Once again, Upset the Rhythm brings a report right from the coalface of the UK underground music scene. This time, the trio in question, Handle, extract a twisted and angular take on the bass, drums and vocal lineup with something that could be a guitar at times, could be a keyboard, but causes conniptions whatever it is.
Their wired and restless sound is one of those that rings bells, but due to the extraordinary outbursts of the vocalist and the percussionist’s love of the cowbell, the sound meanders or even electrocutes itself into its own place. The deranged vocal squeals that proliferate on the opening track are accompanied by tin-pot percussion and a herky-jerky rhythm that veers off in different directions when you are least expecting it It sounds as though they have just been freed from some sort of unjust isolation, and are wailing and gesticulating with years of pent-up energy, almost unable to control it.
The post-punk stylings are reminiscent of the likes of Erase Errata, that kind of relentless experimental mindset — or even Whirlwind Heat, just in the idea of an incredibly tight and imaginative rhythm section backing up an eccentric but commanding vocalist. It is crazy but addictive, as the constant refrain of “Bicycle wheel” on “Punctured Time” reverberates around your head, the slack-tuned sounding guitar weebling around like something Stump might have arrived at, and it has that imagination and scope that was so rife back in the ’80s The bass is quite extraordinary and it defines the songs, managing to lead each track on a different goose chase, and there is some familiarity to the constant cowbell or woodblock that I can’t put my finger on, but it brings such a sunny disposition to the album as the fuzzy organ chases it all around the garden. The vocals are deliciously playful and you can almost see the words being tasted and savoured before being released under the relentless chivvying of the abstractions of the rhythm section, the bass leering like so many huge elastic bands. Imagine trying to chew a mouthful of them, that feeling of impossibility, grinding and gnashing but making no headway, wearing out your jaws but they just bounce back, filled with energy. You take them out and try to stretch them to snap, but it doesn’t work, they just keep returning to their original state and all the while they are making musical noise, infuriating yet overwhelming.Although the ingredients are the same pretty well for each track, the end result is always different, drastically so because as the bass and drums chase one another endlessly in geometric figures around the lawn, the vocals weaving through the patterns like a hyper-alert conjurer even to the point where on the penultimate track “Step By Step”, he sounds like he is running an exercise video. So irresistible that before you know it, you have pulled on your leggings and are leaping around the living room — by which time obviously it has come to an abrupt halt, and now the band are trying to break out of an old shed while somebody talks to themselves and shuffles cutlery around in a drawer.
In Threes is just a riot. Total fun, yet resourceful and driven, impossible to second-guess but like the Pied Piper, you just have to follow.-Mr Olivetti-
