THE DOLLYMOPS – LOVE GROWS PALE (FourTwenny Records)
Time defuses all offence.
Spend your Sunday re-enacting the Battle Of Naseby, nobody blinks; recreate
Bloody Sunday and it’s considered bad taste, but for the people who died they
were much the same. Similar story with
The Dollymops, named after a Victorian term for a part-time sex worker. Seems as though if they were called The Sluts
or The Amateur Slatterns, people would rightly call them out as chauvinists,
but somehow the quirky Dickensian atmosphere softens the blow. That’s the band all over, really, skirting
lamebrain yob punk and pulling themselves back from the brink with a theatrical
flourish and a cheeky vaudeville wink.
This track doesn’t have the spice and storm of their previous new wave
kickabouts, but it rattles along in a quieter way, reminding us a little of The
Police in their less reggaefied moments, with exercise book poetry which shoots
for Elvis Costello but lands at early Brett Anderson. It’s not their finest work, but raises a
smile, rummaging through post-punk like it’s a kids’ dressing-up box (and
remember, a pirate outfit is fine, but Boko Haram is best avoided).
