Listening to "American Whip" is like discovering a long forgotten classic. Ironically so, since last year it almost became one – problems at their record label have kept its release in limbo for twelve months. Thankfully this has not diminished its beauty. In fact it hardly matters at all, for this is a timeless album that you’ll play with the same treasured frequency this time next year.
Throughout, Vincent Cafiso and Tabitha Tindale employ the ‘sounding sweet but talking dirty’ card like seasoned playas. It’s not an original trick but, ever since Uncle Lou begged us to hit him with a flower, it’s proved a damned effective one. Joy Zipper understand that switchblades‘n’kisses and candy‘n’narcotics are all part of rock n roll’s sleazy lexicon. Consequently, their songs sound like honey but hit like a hammer. “My tongue’s on the floor, on the cement,” croons Tabitha matter-of-factly on the gentle suicide ballad "33x".
Yet a romantic streak is prevalent too. Especially on the closing "Valley Stream" (“You play the drums and I’ll grow a beard – we’re like two dinosaurs living here in Valley Stream”) and on "Christmas Song" - which might also be a paean to certain lysergic substances.
Elsewhere the drug reference are more specific. Not least on "Drugs" but also on the mighty pretty "Dosed & Became Invisible" with its radio-unfriendly chorus that runs, “Psilocybin everyday – blew my mind in every way.” Play that Moyles. Even "Alzheimers" (surely a pop music first?) is awash with narcotic connotations.
Though hardly subtle in print, the arrangements, courtesy of Kevin Shields and David Holmes, pretty much take residency in an aural wormhole consisting of all the best bits since AD1963. Imagine Spector’s Wall Of Sound with MBV’s Vacuum Of Sound and you’d be getting warm.
Unsurprisingly, this makes for a deeply satisfying trip. Mind expanding yet comfortable and warm. Like The Flaming Lips, Joy Zipper's interstellar contemporaries, Cafiso and Tindale understand that a journey to another universe is nothing but the journey inside.
by Adam Webb