck before their debut album was even conceived, 2:54 homed in their sound before signing to Fiction Records and working with Mercury Award winning producer Rob Ellis.
Boldly leaving out ‘On A Wire’, the song that first got them noticed, 2:54 have crafted a ten track album that envelopes and explores a delicately feminine and polished turn on a low-fi sound. Hypnotizing in its range between eerily hushed and dauntingly jagged, 2:54’s self-titled debut is a captivating affair.
Opening is the whispering ‘Revolving’ which hushes and patters along eventually building into a guitar and drum lined climax. Second track ‘You’re Early’ introduces itself with a saunter, layering with a danger and insecurity that is mirrored in the lyrics “I just want to feel close. Want to feel the world”. Whimpers and ever grungier guitar licks play down into a cowbell count before the song ends in a gorgeously abrupt end.
While the incredible ‘Scarlet’ has previously been heard, the premise of it in context within the rest of the album is insatiable. Cleaned up and given an extra layer of 2:54 throbbing longing, it captivates more than before.
There are some wonderfully witchy tracks on 2:54’s debut album but none are as magical as closing track ‘Creeping’ which is onomatopoeic in its name. Each song on the album has its climaxes and lulls yet the album as a whole keeps to the same macabre tone of a dark sense of despair. Deep with a real sense of vulnerability, 2:54 have an ability to captivate their audience in the grey horizons of their sound.
By Robyn Lynch.
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