Out May 6
Words by Kris Peters
Sometimes you should just dispense with the formalities and dive in deep without restraint.
This is one of those times.
Before sitting down to review Indya’s new album Leather n Lace I deemed it necessary to have a glance at the accompanying press release to see if I could get a small feel for what I was about to immerse myself in.
Big mistake.
Not that there is anything wrong with the contents of the presser, but it has confused the fuck out of me to the point I fear I may be unable to attack this review with an unbiased attitude. Try this on for size…
“Influenced by the likes of Madonna, Enigma, Van Halen, Pat Benatar, The Prodigy, Marilyn Manson, Bring Me the Horizon & Def Leppard”.
How the fuck could that be possible and still remain cohesive? But, as they say, the proof is in the tasting so despite my spidey senses scuttling to every recess of my musical fortitude I plunge forth regardless. It’s not as if it’s that difficult to confuse me anyway.
Too Goth To Handle sets the scene and throws another metaphorical spanner straight into the works with a scarily foreboding ringing threatening to summon the lurking demons before Indya eases into her work with a controlled and measured opening salvo that soon quickens and fluctuates, and I am beginning to understand the eclectic nature of the comparisons.
Indya has an incredible vocal range and command of her art that I’m sure is only just scratching the surface at this early stage of the album.
This is an incredibly catchy and charming slab of sonic indulgence that sporadically shifts focus from one tangent to the next with reckless and fearless contempt for convention that is refreshing to say the least.
The title track Leather n Lace roars to life on the back of a hazy guitar riff that drives from the ground up before retreating into itself as Indya once more steps up to the plate.
She has an innocence and charm to her vocals that is both enticing and dangerous. Much like a vocal version of Harley Quinn but without the baseball bat – but there’s another 8 tracks to get through, so I won’t rule that out just yet.
This is a mixture of rock, pop, punk and mayhem that is as unpredictable as it is impossible to resist, even with my usual dislike for anything bordering on electronics.
Subtle tonal variations layer the background, and it is becoming increasingly evident this is an album meant to be absorbed numerous times to experience the full plethora of riches it has to offer.
Little Crush starts off in an industrialised dreamy state that mixes dance sensibilities with lashings of industrial metal that oozes charm.
There’s shades of Deborah Harry in her voice here, and I’m guessing Indya has herself a tonne of fun adopting the different characteristics and mannerisms at her disposal.
For some reason this track makes me feel like I’m part of a circus troupe complete with juggling clowns and drunk trapeze artists.
Fucked if I know why, it just does.
Fill Me With Ya Love wins song title of the week before even bursting through the speakers and the sultry nature of its arrival suggests the song is precisely about what your guttural mind has pictured.
I can hear where The Prodigy reference comes from here, but unlike the predictable and at times intolerable nature of The Prodigy’s music I still have no idea where this track is headed.
It’s almost enchanting. Until it isn’t.
Guitars break the serenity and Indya gathers momentum with a tempered outpouring of emotion that is accentuated by a myriad of underlying vocals, chants and offerings that make this feel more like a layered movie than a song.
I still can’t pick the Madonna reference, but I’m pretty sure the once Material Girl didn’t possess half of the willingness for musical expression that Indya has in abundance.
I Wanna Be The One raises the tempo once more with a catchy, upbeat pace that snaps at your heels until they start moving in time.
As much as I am actually enjoying this I also wonder just how good this talent would be with a full-time band behind her.
Not that what she has here doesn’t measure up.
Far from it.
It’s just they are continually competing with a massive sonic landscape that refuses to allow the intricacies of musicianship to break free with regularity.
And as if to make me eat my words the guitar suddenly springs to life in a swirling solo attack that brings out yet one more personality in a sanitarium of assorted characters.
Raise Ya Vibration has a pulsating, stuttering early stage that breathes life firstly on the back of another ripping guitar riff but receives a massive boost as Indya purrs, sings and verbally chastises the atmosphere with an irrepressible charm that is only tempered by a well-placed mysterious male figure that could have stepped straight from the set of Elektric Boogaloo.
As all of those names once more swirl around my even more confused melon one musician that wasn’t mentioned – but should have been – refuses to vacate my head.
And that’s Gwen Stefani.
And if said vocalist had have been introduced to the descriptive lore earlier in the piece the whole sonic landscape would have seemed much clearer and less clustered because Indya has more in common with the No Doubt vocalist than any of the protagonists referenced earlier.
And, to be honest, Indya is completely different again to Gwen in her musical disparities, but she’s a lot closer to her than she is to Madonna.
Trust me.
Ignite It, which features an MC of some sorts sees me wrestling with my inner demons with greater force than I have had to up until this point.
Not that I don’t like MC’s, it’s just I find they generally don’t belong in the same musical space as proper musicians.
But I am a little judgemental there, and it’s not my rodeo, so I shall just strap myself back in and continue the journey.
This is actually a cool track. More bluesy and guitar-driven than most of the other songs, Ignite It manages to do just that before the rap-infused MC section comes in, but I actually made it all the way to the end of the song, so maybe it’s not all bad.
Wasted is next up and saunters to life riding a steady guitar lick before Indya soothes her way in and sets about adding her not-so-subtle textures to what is essentially a song of beauty and grandeur.
With touches of rock and angst thrown in for good measure.
Finish Her signals the second last track on Leather n Lace and is a hypnotically fluctuating dance number that conjures aural images of Colette when she was in her bell-ringing stage.
But you can’t keep a rock chick down, and it doesn’t take long for that side of Indya’s musical personality to sweep through the electronics before going back into hibernation to allow for the people still on the dance floor.
Ferrari conjures images of a swift and motoring finish to the album, but instead we are greeted by a more controlled descent into the life and tribulations of a lady of leisure who seems to have not been treated in the manner she should be accustomed to.
Indya rolls out even more differing vocal styles here, and it would be interesting to know just how many weapons she has in her arsenal.
If I was being honest then I would have to admit Leather n Lace wouldn’t have been an album I would have consciously gone seeking when looking for new music which is just one more thing I love about this side of the music industry.
My narrowness when it comes to music would have cost me the pleasure of discovering a new artist – and in fact a completely new style of music, for me at least.
In fact, I think I might just give this album another spin from the start and try to unwrap some of the delights that lay simmering beneath the schizophrenic exterior.
Just probably not the MC one…
*All reviews in HEAVY are just one person’s opinion of the album. We encourage honesty in reviews but just because our reviewer may or may not like/appreciate an album, that doesn’t mean their opinion is right! We encourage you to have a listen for yourself and make up your own minds!
Such is the power of music that its reach travels faster around the globe than a pagan at a christening, and with twice as much passion.
As I sat tapping away at my keyboard this morning I received a message from a random stranger with the title Princess boldly standing to attention from the very front.
Not being one to ever shun the royal family I dutifully opened it and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by Laudez Rose, the very vocalist I have been entranced by for the better part of this morning.
After getting the pleasantries out of the way she got to the crux of the matter which, as it appears, is that I can find a way to fuck up even when I have pure intentions.
Such was my haste to get this review out to the world I reverted to a teenager’s dirty secret and fired the gun prematurely.
It seems Indya weren’t quite finished with me yet and had two more tracks that are going to be on the final album cut so rather than berate me for my lack of timing, Laudez packaged the tunes up in an email and sent them to me for a listen.
No harm, no foul, right?
The first of which is Little Lordz and I immediately wonder if her guitarist is making a point here.
That motherfucker can shred and does so with aplomb to introduce this track before settling into a groove which allows Laudez (we’re on a first-name basis now…) to sprinkle her magic.
It immediately strikes me as a rocking, feel-good tune in the vein of Legs from ZZ Top and if those guys could do anything besides grow a beard it was rock the fuck out so even that slight comparison is massive praise indeed.
Little Lordz stutters in an eclectic fashion with the guitar acting as a conductor throughout with fuzzy tones punctuated by a driving electric force that snaps to a halt just as I’m starting to settle in to my dancing shoes. For which I am eternally grateful.
Kick Down The Doors doesn’t come out with venomous intent as the name would suggest, but rather floats into our sonic path with a repetitive, yet effective electronic display that sees Laudez follow suit as the guitars once more chastise me for even hinting that this band needed more instrumentalization.
This track reminds me of a film noir-type situation like something out of Sin City with the burly door kicker being captivated by the sultry beauty of his damsel in distress.
It is a slow building and moody piece that struggles to restrain itself in parts without tipping over the metaphorical edge into darkness.
Which is cool in itself. Expect the unexpected. That should be the title of Indya’s next album.
The song fades out like a faulty re-run of a Galaga gaming machine but does so with grace and dignity, leaving a sense of longing that I’m sure is intended to keep us all guessing.
I’m not sure where these two songs fit into the running order of the album, so as far as I’m concerned they are like two bonus tracks added for the lucky few who lined up out the front of their local record shop from midnight to get their mitts on one of the earlier album pressings.
Fuck, now I’m showing my age…
