Kitty, Daisy & Lewis - Kitty, Daisy & Lewis (Album)

Now here is a curiosity. Fact 1: Kitty, Daisy, and Lewis Durham are from North London. Fact 2: Kitty, Daisy and Lewis (I would abbreviate it to KDL but it is far too close to KD Lang for my liking) began when they were 12 (Kitty), 14 (Lewis), and 16 (Daisy) years of age. So what can we assume from these facts?

Firstly, their folks are great at spacing out pregnancies. That’s a given. Secondly, we can assume they are a raucous, quasi-intellectual power-pop band called the Franz Arctic Roses. Incorrect. What?! Yes, well, believe it or not they are in fact three kids with an infatuation with American culture of the 20s to 50s, combined with a passion for 78 rpms and analog equipment. As much as this sounds alarmingly like Victoria’s own complete spanker CW Stoneking, thankfully it is far, far better. It is also without the bizarrely racist vibe of that bloke’s whole impersonation persona (I still don’t get that; someone help me out here, I am happy to be set straight but it doesn’t sit with me).

I, too, am a bit of a 78s nut. I think it is the interaction you have with the music when the gramophone requires cranking after each song, and that beautiful mellow presence of the tone. However, these guys have taken it to the utter extreme, so much so that they literally make Jack White, another renowned analog fiend, look like Paul Oakenfold. They even have a genuine (that’s genuwiiine) 1960s vinyl cutter in their home studio. Respect! And to show they really mean it, they have released their debut album Kitty, Daisy, and Lewis on CD, vinyl, and a set of five 10-inch 78s. That’s respect times 5.

Recorded for just £500, their self-titled debut is a rollicking slab of rockabilly slash upbeat-dancehall slash swing slash proto-rock’n’roll. Each sibling is a multi-instrumentalist, sharing guitar, percussion and vocal duties. Playing covers of pre-60s US obscuros and two originals, they have your foot tapping pretty quickly. Each song follows a similar pattern; throw in some scat guitar stabs, take the bass for a walk (Ron Burgundy style, minus the jazz flute), smack out some chords on the old upright piano, a bit of harmonica, and some quick-fire vocals. The latter is where the album becomes inconsistent. One of the sisters, not sure which, sings with great dynamics and an urgency this music requires. The other sings like Nina Simone on downers. In one song, she sort of barks at the microphone as if she as a form of lugubrious Gestapo officer with TourettesSyndrome. At one point I even spontaneously showed the stereo my papers! This is a shame because it adds an annoying imperfection to an otherwise perfect party record, which is presumably exactly what this type of album is designed for. The playing on her tracks is also lacking, as if in these sibling-instrument configurations they are all playing on their weak spot.

Otherwise, the playing is vigorous and the songs well chosen. The guitar is particularly snappy, which is at times played by their father (their mother plays bass). Extraordinary really. This band is currently one of the flavours of the month, coming off a tour with Jools Holland and a spot at SXSW. For me, though, I can’t see the novelty of this act lasting the distance. You always hear bands play this type of music at pubs that you don’t quite want to be at; at gigs where there is a spoon wearing a hat dancing his interpretation of American swing right in the front of the stage, before drinking everybody’s dregs. You know the ones. By the end it gets more than a little annoying. I think that might just be the equivalent of their second album.

3.5 toolish swing dancers out of 5

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