The Hipshakes – Sounds We Found / Maximum Growth And Vigour

Formed in the Derbyshire town of Bakewell but currently based in Manchester, The Hipshakes have (somewhat unbelievably) been in existence since 2001. Thankfully, it sounds like they still give scant shits for maturity or sophistication even as they approach the end of their 20s. You can hear hints of Linda Blair-obsessed punkas Redd Kross in their cracked-bubblegum glee, ditto the angular brevity of Wire (think 12XU rather than Outdoor Miner) and the familiar American snot of yer Oblivians, yer Jay Reatards, yer Black Lipses. But if the atmosphere they evoke dredges up thoughts of anyone in particular, it’s the breathless, too-drunk-to-funk rattle of The Replacements circa Sorry Ma, Forgot To Take Out The Trash – the sort of band that’d jump off a cliff for the fuck of it, because consequences are something you only have to worry about on the way to the hospital. Furthermore, The Hipshakes sound like they’d be sharing beer bongs in the back of the ambulance.

Still, this ain’t no compare’n’contrast competition: onto the two new offerings, the first of which was recorded and somehow lost way back in 2008. Newly spruced-up but deliriously ragged, Sounds We Found is all heads-down mania; speeding past you on the inside lane while sticking up two fingers from the rear window. Let’s Get Acquainted is the closest they get to romance, betraying their nerdy, winsome loserdom as they ever-so-politely sidle up to the object of their affections and shout the title ‘til their throats are hoarse. It’s funny, it’s charming, it’s the sort of glorious snot you just don’t tend to hear from bands on this side of the pond (Sidenote: It might not surprise you to learn that the band only managed their first UK tour in 2014, despite being veterans of the US festival citcuit).

Elsewhere they turn their play-dumb affectations to classic concerns like snazzy clothing (T-Shirt) and wasting time (er, Wasted Time), all the while maintaining their breakneck velocity with blink-and-you’re-left-for-dust hooks. And schyeah, that’s ‘affectations’ as in ‘copping a pose and running with it’ – from Elvis to Iggy to whoever, the whole of rock’n’roll is a gleefully giddy sham; deal with that and you’ll get along just fine. Still, just to give you a chance to breathe, the LP closes out with something slightly more relaxed – Rovin’ Down The River’s countrified choogle sounds both tongue-in-cheek and blissfully in love with Creedence Clearwater Revival. It’s so easy to get this stuff wrong, but these loose grooves hook you in: countrified slop left in the gutter to wash away in the English rain. [3/5], in a 7/10 sorta way: it's nothing new but you really won't care.

Bona fide new LP Maximum Growth And Vigour brings us up to speed with The Hipshakes in 2015, now expanded from trio to quartet. Whereas Sounds We Found featured plenty of yelping from all members in union, this latest effort sees ‘em taking solo turns as their edges become more jagged – Doin’ Nothing All The Time and My Confession could almost be The Buzzcocks at the peak of their frantic pop majesty, while the energy of earlier years is redirected from pace into power (not that any of the 15 stormers contained herein could be considered slouches). There’s carefully-deployed woahs and ahhs that up the pop factor of shoutalong hookathons like Hold You Tight, but everything remains thrillingly scuffed; their disdain for anything approaching sophistication is admirable.

If there’s one thing to be said for slowing things down, it’s that the melodies make themselves a little plainer without being hemmed in by rapid-fire rhythms – and holy fuck, is it ever the melodies you’ll stay for. The fiery Disappointment jerks insolently but still heads straight for your brain, with conquest so inevitable it may as well plant a flag and declare your mind its own. The extra guitar really packs a punch too, lending pep to songs already pretty well-stocked with pop – a step forward that enables The Hipshakes to retain your love and faith without having to repeat themselves. There are plenty of garage bands who need to take Charles Shaar Murray’s advice to The Clash and lock ‘emselves in their natural habitat with a car engine running, but these two LPs paint a picture of a band you’d expect to ram the doors and emerge triumphant. They also pull off the remarkable trick of capturing the ferocity of their live performance on record: simultaneously smart and dumb, and exciting to boot. So what are you waiting for? Time for some hipshaking of your own. [4/5], and how.