In the words of the recently departed Adam Yauch – you gotta fight for your right to party. The Hit-ups are endorsing those rights with nitro fuelled enthusiasm and hell for leather commitment. What an electrifying puree of sounds and styles – rock, punk, rap, ska, psychedelia, theatre - all thrown into the liquidiser and blended into a high octane smoothie that goes straight up the nose and impales itself deep into the cerebral cortex.
These guys have a sense of fun as well as a sense of rhythm. Their wit is evident in some of their titles – not only their own name but the wickedly brilliant hybrid caption of their EP ‘Whordes’ together with tracks such as ‘The Holy Coast’ and ‘Tropicarnage’. They ooze excitement, and bubble and burn like paint stripper. The Hit-ups are to music what Banksy is to magnolia! They hit you like a Tazer and send the muscles into involuntary spasms.
They are deliberately bolting together component parts with the force of a rivet gun – anarchy, joy, decadence, baseball caps, monsters and masks into a vortex that assaults the senses. Hell knows what Josh Hughes-Games does to repair his vocal chords after a gig but given the exuberance with which he attacks the songs his throat must be dripping blood. This band has a six speed gearbox but they’ve ripped out the first five gears, and brakes weren’t even an optional extra. This is not for those of a nervous disposition or a weak heart. Open your mind and let them hot-wire your neurones and then let them take your emotions for a joy-ride.
And behind that razor-wire voice is a well-oiled machine that keeps pumping the horse-power. Lyrical drumming adds motivation not just migraine and the guitars cut like an oxyacetylene torch with demented riffs and warp-speed passion. Add a splash of synth and the concoction is complete. It would be an understatement to describe the music as infectious. More accurately it’s as virulent as a pandemic. If you see them in the flesh then be thankful you come out alive, but know for certain you will come out changed. Even the Large Hadron Collider would be hard pushed to produce as much energy as this crew.
But don’t be mistaken into thinking this is just a mosh-pit of pandemonium and perspiration. Beneath the morass lies musical ambition. The proof lies in the instrumentation and structure of their songs – manifest care in composing pieces that have musical integrity but which can then be used as coat-hooks on which to hang vibrant and volatile performances. What could easily have become just a wall of sound is decorated with little guitar motifs, odd bits of distortion and melodic ornamentations that energise it to another level.
And although they have chosen to live in the musical equivalent of a lunatic asylum, be assured that they are the warders and not the inmates. This is the soundtrack to a new generation – the pulsating life-force flowing through the veins of the here and now. This is nuclear fusion exponentially expanding through word of mouth and felt through vibrations along the floor.
The band probably sum themselves up best in their own words, the refrain repeated with self-confident exhilaration in ‘Infinity Black Magik’ – We intend to live forever. What better mission statement from five big talents with a big, big sound on the verge of something much, much bigger.
Review by Peter Heydon
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