Panico - Kick
- Written by Jim Merrett
Chile is the sort of country that you imagine actually looks good in skinny jeans. Also, following the dismantling of its own musical heritage – along with the execution of scores of artists and musicians – during the 1970s and 1980s, it was left with a gaping cultural hole to fill. That might in part explain why a band like Panico would be drawn to outside influences – mostly American garage and to a lesser extent British post-punk. But while the DNA might be familiar, this is a different beast. Not that their sound is lost in translation, more like they're looking at it from a different angle.
Following a stream of releases since the mid-1990s back home, Panico washed up in Europe and were snapped up by French imprint Tigersushi, where they were given a bleepy make-over in-keeping with the label's roster. From there, they found themselves courted by Franz Ferdinand, who took them on tour, and soundtracking shopping adventures in branches of Urban Outfitters as part of a mix tape by Aussie electro tastemakers Modular. Now signed to legendary Glaswegian label Chemikal Underground, the sound is somehow rawer.
Aside the production desk tweaks, it was the timing that had previous outing Subliminal Kill lumped in with the post-punk electro funk spilling out of the States, particularly New York, in the mid-2000s. And while there was a common thread that tied the likes of The Rapture, !!!, Radio 4 and the output of the DFA stable together, in the case of Panico and maybe fellow Latinos CSS, it felt more like convergent evolution.
And indeed, here, 'Reverberation Mambo' sounds like a Gerry Anderson theme tune rehashed by !!!, although midway through a pisco binge. But while the recent !!! album, produced during a sojourn in Berlin, is absorbed in clattering beats and a return to their original manifesto of Liquid Liquid-like aural experimentation, Panico’s own brand of soul searching brings them back to the dirty rock’n’roll that rattles at their core. Opening gambit ‘Illumination’ demonstrates a fondness for The Cramps, turning guttural scuzz into something close to celestial. But baser delights prove too alluring, with ‘Bright Lights’ seemingly lost (with no intention of being found) in a seedy late night neon-lit strip.
Guitars jangle and cymbals clash, with vocalist Eduardo bobbing his head up above the beats. He rasps his twisted version of English, perhaps jogging memories of Gogol Bordello’s Eugene Hütz. He often seems to just mangle lyrics together to sound provocative – as in ‘Icon’, where he claims to be a fan of both mass-consumption and mass-destruction, not that the two are necessarily incompatible – but considering he is singing in his second language (or third, since he also occasionally slips into French), he should be commended for his attempts at wordplay. For all his clumsiness, he is in fact more inventive than some English-born lyricists.
And that again is probably Panico’s biggest appeal – while you’ve no doubt heard something like this before, you’ve never heard it quite like this.