The Van Pelt
Sultans Of Sentiments

LA RECENSIONE

The 90s caused a shake-up in the American indie scene: "Nevermind" had changed the game, and from there began an obsessive attention from the Majors, in search of other golden eggs.

This was reflected in the quality of American independent offerings, often blinded by the prospect of broader commercial success. However, in the vast undergrowth of the United States, there was no shortage of white flies capable of continuing their sonic exploration without distractions. One could even find a band capable of rejecting a 3-million-dollar contract with a multinational. That band was the Van Pelt.

Led by the charismatic singer-guitarist Chris Leo, the New York band debuted in 1996 with the excellent "Stealing from Our Favorite Thieves": a refined work of white noise, careful not to replicate the No Wave intuition and Sonic Youth too closely. But it was in 1997, with the subsequent "The Sultans of Sentiment," that the Van Pelt engraved their name in the history of US indie rock, perhaps forging the best work of that genre in the second half of the past decade. What are the characteristics of such a masterpiece (the epitaph of their career: Leo dissolved the group shortly after, to embark on the adventure with the excellent The Lapse)?
An intriguing sonic mix, at the crossroads of some of the best things of stars and stripes rock (the ruthless aggressions of Slint, the crooked melodic fragmentation of Pavement) and exquisite atmospheres of Albion matrix (from the Smiths honored in "We are the heathens" to certain gloomy electro-wave reminiscences, as in "Young alchemists"). Many compared them to Radiohead, but at the time Thom Yorke and company had not yet made a record like this. Chris Leo then had a less self-indulgent approach compared to Yorke, with surreal and elusive lyrics, full of teenage boredom. And a fabulous voice, hysterical and sweet at the same time.

The Van Pelt were never widely appreciated, but listening to their records is something that should be recommended to anyone. How could one not be overwhelmed by those muddy guitars enveloping a "The good, the bad and the blind" to scream for, the quirky folk of "Don’t make me walk my own log", the emocore omens of "Nanzen kills a cat" and "Pockets of pricks" or the incredible mix of spleen and melodic intuitions surrounding the final "Do the lovers still meet at the Chiang-kai shek Memorial?": one of those ballads that only Greg Dulli knew how to write.

Passion, emotion, rage, all condensed into a fluid guitar vortex, shaped by a Chris Leo at the peak of his art. We will not forget them, that's for sure.