Echoes and dust

Imagine being this kid at school: Your friend Johnny got a guitar, Billy got drums, Bobby got bass and you got.... Saxafuckingphone!! "But mum, I wanna RAWK!" This didn't stop Steve Sostak of Sweep The Leg Johnny. No way! Not only does he scream like a demented McKaye / Rollins hybrid (see 'Skin Hurts') but he plays the sax like it's a concealed weapon. One minute it's quiet, subdued and smooth jazz, the next it's like a serial killing Albert Ayler.

'Tomorrow We Will Run Faster' was the second LP from Chicago's Sweep The Leg Johnny. It was released in the spring of 1999 by Sostak and Chris Daly (Guitar) (both ex Check Engine), John Brady (bass) and Scott Anna (drums). After hearing 10 seconds of their music it was obvious that their sound was an indefinable chimera. They decided to incorporate a little bit of everything in there; darting between dissonant rock, progressive music, jazz, noise and punk, like an over excitable puppy.

From the outset I knew that like a midget at a urinal, I was going to have to keep on my toes. There are so many highlights on this album that it's hard to pick out the best tracks. All are infused with a hyperactivity only found in a Ritalin starved ADHD child. A perfect example of this is 'Early October'. Starting off peacefully enough, you’re lulled into a false sense of security, maybe even nuzzling into your blanket or pillow as you think it's going to stroke your head as you drift off. When, with a punch to the ear and a kick in the shins, there's a stabbing guitar dirge assault with a thunderstorm of drums lurking somewhere in the distance, before it goes all frenetic jazz pacing with the sax dodging in and out between the guitar, whilst the bass creates the textural foundation that anchors it all together. Shouty vocals are minimal and add to the tension in a Fugazi style, until it builds into a beautiful mess. Are they all playing different songs? I don't care, it sounds incredible. Kenny G this isn't.

A similar remark can be made about 'Please Give Me Roses Before I Am Dead' with its ridiculous time signatures; is that 13/12, 2/5 or 13.5 over 16 divided by 3 - I don't know, it's clever. Blink and you miss it playing is staggered by what sounds like a dump truck pouring 100 guitars into your front garden.

Although the album employs quiet loud dynamics, they are a million miles away from Mogwai, et al. On the whole there is no build up but shocks and surprises that are akin to being mugged in the tranquillity of an English village. The one exception would be 'Rest Stop'. Patience is a virtue here. After 6 minutes you're probably thinking "Sod it, I'm going down the Rose for a pint of mild" when suddenly it erupts into a violent battering. This isn't jazz being angry or righteous (which has been done many times before) this is jazz being downright vicious, with shredding guitars and THAT knife attack of a sax melody.

‘Las Cruces’ continues with the vengeance. Question and answer, sax and guitar build. Looser and looser, angrier and angrier until the noise is enough to cause an involuntary bowel movement, before going straight back into intricate weaving. In haberdashery terms it's like listening to somebody knitting with barbed wire followed by a finely embroidered silk scarf, then back again.

Don't let this album go, hunt it down, sell your own mother if you have to. Just make sure you get it. And when you do you'll realise that it demands your attention like a new kitten.