Swaggering like the Rolling Stones, imbuing the effortless cool of the Strokes, and thrashing through three chords with the panache of the Ramones – itâs about time the world was introduced to Bad Nerves.
The East London five-pieceâs debut self-titled record captures the chaos of their infamous live shows – high octane, heavily distorted, laden with riffs, and delivered with a hip thrust at 100 miles an hour. Itâs a ‘blink-and-youâll-miss-it’ record that pumps social commentary through a nihilistic lens and places it over relentless garage punk.
Youâre thrown straight into the deep end with opener âCanât Be Mineâ, a breathless bow complete with vocalist Bobby Nervesâ exemplary falsetto chorus, and thereâs no let-up from this moment. They combine tracks from their EP collections with new tracks such as the Hives-esque âBaby Drummerâ.
Latest single âPalaceâ, sees Nerves plant his flag in the ground on the issue of Englandâs class disparity, growling âWhy doesnât the Queen give a fuck about us?â. The excellent âWasted Daysâ talks of doomed young love (âYouâre giving up on me / Iâm giving up on youâ), while the closest Bad Nerves have to an anthem, âRadio Punkâ, is an ode to the lost days and the nostalgia for carefree lives.
Among the chaos, the five-piece throw out the grooving âLast Beatâ, which is almost certain to be a prominent staple of their live sets in the coming years. The riffs are effortless, the melodies are memorable, and itâs the kind of music you want to bump hips to. Itâs as infectious as it is joyous.
This music is fun, it gets the adrenaline pumping and it makes you want to throw yourself around a basement show whenever weâre next allowed – the kind of show that when its over, youâre craving much, much more. Itâs felt like a long-time coming, but Bad Nervesâ flawless debut already marks them as ones to watch in the coming years.
TOM WALSH