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Imagine, if you can, a small corner of Norway. Not detached from the modern world in a cocoon of either darkness or perpetual light, but firmly aligning itself to a previous era; say the early nineties. In this picturesque inlet, Britpop failed to come into port and the new wave of Indie bands, blown along with catchy chorus and sharply dressed on deck, have also navigated in the other direction. No, the only people that have stopped here have become something of a religion; epic spaced out travellers with an inclination to long drawn out melodies, walls of noise and tales of isolation. Take a walk up Ride Avenue via Slowdive Street and Primal Scream way and you'll find Serena Maneesh, no doubt worshipping respectfully at the church of The Jesus and Mary Chain.
Blues riff's wail, drums pound and tambourines shake, and for a minute or two you're waiting to see Bobby Gillespie and Co bound out onto the stage and break into some Rolling Stones esque space blues jam. Then you spot the violin. Instead of a weathered Mancunian on Bass, out jumps a 6ft Blonde bombshell and the lead singer is wearing a bandana. Serena Maneesh have ripped the heart out of the blues, pinched the heart of Rock 'n' roll and stuck them both inside a shoegazing, feedback drenched monster. Single 'Drain Cosmetics' is a perfect example: building on a simple riff, fused with My Bloody Valentine hushed girl/boy vocals, with percussion shakes and ending in a room reverberating death rattle.
'Drive Me Home The Lonely Nights' shows us the trippier influences. Like a breezy Scandinavian Chapterhouse or The Velvet Underground and Nico on acid rather than smack and blissfully optimistic, it's actually settling after the abrasive wall of noise it follows. Here lies the power of Serena Maneesh. By having the balls to blast out blues edged guitar wails they let you rock out like its 1967 and then chill you out as if you've just got in from spending a night off your head in a Somerset field.
Visually, they veer away from their Shogazing peers and bounce around like the kids on the blue smarties, and despite the vocals being more of an instrument than a message due to the inadequate sound system, you can take a stab in the dark: Post-modern isolation and inward looking, gothic imagery and haunting metaphors. If there is a flaw, it's that the genres they emulate have either manifested themselves in successful established acts (Primal Scream) or been left in a box somewhere in the annuls of Indie history with only a small but loyal following (everyone else). A resurgence of eight-minute Indie soundscapes or the new Killers album? You decide.
