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Revenge of the Lawn - Imigrant Muzyka.

by Jadwiga Nowicki
[Please note that the views expressed in this review are NOT those of the management
of Revenge of the Lawn, who take no responsibility for the following comments]


Above and right: Jadwiga at work on the Island.
Jadwiga Nowicki is 27 and originally comes from Poland. She has lived here on the Island at Newport for the last three years and enjoys going to live gigs, especially the Island festivals. We have persuaded her to write a review of Revenge of the Lawn. By her own admission, her English is not brilliant and she was somewhat "alcohol damp" [her words translated, not ours] at the time of writing. We have kept her review exactly as she wrote it, since it would lose alot of its subtle meaning if we were to neaten it up.

A fishing of hell, an unbounded energy, a desire for dividing with the public. Unclassifiables musically, experimenters of sounds, proud of their non-rooted pedigree and open to all the mongrel influences, except a few. Revenge of the Lawn is a group to be discovered on the audit of your own eyes! They mix ska, jazz, and a rockabilly attitude to literary texts which describe the life with corrosive and a good amount of black humour. Poetic, black, funny, Revenge of the Lawn form an entity to share, to discover on scene! Three years after its establishment, Revenge of the Lawn push down the slipway their most final song, "Gaiety of the Paving Stones", which song confirms the group's attachment with the co-education of the sneering and the absurd.

Leaving clandestinity to its rivals, Revenge of the Lawn introduce an open speaking by purging the bowels of their emerging music with a good blow to the ears. With this intention, they foam the rooms by means of a battalion of guitars flanked with a rhythm section with cords and skins, the whole led by a bugle reconverted into a saxophone. Heirs to a famous line of alcoholics and trained in the Choruses of the Red Army, these comrades developed, as of the youth, an unquestionable taste for the martial rate and revolving melodies. But, when the refrigerators of the cold war were defrosted and that VRP from the Occident arrived, Revenge of the Lawn succumbed to the charms of import-export.

Resulting from musical diasporas, they have taken nearly 3 years to achieve the crossing of Boris Vian with a drunken Roumanian brass band to conspire overall. With hyper-globalisation helping, their music took a funny turning and, by the light of a full moon, you can expect them to play a hammer on a rate/rhythm funk or one worked-bossa nova with the erratic accents, thus forming a noble harmony.

But from where does this nobility come? Funny of name, they defy barriers. The insults, which they have received, do not have any more a smell. Their name now throws to the eyes a powder of scouring. The band have opened a box with the devil, which makes flee the grousers and the heterosexual whingers, and others malicious, such that their critics, never content, will become wary. The band are not proud with the name, therefore.

Without being caught too much with serious trumpet or trombone, sax , banjo, and for the low one, a dustbin or a sousaphone, Revenge of the Lawn form the 'moulinette' from which spray fresh and open instrumentations of simple, ironic or absurd songs on a voluntarily light tone. They play like children, with ardour and sincerity. It is precisely their way of mixing which makes the lie.

Spurred on by the fans, who purple-excite themselves for a long time with their explosive services and abundant sudations, these famous torturers of sound engraved their name within the firmament of festive suction, armed with a fabulous coppered brass section, with energy and distort them notes! The force of Revenge of the Lawn is even more present and shingling and admirably emphasizes this spirit nicely in a body coppered by the sun and car-bronzing it Jamaican. Their music will leave you finished on your kneecaps, perspiring joy and good mood, not worrying at how you have ended coiffured as Kojak! This band are highly attaching, delirious and corrosive at the same time!

These swallowers of bitumen never forget their favourite play-ground, and have well the intention to reconcile the most reticent groove with their Island amplified Plüschverpackung. When the band play in the live context, it is with satisfactory merit but without delivering itself thereby to the betrayal of their considerable fan circle.