Sick – Leathers (reviewed by Dave Franklin)

You can’t help yourself warming to Leathers‘ ramshackle charms. At least I can’t. There is something at the heart of their DIY-flavoured, punk-spirited Bristol Estuary rock ‘n’ soul, something that is about substance over style, something about their “just do it” attitude, something in their one-take deliveries, something wonky and wonderful, raw and redemptive, that I love.

As you listen to their drum and bass salvos skimming along on swells of organ, you can forgive them so much – the miss-timed beats, the ragged edges, the feeling that this is their first, and last, and only run through of the song, the dynamics which occasionally miss their mark – because it is the embodiment of living in the moment, so effortlessly charming, so purposefully unpolished, so “don’t give a fuck,” so insane that you can’t fault it.

Any criticism you might level at them will only result in one possible answer…yes, but it is supposed to sound like that! That’s the whole point. Take it or leave it. I opt to take it. I’ll take this over any clichéd rock, any posed and poised pop, any slick soul, any day.

So, here’s the mantra. Make music. Do it quickly. Don’t apologise. Baffle the audience (except for those who boogie to the sound of the same drum). Move on. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

Life’s too short to think things over for too long. Carpe Diem (Sieze the Fish…or something.) Don’t cha think?