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Neil Jones on Pete and the Pirates' Little Death

There’s a lyric right at the beginning of Little Death that speaks with the kind of chivalry indie rock music has not heard in a while. “I’m not scared of you, darling, I’m in love with you, darling”, sings Pete and the Pirates’ Tom Sanders, and it's like all the macho mainstream indie posturing in the world never happened.

Pete and the Pirates have been kicking about their hometown of Reading for a while, humbly honing their style under the easy eye of London independent label Stolen Recordings. Sanders himself recently spoke of the band only really being worth a record deal since 2005, but really they've done well to stick with their small label as their popularity has blossomed and glossy mags have come knocking, and it'll make them further stand out in the mercenary modern indie rock realm like ton of diamonds.

Little Death is an album of sharp musicality and everyday emotions, a set to genuinely wipe the smirk from Topman wankers and tell them what's cool. It has so many quirks that could have been ironed out in the wrong hands, for instance Sanders’ brilliant way of leaning into songs with his vocals, or the bits of cooing that are the soulful antipathy of footballesque chanting in Kaiser Chiefs and The Fratellis, but The Pirates' one big indulgement on Little Death, the employment of big-time producer Gareth Parton (The Killers, Placebo, The Go! Team), seems to have worked out for the fact that he's virtually left the set alone, only bestowing it some more mainstream cred by his mere presence.

‘She Doesn't Belong to Me’ has appeared on the Pirates' sister band Tap Tap's LP as well as on the first Stolen Recordings compilation, but, really, who cares, if I was a Pirate I’d put it on everything I ever released, humbly shimmering lyrical gem that it is. ‘Knots’ too appeared on the most recent Stolen compilation, but the same goes for this, Sanders' vocals joining the twinkling and spinning guitars in typical style to wrench a song of magnificently downplayed grace. Sanders’ lyrics on Little Death really are a wondrous thing, underplayed, honest, and the total antipathy of modern indie rock clamour.

‘Moving’ is a quiet little ode to a relationship that speaks of wanting to stay in bed that little bit longer and bask in the lazy glory, and it's hilarious to think of someone like Johnny Razorlight jumping out of bed at 9am to style his hair for TV as it rolls by, effortlessly passionate and brilliant. ‘Humming’ is another ode to lazy love that drifts by with a certain dreamy warmth (“turn off all the lights, come hibernate with me”), guitars fluttering away in happy complicity, while ‘Eyes Like Tar’ is a quaint poetic thrill, its broad chorus tumbling out of Sanders’ lovestruck lines in fine style. And then we get the songs that tickle the heart and grab you by the throat at the same time.

‘Mr Understanding’ is yet another ode to relationship that shimmers and shuds in The Pirates' grand and cut-glass cool fashion, Sanders’ cooing vocal abstractions like a bird rather than a football fan, ‘Lost in the Woods’ is a raucous beast that picks you up and dances away like a hurricane, and ‘Dry Wing’ is a sultrily shimmering gem that has some drop dead beautiful lyrics. Yes, beautiful lyrics in indie rock... who would have thought. Little Death really is indie rock for the fanzine kid, thirteen blazing fires of warmth so stylish they'll slay the masses too. It’s indie rock to write poetry to, wasted on so many ears...

© 2008 Neil Jones

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