Chapterhouse
White House Demos

THE REVIEW

1989, Weston Beach -super-Mare. Four tracks, zero compromises. Shoegaze before shoegaze. Only Shallow in the cradle with teddy bears.

Ecstasy opens like a half-open door, with that reverb of guitars that dissolves. Dancing wearily and staring into the void of those Doc Martens, inert statues in sleepiness. Bassline pulsing like a strangled stream that gurgles. Heart holding its breath. Sheila, let me in, just to try them. Those black, shiny Doc Martens look made for walking, soft, inside this song.

Guilt is more direct, but no less liquid. Psychedelic garage plunging into delay. You, red-haired and striking, listen, folding boxes with grace inside this dazzling showroom. Me, outside, begging you for a shoegaze apericena perched on the shop window dusted with frost.

Die Die Die is the noise before the dream. A fuzz mantra, an echo of the Stooges and distorted dreams. Sheila, I beg you, just five minutes. I'll tell you about Chapterhouse playing only covers before they found their own voice. Ti piace Lady Gaga...? Bene…partiremo allora da zero.

See That Girl closes like a wave receding. Ride, Spacemen 3, and England like Diana, who is gone. You smile, and your lipstick tastes of rive gauche and distortion. I offer you a gin and tonic and a record to listen to together.

These demos, forgotten, unearthed by Christian Savill (Slowdive), are the noise before the noise. Sheila, if you let me in, I'll tell you how you can live forever in an endless delay.

Never found a girl who was hooked on shoegaze.