Cardiacs - 1992 - Heaven Born And & Ever Bright

Cardiacs inspire a predictable response - you either love them or hate them. There is no middle ground, no compromise. Formed in the late 1970s, CARDIACS have been churning out their unique brand of quirky pop-punk for over two decades. When people ask "so, what do they sound like?" there is no easy answer. There are various shades of early genesis, the beatles, ska, punk, pop, all mixed up with a liberal sprinkling of Stravinsky-esque key and tempo changes. In reviewing the 1992 album "Heaven born and Ever Bright", the N.M.E. said"...they sound like a pit-head brass band attempting to play full-steam punk rock in a gale." Charlotte says, "they just sound shit". Further than this I suggest you check them out for yourself and make up your own mind. At the bottom of this page is a link to the official website where you can listen to a good selection of songs old and new.



by Stephen Dalton of the N.M.E.



Quintessentially English but utterly alien to all except certain species of barnacle, Cardiacs have been silent for yonks while various members drifted off to join Levitation and The Sea Nymphs. Stripped down, graying at the temples and uglier than East End gangsters, Tim Smith's mental art-rock project still churn out their unique brand of turbo-charged whimsy with scarily psychotic gusto.



The aural equivalent of electro-shock therapy, Smith uses sheer brute force to bolt hugely incongruous melodic progressions together, shoving them up vertiginous gradients and through convoluted labyrinths at breakneck speed. Sometimes, as in Goodbye Grace or Bodys Bad, these scorching tempo changes and explosive chunks of noise emulate the clenched-teeth mania of the Pixies. More often they sound like a pit-head brass band attempting to play full-steam punk rock in a gale. But nothing ever strays far from the anthemic, which explains much of their oddball appeal. Indeed, this collections finest moment rejoices in the flag-waving title �Home of Fadeless Splendor and would easily qualify as the rousing battle march of some bizarre totalitarian regime, a teetering wedding-cake of massed choirs and Wagnerian pomp.



Cardiacs do not try to be everything or cloud their unfashionable flakiness in muddle-headed murk. They are proud to be mottled, misshapen and crippled by self-loathing. Its great to have them back.