Ok, so while perhaps there’s something to the adage that you shouldn’t judge a boo – or a record – by its cover, a title, as a rule, can not only speak volumes, but also provide a fair measure of the contents. In this instance, a quasi-absurd conglomeration of seemingly random verbiage makes for a title that stands out, if nothing else.
Closet Disco Queen is, in fact, a couple of Swiss dudes whose drinking prowess threatens to eclipse their musical achievements – which I saying something. Their press blurb remarks that ‘intense and driven by the same exploratory spirit that fuelled the progressive rock bands of the late 70s, Closet Disco Queen are a duo that, even on record, sound like a long-haired five-piece in western boots and denim hot pants.’
It’s close enough. ‘Ninjaune’ eases things in gently, with a delicate, semi-ambient drift that’s displaced by a chunky, chugging desert rock riff that packs a punch and rides toward the sunset, slugging back Jack Daniels and popping mescaline like Smarties. ‘El Moustachito’ sounds like a ZZ Top album that never was: coming on like That Fucking Tank duelling with Queens of the Stone Age, it packs plenty of action into a shade under four minutes. Closer ‘Délicieux’ doesn’t exactly deviate from the template of the other tracks, but as six-minute instrumental riff-outs go, it does everything it ought to, starting spacious with some hefty drumming and building to epic proportions.
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