Naevus
Silent Life

Born about ten years ago ("Truffles of Love", their debut, dates back to 1999), Naevus is an English duo formed by Lloyd James and Joanne Owen.
Even though they are often pigeonholed within the hazy boundaries of a formless and mellifluous genre like apocalyptic folk (perhaps due to the acoustic guitar and James's baritone voice, or his friendships with notable figures in the grey area), they seem instead to draw inspiration from old glories like the Stooges and Buzzcocks (it is no coincidence that the band started by playing covers of these bands), without, however, resisting the temptation to emulate the sounds of a certain 1980s dark wave (Joy Division, Sisters of Mercy, and early Death in June above all).
And although the music of James and Owen may not shine for excessive originality, it would be unfair to deny them a certain inspiration in keeping things going: inspiration that fuels works which do not scream miracle, but are nonetheless appreciated within the ranks and limits of a band of secondary importance in today's dark/rock scene.

With the good "Silent Life", their latest release (we are in 2007), they coherently follow their path, ultimately embracing the slick coils of a cursed songwriting style reminiscent of the great Cave.
To recall the apocalyptic scene, we have a whole series of deluxe guest stars, such as John Murphy (SPK, Death in June, Current 93, and more), Rose McDowall (Current 93, Death in June, and more), and Matt Howden (Sol Invictus, Sieben).
Yet, the contributions of the mentioned personalities fail to overshadow the evident influences inherited from 70s rock, blues, and psychedelia. So much so that Murphy abandons the ritual-martial touch to become a drummer in his own right (yes, four-four time, tempo changes, and such!); McDowall's enchanting vocals, relegated to a backing vocal role, are eagerly swallowed by the distortion of the guitars and the forcefulness of the percussion beats; Howden, for his part, exploits his violin to an incredible extent, leaving aside the decadent and poetic scenarios woven within Sol Invictus to surrender to smoky hallucinations that seem to stem from an epic duel between Warren Ellis and Simon House.

The opener "Spring Summer Railway" leaves one breathless: electric guitar, apocalyptic drums, a Morricone-like progression, and a voice that seems to resurrect Cave from the "The Good Son"/"Henry’s Dream" era.
The electric thrill of Greg Ferrari's guitar, indeed, will run through the entire album, animating the eight ballads contained in the album, often overshadowing James's acoustic guitar and Owen's full-bodied bass, the true backbone of the Naevus sound.
Definitely worth mentioning is the paranoid "Bobby Shafto", torn apart by the intricate whistling and screeching violin of Howden, the country-tinged "Hasty Bastard", the hyper-ballad "The Ballad of Benjamin Munt", an eight-minute electric stream that certainly won’t fail to impress.

Apocalyptic folk, in fact, advances relentlessly in the sound depths of the tracks, driven by James's acoustic guitar, the steadfast author of texts and music.
And it is interesting to note how Naevus’s music, stripped of its rock exterior, settles into the typical ballad of apocalyptic folk, developed twenty years ago by Douglas Pearce.
Moreover, if you happen to see the duo perform live, the picture will become clear: deprived of guest contributions, the minimalistic sound of Naevus reduces to uncompromising apocalyptic folk. But in the studio, submerged by electric guitars and forceful percussion, apocalyptic folk surfaces only occasionally, as in the chorus of "Kill Your Friends" (embellished by laconic piano chimes in typical Death in June style) or in the acoustic opening of the concluding "Dominic Song".

In short, it should be clear by now, apocalyptic folk is a narrow label for Naevus, and for this reason, "Silent Life", which does not seem to present any particular points of weakness (except for the faltering two-minute "White Love"), is warmly recommended to all lovers of acid and decadent rock (but also ironic), and especially to those who look with poignant nostalgia at mid-career works of the Ink King.