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THE TELESCOPES
LONDON CAMDEN FALCON
A SWIRL, a snarl and a sonic boom hurtles The Telescopes through their own timewarp tunnel. Green tinted monochrome and studied indifference snuggles up to a comforting eletric blanket of feedback.
spacer All is still except for the flickering drumsticks and freaking out frontman. Unmelodic harmonies back the vocals to the hilt, the bass staggers around while the guitar soars up to the stars who look sawn on this commotion with more than a little concern. 'Nothing' is surprisingly enough about nothing and skips along at a sombre pace, pausing only to dig ole man Lou's gothic resting place. Wonder Stuff jollity dissolves into Iggy snarling hostility, and before I know it a truly skullf-ing chorus at 'Kick The Wall' is tumbling dawn to lodge itself in the back of my brain. The 'Scopes continue to look within and through themselves at something greater and the wabbing wah wah white noise jolts you out at disdain into incoherent concentration.
spacer A grunge and a thud and the same old story reweaved. Rock 'n' roll nihilism has never been so much fun.
Ian Watson

Originally appeared in NME 4 March 1989. Copyright © NME

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