A bit of a statement of the obvious that Hood are one of my favourite bands in everdom, but because their output has been sporadic of late one suspects that hasn't been adequately reflected over in the other place. Indeed, there's only really this post from 2005, which plays up the Wetherby roots of both Hood and the mighty fine Boyracer (to whom tributes in the other place are rather less rare). But at least that post ties in nicely with 555's recent - recommended! - "Wetherbeat scene" compilation and booklet, which documents exactly how both bands grew from a fecund Wetherby (High School!) "scene"... the photo of Wetherby Town Hall above echoes one of the pics from that terrific package.
Anyway. When I reviewed "Rustic Houses, Forlorn Valleys", on Domino, back in the 20th century, it was a relatively short piece, compared to some that were to come:
"After the most wilfully disparate back catalogue yet (fiendishly) devised, Hood have been anchored to a contract and are now settling down. Hence the follow-up to the twentysomething-track lo-fi “Silent ‘88” and the Wedding Present-style taster 45 “Useless” is the six track ambient soundscape “Rustic Houses”.
The bad news is that the big bad label boss appears to have put a stop to their shambling popsongs and junglist experiments. The good news is that Hood have had to focus; they have moved piano and clarinet to the fore, calmed everything down and let their intrigue with, er, the cycle of days and seasons, take centre stage. “S.E. Rain Patterns” opens proceedings, a ten minute excerpt from the weather cycle in which different melodic strains slowly appear before dispersing again, leaving the fields strewn bare once more. “The Light Reveals The Place” builds on a more conventional bass-led structure, culminating in feedback echoing like the wind around the mix, recalling “The Field Is Cut”’s devastating denouement on the last album.
Lastly, “Diesel Pioneers”. A quarter of an hour of your time. Disembodied segments from Third Eye Foundation’s remix of “Eyes” are gradually layered with guitars and percussion until – for the first and only time – erupting into a chaotic, volcanic, sonic plateau. “I don’t know where the hours go…” screams the singer, “…why can’t you leave me alone” and the intensity, the rush, is almost Joy Division circa “The Only Mistake”. Then, as before, the anger and panic peter out, the wall of guitars subsiding back to an intermittent synthesiser pulse.
This band are good, you know. I’ve been saying it for years and it is a truth ye shall yet know. Promise."
This may sound a little excitable, but I still remember early days in London, living in a West Kensington bedsit, and that "The Field Is Cut" and other tracks from "Silent '88" were never off my personal stereo, soundtracking those trepidation-filled journeys to work, even before the blossoming of Hood with "Forlorn Valleys..." and "Cycle of Days and Seasons".
So when "Home Is Where It Hurts" came out, I was *back* on the case, for real. By now, the website had dispensed with capital letters entirely, of course.
"i have been raving about hood for some time now... the latest instalment of their ascent to being the best band in the world is, as ever, carefully and almost imperceptibly gradual.
the title track is their most accessible effort yet, a gentle bass pulse caressing the trademark hood guitar sound, the usual trebly single notes slightly muted by the production and some breathy, urgent vocal intonation.
on track 2, which i think is called "the fact that you failed", there are no vocals but just a network of guitar sounds, pulled along to make them their most joy division-ish yet, and ending in shrieks of feedback which could have been transported in from moods like "the light reveals the place" (from "rustic houses...") or even the early, stuttering but wonderful "sirens" single.
the rest of the single (at 26 minutes effectively a mini-album) registers more as a collection of ideas, as hood in their usual way experiment, this time with patterns of dub inamongst the rustic soundscapes of recent albums and the kind of whey-faced vocals that hovered above the pastoral shapes of "as evening changed the day". don't take your ears off hood for a moment, kids."
I didn't, as I fear you will discover with the next coupla posts. Believe me, these were succinct compared to those.
