Louise Distras
Heart Strings On A Hand Grenade
A rogue-folk hybrid somewhere between Bikini Kill and Martha Wainwright
Just because you haven’t heard of her don’t go believing she’s a new arrival with nothing to offer. That is the arrogant assumption I made (and I should know better) when Louise Distras first came to my attention. Further investigation revealed her to be much hyped and knee deep in so much critical acclaim it probably makes her bleed from the inside out. Any appreciation for something you create is the greatest feeling - but appreciation via the huge amounts being flung at her and at such a fledgling time in her existence - can only be wondrous! The 3 track EP ‘Heartstrings On A Hand Grenade’ is as good an account of oneself as any singer/songwriter might hope to bring for your consideration of their art. Her singing voice spits out mini-dramas and oscillates from raw to tender, - her guitar playing - powerfully commanding to consequential nostalgia. Lyrically she is a critical essayist, the mouthy narrators perspective laced with vitriol and heartfelt emotion the same. The opening track ‘This Is Your Life’ begins with a bouncy acoustic guitar and lightly sweetened vocal delivery before scratching away the veneer to unfurl the first glimpse of what seems a naturally stabbing voraciousness - the spat-out words, gravely voice and tormented guitar work conveying the nature of her mood clearly enough. ‘Bullets’ is a guitar/tambourine paroxysm of rage-fuelled bitterness and frustration executed with perplexing greatness and lucidity via the enterprising voice/six string combination - an effective employment of the two things she’s clearly proficient in. Her final song ‘Blue On Black’ is the jauntier of the three - a multi-chorusing, whistling, feel-good tune disguising the jabbing lyrics lurking behind the fake whimsy of her chosen demeanour. Comparisons to Frank Turner/ Billy Bragg/Beki Bondage and every other British protest folk/punk singer wielding a guitar are to be expected, it’s the nihilistic manner that encourages the formation of such opinions, but although she isn’t about to become a genre differentiating guru on the strength of what’s here she will gain serious respect wherever she lays her proverbial hat. And who the fuck’s Brody Dalle anyway?
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(photograph courtesy of louisedistras.co.uk)
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