Black Francis – ‘Blue Finger’ (Cooking Vinyl Released 03/09/07

Hands up. Who knows who the hell Herman Brood is? Us neither. One way to attack this review would be to convincingly feign knowledge of the Dutch artist/musician (?) who has inspired Senõr Black’s latest solo foray. To maybe draw parallels between some of his visual works and Black’s audio offerings? To painstakingly extract the odd tenuous lyric that bares some resemblance to the title of a painting? Nah. The line "He was no Saint but he was Dutch, so he could paint yeah, he had the touch" from ‘Angels Come To Comfort You’ is probably the best shot in this direction. Luckily the album holds up on its own without any need for extensive research into contemporary art/iconic Dutch narcotic users. Phew.

From the get-go, Francis howls like he’s rocking for his supper. Putting paid to the belief that ‘losing one’s edge’ is inevitable after a period of success (try eighteen albums in various guises Oasis) opener ‘Captain Pasty’ is fucking brutal and sounds best while driving too fast in someone else’s car. Gigwise’s Mk1 cut-n-shut, A-reg Fiesta can’t physically go over the speed limit, so this is purely conjecture mind you… Primary single, ‘Threshold Apprehension’ doesn’t let up on the aggression; strumming, yelping and getting all high-pitched, Black spits out his lyrics like it’s his first gig. ‘Test Pilot Blues’ is more laid back and the closest a punk band could get to taking-the-bass-for-a- walk. After softening a bit and gargling some gravel through the jangley ‘Lolita’, Frank gets good and sadistic again on ‘Tight Black Rubber’. Razorblade guitar and his growling delivery of the line "Mary had a little lamb, her shit was pure as snow" reminds us all why we’re here (listening to the album - not in Dalston Kingsland on a wet Tuesday).

Coming across far, far cooler than any podgy fortysomething should be able to, he covers the Brood penned tune ‘You Can’t Break A Heart And Have It’ and completely makes it his own. Throwing in extra garage-rock guitar and the sexiness of Violet Clark’s vocal this version is a single release just gagging to wipe the shite from the airwaves for a few months. The melancholic, languid ‘Bluefinger’ closes the album to resounding effect. Drums played slow, thick and deep emphasise the conclusion of each couplet sprayed from Black’s mouth. Reflective and sobering when compared to the bluster of the earlier tracks, this song brings to a close a truly rocking, consistent and gorgeously sleazy long player. The bluntness and sheer aggression of this album is summed up by the no nonsense line: "He played piano really fucking good" taken from the track ‘Angels Come To Comfort You’.

Witty, rough and to the point - Black Francis has undeniably still got ‘it’…if there ever was any doubt.