Ezra Furman | Twelve Nudes
7/10 ferocious fun
Written in the summer of last year, the eighth album from Ezra Furman is more than a little preoccupied with the dread and anxiety of Trump’s America. “I should not be alone the way things are going” he screams over reimagined Rolling Stones ‘woo-woo’s’ on the opening track, before mourning the loss of his twenties under the guise of personal freedom on “Evening Prayer”.
Soundtracking this rude awakening with a spiky but generally melodious punk vibe, his previously reedy croon has morphed into a more rasping shriek – channeling the raw energy of his heroes The Ramones and The New York Dolls.
At first glance it’s a chaotic racket, but Twelve Nudes manages an urgent simplicity, where songs are kept moving by big, shiny riffs and on-point melodies. The lyrics are profound, sardonic and more than a little quotable. On “My Teeth Hurt” – a song about dysphoria and dentistry – showcases this wit brilliantly; “the ache inside me reminds my mind my body’s really there”, he wails.
It’s a clever combo of droll phrasing, intellectual concepts and brain-rattling punk: thought-provoking yet deliriously fun – a gratifying listen make no mistake.
Like this? Try these:
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Near-perfect post punk blueprint.
The thinking man’s post-punkers.
Parquet Courts Wide Awake!
Underrated New Yorkers trawl UK punk underground to magic effect.