Already introduced through a number of EPs (read our review of The Drip Pt II EP here), Camden’s Wax on Water are an unusual proposition who have spent no small amount of time honing a sound that is, even in this cynical era, refreshingly unique. Elements of punk (not least in the vocal delivery), alternative rock and industrial can all be found amidst the band’s atypical sonic landscapes, and the band’s delightfully scattershot approach does much to recall the output of the fiercely independent Org Records (Cay, Sea Nymphs, My Vitriol, Brian Jonestown Massacre), whose output still enthrals some twenty years after the fact. The brainchild of producer, songwriter and multi-instrumentalist Maya Damaris, joined here by London-based guitarist Steven Blessing, Wax on Water are something of an antidote to the increasingly over-produced alternative scene, harking back to the mid-90s, but offering a few new tricks at the same time.
The short Prologue does exactly what it says on the tin, moving from synth choirs to eerie industrial menace in just forty-seconds. It segues directly into the messy electro-rock of Don’t Bore Us, which sounds like Scary Monsters-era Bowie having a fight with Gary Numan and P J Harvey. It’s a compelling, utterly deranged start and it does much to set out the band’s stall for the album. A strong Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs vibe emerges next for The Sting In The Raw, although random, echo-laden piano disabuses the notion that the band are falling back on the familiar. Remarkably, for all the elements inserted into the mix, the chorus proves strangely addictive, and you’ll find yourself singing it at the least appropriate moments. The spirit of 90s alt is summoned on Seventh Son, the tinny beat pushing a suitably grungy guitar line, all of which only serves to anchor the seductive vocal. Just to mix things up, the next track – For The Love Of Money – is a toughened, industrial strength cover of the O’Jays’ 1973 r’n’b classic and, if it’s largely unrecognisable on the musical front, the lyrics remain as relevant now as when they were first written. Next up, the previously released You Know When You Know has a brilliantly memorable chorus, while the band adopt the sound of Hole and Garbage having a dust up in the carpark. In contrast, The Wrong Way is a strangely slight, synthy-bluesy-rocky thing, although the caustic vocal gives it some weight. The first half concludes with the husky strut of Dumb Me, an addictive track built around slinky bass lines and Maya’s sultry vocal. The guitars are kept low key here, and the overall vibe is of a long-lost indie gem, the like of which Linoleum may have attempted, had Courtney Love been at the helm.
Opening up the second half, the awkward rhythms of In The Shadows do little to deter Steven’s hotwired riff. It’s a strangely scattershot track – something Bowie might have attempted in his Outside period, although the chorus could do with a touch more weight to really fly. It’s followed by the more linear All Over Me, a track that has fun with the quiet-loud paradigm as a nicely melodic verse heads towards a suitably explosive chorus. Slightly let down by the percussion, it feels a little overegged in places, but it’s still a highlight and it’s easy to imagine it soaring live. A more chilled track, Predictable pitches Maya’s gritty vocal, over a waltzy-background awash with lo-fi synths and jangly, post-punk guitar. It’s moments like this, when things slow down, where the production really comes into its own, and you’ll find yourself humming the chorus for days if you’re not careful. In contrast, Love Won’t Leave Her is a heavy track, with a grinding riff that showcases a very different set of dynamics. The keyboards are rather touch too high in the mix in this one, but it’s a cracking track with a dirty stomp at its heart. Maya turns the lights down low for the synth blues of How Long? A rather lovely ballad that washes dreamily over the listener. Maya keeps things dusky on The Tree, another track with that Org records vibe, aided by the lo-fi production and Maya’s schizophrenic vocal. The track even takes time out to drift into proggier territory, but a heavier chorus is never far behind. The briefest of segues, Grinding Skies segues directly into closing number The Drip. A dark, synth-laden piece that mixes up Resident Evil-esque synths, stuttering vocal samples and dusty guitar lines, it’s arguably the best thing on the album, and it’s easy to see why Maya named the album for it. It brings this most varied and unexpected of records to a neat close and, despite the number of songs on offer, leaves the listener wanting more.
The Drip is a frequently interesting and engaging album, which stands apart from so much of what is on offer in today’s increasingly identikit market. Its strengths lie in its diversity and in an astonishing performance from Maya, who is an impressively charismatic vocalist. Where it falls down a touch is in a production that does not always match the musical ambition on offer. It is the slower tracks that fare the best, as the space allows the synths to breathe a little more effectively. At other points, for example on Love Won’t Leave Her or All Over Me, the lo-fi approach robs the tracks of some of their power, while the synths can overwhelm. Nonetheless, this is an enjoyable album and definitely one to explore for those who enjoyed the eclecticism of the 90s alt scene. 7.5/10
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