One day – if it hasn’t been done already – someone will do a Pete Frame-style band genealogy that shows the inter-relationship between the Gutterville Splendour Six, The Drones, James McCann, The Kill Devil Hills and various ephemeral side projects that have cropped up along the way. And with the aid of new fangled computer technology, surely the diagram can be augmented to show the exploration, exploitation and evolution of different sub-genres of the Gutterville Splendour Six’s original blend of garage, blues and country?

Still residing in their native Perth, and with a couple of judicious changes to the band’s line-up, The Kill Devil Hills are back with their third album Man, You Should Explode. Whether the line-up changes have had any substantive effect on the Kill Devil Hills’ sound is moot. There are, however, moments on Man, You Should Explode when the band appears to have reached a new level of intensity. Dare I say it, they seem like they might explode.

The opening couple of tracks set the scene for a potent album. ‘It’s Easy When You Don’t Know How’ is a fiery denim-and-plaid rocker with as much superficial machismo as a southern rock fan pinned to the eyeballs on a cocktail of speed and single malt whisky. ‘Cockfighter’ is the logical sequel, a tale of macho bravado that swerves dangerously out of control like Duane Allman on the end of a bender with Keith Richards. Later on there’s ‘Siam’, a stylish country-infused rocker that jumps on the beer-stained counter of the local pub and compels attention.

However, The Kill Devil Hills are as much confused lovers as punch-drunk fighters. ‘I Don’t Think This Shit Can Last Much Longer’ tips its stylish fedora to Nick Cave as it lurches toward terminal melancholia; ‘Words From Robin to Batman’ is a ballad so heavy it almost implodes with emotional pain; ‘The White Lady’ is cocktails in a lonely barnyard; and the cascading intensity of ‘When the Wolf Comes’ explodes into action with the sharp-tongued attitude of The Drones.

The final two tracks, ‘Cool My Desire’ and ‘Lucy-On-All-Fours’ are exercises in subtlety. The former brings to mind the Dirty Three’s first album Sad & Dangerous, or even Kim Salmon’s ‘Cool Fire’, while the latter is a romantic narrative that lulls the album into a tranquil slumber. Man, these guys are so good they could genuinely explode.

by Patrick Emery