“We will never meet again,” Oliver Beardmore soothingly gestures behind a backdrop of the song which poses as a climatic indie classic, but this time, something is different. Something tells me this isn’t going to be all roses and smoking after sex. My intuition tells me a storm is brewing. The kind of storm that places a listener within a vacuum trapped between ethereal and existential. “Oh nothing’s like it was before,” he sings, a dredge of sadness and sinister. The sounds stream into every cavity of my body. Cohesive thoughts are difficult. My heart rate is bouncing. Just gotta look at the floor and pray and try to get through this. Or as a more eloquent writer might put it – shoegaze.
I’m transfixed on Beardmore’s gorgeous vocals, other times, the drums carry me as though I’m a sack of compost on a wheelbarrow. Lacking agency, some might say, I’d disagree. I’m asking to be carried. It’s akin to those late night trips in the car home, hoping to get bundled into bed. Tailspin is aptly named, really. I merge from compost, to child, to dog; chasing that furry thing attached to my behind for nothing other than curiosity and pleasure. That’s what keeps me pressing the replay button, each listen offers something entirely different and memorable. I know I just mentioned it but man-alive these vocals are nice, really nice. The music is so physical. Everything drifts and sways, hums, bends, screeches and shatters. Moments of reflection are offered but only really as cruel facades. There is little time for thoughtful reflection, only childlike wonder.
Beardmore has really succeeded with Tailspin. His songs are melancholic, lush, and uniquely catchy. The sincerity at which he delivers quality moments on all the tracks is barely a surprise. He has always captured the listeners ear with great riffs and playful melodies. This EP, is of course, drawing upon a divine lineage of bands like DIIV, Cocteau Twins, MBV and Slowdive, while mining his sound, in this still, surprisingly, underground genre of music.