You have to wonder how And You Know Us By The Trail Of Dead would be regarded if they didn't have that gloriously melodramatic band name and hailed from somewhere closer to home than the "dusty badlands" of Texas. Would it make a difference to the UK's visceral enjoyment of their fuzzed up tantrums if they were called, say, Penthouse or Elevate and played every week to a handful of music hacks at the Dublin Castle? Would the music be cheapened somehow?
The answers, inevitably, are oh yes and you bet. Because there's nothing here that bands like, well, Penthouse and Elevate (also-ran noiseniks who propped up the capital's gig guide during the mid to late nineties) didn't do just as well. The Thurston Moore songbook is liberally plundered, right from the chapter about judicious use of a screwdriver right to the epilogue about appropriate forms of shouting. Guitars sound ragged, strings taut, melodies flail and meander.
What raises Trail Of Dead to a plain of cool above their British forebears is precisely the sense of style that led them to pick that name in the first place. They don't make a better sound than your average bunch of Sonic Youth fanatics, but they make it feel better, make it seem more important, more romantic almost. There is a sense of mystery burning slowly at the core of this album and it helps you suspend your disbelief and buy in for the crazed duration.
Which is lucky because after the thrilling righteous noise of opener 'It Was There That I Saw You', like Spiritualized on the rampage with flick knives, 'Source Tags And Codes' takes a while to warm up. 'Another Morning Stoner' feels boxed in, as if it is only in the live context that the band can truly make sense. 'Baudelaire' is too self-consciously in thrall to black leather and the cheap prices at the art school bar. And 'Homage' pays scant respects to any of Thurston's real breakthroughs.
Come the sombre majesty of 'How Near, How Far', however, and Trail Of Dead really come into their own. A sense of space creeps into the instrumentation (from the "arid plains of their homeland", natch, Indie Mills & Boon fans) and you begin to be affected by the drama rather than the squalls of noise. 'Monsoon' is even better, Loop shadow boxing with Jim Morrison. 'Relative Ways' has a rattled subtlety that sneaks into your nervous system and the title track is coolly played lethargy at its eye-rolling best.
There's a bunch of music writers in Austin right now, of course, sniggering with disbelief that we've fallen for the band that played every couple of days for pocket change in the bar opposite their office. No matter. What this record proves more than anything is that you can't make a genuinely affecting noise record in 2002 without a sense of perspective. And 'Source Tags And Codes' has just the right amount of perspective to make all worries feel irrelevant.
