I can’t say I’ve ever harboured much impassioned desire to play with the psych revivalism peddled by onetime Jing Jang Jong types TOY, although at that same time I’ve struggled overnight to neglect the hypnotic psychosis they here contrive to conjure beyond Natasha Khan’s unprecedentedly impressive Siouxsie impression, as the Londoners combine to cover Amir Rassaei’s Aroos Khanom. Initially intended as an exhibition of ‘Funk, Psychedelia and Pop from the Iranian Pre-Revolution Generation’ which featured on the profusely celebrated Zendooni compilation (a tenuous Middle Eastern alternative to Nuggets: Original Artyfacts from the First Psychedelic Era, 1965–1968 reissued just last summer), it’s here afforded a faithful if still refreshing resurrection: with Khan ostensibly channelling her Pakistani heritage, twinkling keys tiptoe about her bridesmaidenish banshee wails imploring pesky children “don’t throw stones” toward the already broken heart of her tender cherished. Rarely has she sounded so sagacious, as her niftily translated proverbs here ring with omniscient wisdom before she continues to assume the voice of spurned spouse. “Now my heart is beating in my chest/ No one to confide in” she sneers, turning more than a bit Jehnny Beth in the process but for something turned around in a day, The Bride maintains a strikingly unerring sense of urgency throughout.
The Bride is released July 1st via Speedy Wunderground on a limited run of only 250.