Prolapse – On the Quarter Days

Ian Mathers has chosen a song from this band’s first album this century…

[Video]
[7.50]

Nortey Dowuona: One of my most delightful feelings in writing these is being blindsided by the deep rooted history of just one song. Prolapse themselves, assembled in 1991 by a bunch of perpetual academics to busy themselves with avoiding the crap local disco, includes both Geordie Mick and Scottish Mick, one who busies himself with a stern, gravelly tenor that cracks and peels at the edges of his accent, bucked in by the light soprano of Linda Steelyard, whose light tone doesn’t undercut her strength; one who tackles the bass guitar and fiercely wrestles it to the ground, yanking its small intestine from the inside and spinning the bass above his head; as well as the heavy yet smooth hands of drummer Tim Pattison and tightly linked David Jeffreys and Pat Marsden as guitarists. They at first were duelers as a band, constantly frightening their audience with the forceful furor of their disgust with each other, then went on a furious, fiery run that included both a moment of career panic that undermined all their fading credibility and their best song. Ultimately to be a contrarian’s pet cause (even the most honest one) is a losing game, and they disappeared into obscurity in 1999. They did reappear due to these sweethearts in 2015 and have now returned from the dead. And I’m very blindsided cuz all of this could’ve been made by a band that assembled today out of middle aged Gen X’rs on some KA stuff. But… did i like it? YES!
[9]

Dave Moore: There are worse places to park your drone-rock than the mid-’90s, I suppose, especially if you come by it honestly. This has the necessary propulsion in the rhythm section for the speak-sing ‘n’ girl group backup vox to feel more organic than they did the last time I clocked this sort of music having a resurgence — about 20 years ago, when generally you’d get a much worse rhythm section.
[7]

Julian Axelrod: Scaring the hoes music at its finest. There’s no better feeling than when a heavy, discordant song gradually evolves into something hooky and appealing. By the time the gang vocals, churning guitars and laser show synths coalesce into an arena-ready swell, there’s nothing to say but “Ah shit! Bollocks!” You can’t tell if there’s been a mistake or if they just realized they stumbled into an honest-to-god anthem.
[7]

Iain Mew: Rather laboured heavy indie that could come from any point over the decades since they formed. “I sold myself for a peppercorn rent” is an evocative phrase and a half, though, and “did I need it?” followed by vocalists each affirming with a different word is a lot of fun. Why settle for “yes” or “aye” when (to quote the last song I can think of to do a less evolved accent-based split) you could have both?
[5]

Alfred Soto: The accents are the superficial attraction, more than the solid racket kicked up by the guitars. Then the harmonies are pretty in a just-so manner. The lyrics and the melodies kick in later.
[7]

Ian Mathers: In 1997, I never could have guessed that I’d be listening to a new Prolapse song close to 30 years later. The video for “Killing the Bland” hit me like a truck some Friday evening on The Wedge and then, as was the style at the time, I spent weeks or months reading reviews of their records and live shows (mostly in the NME online) before I was able to hear any more of their music. By the time I really got my head around their discography it was 2000, I was in university, and Prolapse were no more. The more CDs and (later, once the internet cooperated) MP3s I tracked down the more I came to both appreciate how much this felt like a perfect band just for me, like something I might have designed for myself if I was more inventive, and equally to lament that basically nobody else seemed to care. Not even about the catchy ones like “Autocade” (so relatively pop that “Scottish” Mick Derrick didn’t sing and only appears in the video in the form of a bagpipe on the couch) and “TCR“! And yet I thought and think pretty much everything they’ve released is peerless, with 1999’s Ghosts of Dead Aeroplanes a perfectly gnomic capstone. And for about 15 years, that was it. Even after they started playing live again (me idly contemplating intercontinental flights I couldn’t afford just to be there) there was a decade with no real indication there’d ever be new Prolapse music. And then—in my memory, with little to no warning—”On the Quarter Days.” And there it was, the churning, unholy racket the other five whip up under the inimitable vocals of Derrick and Linda Steelyard. It sounds like Prolapse. I could have wept.
[10]