The wonky rock brilliance of DAWN OF THE REPLICANTS has long been overshadowed by the faddish fashions of the music industry. Doug Johnstone says it’s time to listen up.

ife isn’t fair. and so it is with

music. While loads of young.

scatterbrained guitar bands swan about in 2004’s limelight. one of the groups that paved the way for their success is languishing in relative obscurity. Because the chart hits and Top of the Pops appearances of bands such as. say. the Coral and the Zutons wouldn‘t have been nearly so easy to come by if it wasn't for Dawn of the Replicants.

The Borders-based fivesome sprung to the music world‘s attention in 1998 with their awesome and manically inspired debut album. One Head. Two Arms. Two Legs. was released on major label Eastwest. It was a record that broke new ground in guitar rock. shambolic though it was. Critical acclaim was lavish,

sales were promising and much hope was pinned on their second album. That record. the rather prophetically titled Wrong Town, Wrong Planet. Three Hours Late. was better than the first yet a change of management at Eastwest led to the record barely crawling into the shops with a whimper of promotion. and the band were

subsequently dropped.

Now on their fourth album. The Extra Room. this time released on small indie label Hungry Dog. DotR are in fighting mood. A more cohesive and energetic record than their previous outings. it is a big Captain Beefheart romp with a side




haven't done anything particularly wrong. Then again. you could argue that our whole career has been wrong.‘ The band have always put on an unhinged live show. intent on notjust being blokes strumming guitars. ‘We have competitions on stage and things like that.‘ says Vickers. laughing. ‘And the glitter fan has become a

legendary part of the show. but to be honest it‘s pretty pathetic and difficult to maintain.‘

Such theatrics and feelgood vibes are reminiscent of the Flaming Lips. a band who had to wait umpteen years before

receiving the recognition their

portion of Beta Band and a whisper of Super Furries groundbreaking music deserved. That band‘s belated

thrown into the pot for good measure. It‘s a calling card

from a band back on the rise.

‘We’re certainly back in the game.‘ says singer Paul Vickers in a voice remarkably reminiscent of Geordie loon Ross Noble. “I don‘t really understand why we‘re not better known. We haven‘t put out a bad record. We


Like Olympic drug cheats or those fuckers who keep inventing new computer viruses, Fierce Panda are always one step ahead of the game. the Uber-indie label being responsible for discovering Coldplay. Supergrass. Ash and hundreds of others.

With the current popularity of Scottish guitar bands (obligatory Franz Ferdinand and Snow Patrol namecheck inserted here), big labels are making tits of themselves trying to sign up every pasty-faced Weegie in Gola trainers. Needless to say. Fierce Panda have the jump on the whole fudding lot of them, and are proving it with the release of an EP. ‘Glowing Underground'. packed to the gunnels with rollicking Scottish indie mayhem

as THE LIST 5—12 Aug 2004

success gives hope to Vickers.

‘People keep saying to us you might do a Scottish

Flaming Lips. it might just suddenly click into place.‘ he says. ‘You never know.‘

Odeon Beat Club

that the label has been nurturing for months.

For this EP launch party four of the six are performing, and a splendiferous bunch they are too. Sadly for us Dogs Die in Hot Cars and This Miracle Smile can’t make it but rejoice as Amateur Guitar Anti-Heroes are a Rosyth-based trio who create big blasts of tune-laden rock in an oddball. post-everything

King Tut’s, Glasgow, Fri 6 Aug.

kind of way. Lacing big guitar tunes with trumpet. AGA-H are pop puppies fighting to get out of an indie sack.

Edinburgh's X-Tigers are a jagged and spiky affair. juddering and lurching from pop hook to pop crook by way of some blisterineg dynamic riffage and a smattering of arthouse lyrical leftfieldism.

Odeon Beat Club are probably the most commercial offering of the evening. dishing up a smorgasbord of melody-soaked indie pop with undenows of Idlewild-style anthemic melancholy. And finishing the line-up are Multiplies, a Glasgow-based electro-rock weirdo bunch who love nothing better than to thrash out a heads-down synth-punk romp to get the party started.

If you wanna be ahead of the game too. check 'em all out. (Doug Johnstone)

[i [2931213. '11)}: l‘Ll'ill

Our words of wisdom from the last 500 issues.

The little shop of horrors

The gig? I was afraid you'd ask. It was gruesome. Disregard references to ‘shambolic charm' as whitewash. The material is a gutless monotone jam; their 'rage' wouldn’t flatten a flea. They have the passion of a drowsy dachshund and the character of a practising wallflower. They’ve chosen their vocation foolishly - Cornershop are misplaced evangelists perched on a platform riddled with rot.

Fiona Shepherd on Cornershop. issue 200, May 7993.

David’s soul

Somewhere between American Music Club and Van Morrison. Mike Scott and Roddy Frame. a maudlin muse demands to be heard. In whispers. Prick up your ears. Calvin Bush on A Century Ends by David Gray, issue 799, April 7993


PETE DOHERTY Stereo, Glasgow, Mon 26 Jul 0..

Not the baby, just the shambles

Not so much a gig more a wild rammy on stage. with the on-off (currently off) Libertines man at the heart of it looking more than a little dazed and confused tonight. While Doherty‘s problems are notorious. the sheer love and affection from the capacity crowd seems to buoy him up. as they mob around him (and slightly redundant guest Dot Allison) in a raucous scrum overflowing the tiny bar stage.

This wasn't really about the music: an acoustic singalong stumble through the band‘s hits with a few rough cover versions. including the obligatory Smiths song. But there was enough there to show he still has the spark that marked the Libertines out in the first place. He's not a natural solo performer though and this was more of an excuse to revive the band's early frenzied shows while marking time till Doherty (hopefully) sorts himself out. Wish him luck. (Andrea Mullaney)