Weekend Lovers are a three piece hailing from Tucson, Arizona. I went there once on business. It was the sort of place that only America really has. A big town that appears to have just landed in the middle of a stinking hot desert surrounded by all manner of ridiculously beautiful mountain ranges.
It’s the sort of place that the inner child in me wants to believe once had various brave sheriffs defeating bands of armed highwaymen (or is that England?) and dodging all manner of arrows twanged from the bows of angry Red Indians who were double determined to stop him rescuing some gorgeous Ellie May Clampett type southern maiden.
It is in the 2nd half of the album that Weekend Lovers emphasize their intent to prevent the sort of cloying irritation that only too much beauty can incite. Makin Boize starts the ‘anti-nice’ tracks off with a thumping percussion and a Dinosaur Jnr style ‘buzzsaw riff’ to back Chrissie Hynde type sententious vocals, as the atmosphere moves definitively into the malevolent.
This aesthetic continues through the penultimate track, The Messenger, until the EP’s Magnum Opus is reached in the final track of Sex on The Beach (see above). This track grumbles with an anti-power pop bass line that almost borders on the repetition of punk, before occasionally breaking out into the sort of anti-melodic riffs that the weirdest of jangle-pop (think The Feelies, The UV Race and Pylon) have gloriously forced upon the world. It a whole lot of ‘anti’s’ forced together and is the absolute completion of the contrast this release offers.
Weekend Lovers are one of those bands we really ‘need’ to hang around to keep jangle-pop moving in different, perverse and defiant directions.