There are noises, sights and smells that are stickier than fly paper. The sound of waves slapping sand, the scent of a magnolia, the taste of a madeleine cake dipped in tea (if you’re Proust, that is) — these are the sensory equivalent of psychotropic drugs, instantly evoking memories and emotions that might otherwise take some coaxing. The noises on a record are no different, and on Alpha Cop’s debut, This One’s For Luck, every track is charged with a similar sense of effusive, evocative sound.
The hallmark of This One’s For Luck is the throbbing, roiling presence of its guitars. These riffs are monstrous. They reverberate, they slow, they grind to a halt, and then, like a gale, they roar back to life again. There are no moments of stagnancy, and every climax and denouement feels intentional.
There are plenty of debut records whose tracks are frenzied, frantic exercises in overkill, but Alpha Cop never falls prey to bluster or heavy-handedness. Instead, each of the four songs on the album keep varied but measured paces, wavering back and forth between the grandiose and the understated. When gruff, throaty vocals scream through the noise, they’re apt, a well-placed digression from the instrumentals that surround it.
What Alpha Cop has given those who choose to listen is something dense and substantial. It’s moody and dark and threatening, and while it’s not altogether novel, the band’s first effort is a good one. Storms, like guitar solos, tend to build into something furious, and This One’s for Luck hints at a band with intensity, promise and the electric pulse of a natural phenomenon.
