Call Me Platypus
Shame On Call Me Platypus

THE REVIEW

Maybe it's because I haven't slept for two days, or perhaps it's the spring, or perhaps in some way, it's about poor digestion, but lately, I feel a great need for attention.
And so I overcome my reservation and for the second time, I start talking (to myself) about my gang of friends and the discs we record in the garage.

I could start with the title this time and recall with a hint of nostalgia the good old days, the sunny afternoons, the sweat, the great emotions, and the ability to feel ashamed, which might have been ridiculous, but which therapists, I'm told, consider to be a healthy reaction to life's affronts.

So, I could talk about all this, but fundamentally Shame On Call Me Platypus because yes, let's face it, the first EP is always something you're ashamed of later. So let's write it directly on the cover: Shame On Call Me Platypus!

I listen to it again now after a few years of blur, and I have to say it's a bit like when you see a photo of yourself from several years ago: you know what I mean? Time gives you perspective, it transforms you, and eventually, you're no longer embarrassed by that god-awful pose because, fundamentally, you're no longer that fool laughing in the picture.

And so, for your joy, oh yes, let's dive into an ill-fated track-by-track because, when all is said and done, these poor, ignored, mistreated, disowned songs deserve a couple of sweet words from their creators.

Indians: when I threw out the idea of making a song like the Gun Club, I only cared that there were tons of slide guitars. And even if in the end it has nothing to do with the Gun Club, the slide guitars are there, and we celebrated the voodoo rites big time, so who cares!

Conduit Engine: the structure mirrors that of Happiness Is a Warm Gun (we were very modest), starting from something that might be post-gothic to arrive at a little rock n roll chorus that my grandmother liked. And my grandmother rocked hard, you have no idea.

Sonic Samba: our sweet anthem to misanthropy. The summer hit that no one cared about.

Pegasus Plumcake: teeth-grating chords, existential malaise, and plumcake dipped in milk. Want something more? You're never satisfied.

Neomelodic Goes Intergalactica: listened to today, I say...heck: how cool were we to play something so utterly nonsensical? The result isn't anywhere near the level of our ambitions back then; it might make you laugh, be kitschy, have a lot of off-key notes, but how much do we love Neomelodic!

So yes, I was talking about shame, about memories. But fundamentally, I was talking about not giving a damn and following your passions.

Tiny bands of the world, playing in your garages and offering up stuff totally indigestible to any record label with a modicum of common sense: unite.

And make this damn Big Bang of creativity explode that this country desperately needs damn it!

P.S: if you want to give us a listen, it's all free here: https://callmeplatypus.bandcamp.com/album/shame-on-call-me-platypus