2LP+CD | 2012 | EU | Original (Ed Banger)
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Release:2012 / EU – Original
Genre:Rock / Indie, Electronic / Dance
It’s not for anyone else to decide what other young men and women should get up to in the sanctity of their own bedrooms. That said, it’s heartening to know that not everyone using the term “bedroom band” is a lazy person making bad excuses for a tossed off record. mFor four, long years, Django Django have been busy doing great things in the East London bedroom slept in by their drummer, producer and de facto leader David Maclean. The result of those great things is a great self-titled debut record. “Time gives you options, and we had plenty of that,” says Vincent Neff, the singer and guitarist who - along with bassist Jimmy Dixon and synth operator Tommy Grace - completes Django Django. “There was no pressure on us from anyone to go away with a producer and come back two weeks later with an album,” explains Maclean. “Maybe next time there will be some svengali figure banging his fists on a desk demanding hits, but we’ve had the luxury to figure out what we wanted to do and how we wanted to do it.” The quartet, who met at art school in Edinburgh, first came to peoples’ attentions after a gradual migration to London a couple of years back. 2009’s double A-side single “Storm"/"Love’s Dart” laid the blueprint for a confident, adventurous and psychedelically-bruised strain of art-rock that melds intangible electronic flourishes to the visceral rub of live instrumentation. The time since has been spent holed away, expanding upon that blueprint, seeing where they can push it. The impression one gets of Django Django is of a band laying down the first, meticulously measured borders on some vast map of a world that only they are privy to. Correspondent to that, each track is like its own nation of harmonies, rhythms and textures. “We didn’t put much conscious thought into making it sound like an album - we thought we’d let any similarities between the songs come out by themselves,” explains Tommy. What that means in practice is the swooning, bucolic Beach Boy-isms of op.