You are getting a very generic header image because earlier today, clearly not having thought things through very well, I typed the name of today’s band into Google image search. I need new eyes now. With that in mind, and since it is getting late in the day with no blog post published, I’m going to rattle through this quickly.
Prolapse came from Leicester, but had a member named “Scottish” Mick, along with “Geordie” Mick on bass. Unlike Tiny Tim, or anyone who as ever called themselves “mad”, this wasn’t an ironic nickname. The second “Scottish” Mick Derrick opens his mouth it is obvious the name isn’t a joke.
I’d rather forgotten about Prolapse for a while, mainly due to having lost all the albums of theirs that I had years ago. Round about the end of last year a song on a compilation popped up on shuffle and jogged my memory.
Handily at the time I had some eMusic credits that had to be used up led to me buying debut album Pointless Walks To Dismal Places again to see if I still liked it. I did, a shopping spree followed, and a bit of a period of obsession has continued since.
The contrast between Mick’s gruff tones and Prolapse’s other vocalist Linda Steelyard’s icy delivery is different and infectious. Sometimes it sounds like a mismatched couple arguing up the back of the bus, but much less uncomfortable. On Tina This is Matthew Stone that’s pretty much exactly how the song turns out, to a point where it reaches quite an uncomfortable ending.
I haven’t replaced my copy of second album backsaturday. Note to self, buy a copy of backsaturday.
Did you know I dislike bagpipes? There’s only a handful of songs I can think of that have bagpipes on that don’t mostly make me want to stab the piper. Shoutalong single Deanshanger from third album The Italian Flag if one of the ones that doesn’t make me want to hurt a piper.
Oddly enough Deanshanger’s lyrics rip into the 1980s, mentioning a Royal Wedding and a papal visit. Everything comes around again soon enough, eh?
A mixture of shoegaze, punk and Krautrock, there’s a fair chance you’ll find Prolapse either brilliant or as unpleasant as, well, your anus falling out. I’m in the former camp, obviously.