Hunters, Run! Forgotten Souvenirs of the Modern Age by: Ed Butler Tue:19-Feb-08 Label: Battle Standard Year: 2008 WB rating 21 out of 100

Remember high school? Birds sang, the sun shone and people were happy. They were simpler times. Years of carefree fun interspersed with brief periods of tedium called class. The promise of the future and limitless potential allowed one to believe that they could do or be anything they could dream up. And there was always a band. Four guys who switched from clarinet to six-string in year 7, a few years before everyone else, had Nevermind superglued to their CD player, and recruited a drummer from year 9, because no one in the lower years could fork out the cash for a kit.

They would play at lunchtimes, the occasional assembly, maybe even the school social, doing Nirvana and Pearl Jam covers, and throwing in the occasional 'original' number, at which point most of the crowd stopped moshing and stood politely, waiting for the opening riff of 'Alive' to revitalise them. Did you ever wonder about what happened to them?

Usually they broke up before school even finished, realising that while they may have been competent instrumentalists, you needed to be able to sing and write songs to make it. Sometimes they became cover bands, and would continue doing their thing at the local pub, forced into playing stunningly misguided attempts at Britney Spears covers, their grunge-obsessed youth a forgotten memory. Sometimes, they went on to play originals in town, garner a small but loyal following, usually comprised of high school friends and ex-girlfriends, working during the day and rocking out at night. And then, every now and then, inexplicably, despite their obvious lack of talent, they scored a record deal (maybe their high school friends were A & R men). Hunters, Run! are that band.

On their second release, Forgotten Souvenirs of the Modern Age, things start promisingly enough, ‘Apollo and Daphne’ kicking in with some feedback, gentle bass drum and a mid-90s rock riff.

Then singer Larry Hess opens his mouth, and it’s pretty much downhill from there.

Hess’ sordid, atonal bawling permeates almost every available second of this record, draining any measure of musicality from proceedings. The high school band within them probably believes that it recreates Kurt Cobain’s angst scream, but, combined with lethargic songwriting which is bereft of ideas and, dare we say it, melody, it’s truly an uncomfortable listen. Hunters, Run! even decide to introduce his vocals accompanied by almost no instrumentation, as if showcasing the band’s true strength. It’s a bizarre moment.

And the rest of the band fare little better, with guitars so drenched in feedback as to glorify the efforts of every deluded bunch of hacks trotting round the school social circuit, and drumming that falls out of time with a regularity that would be ironic if it wasn’t so traumatically inept. Thankfully, the bass is kept forward in the mix, as it alone adds character and menace to otherwise banal and feckless music.

If there is a saving grace to the facile mess that is Forgotten Souvenirs of the Modern Age, it is the utter lack of pretension. There is no intention of being renowned as trailblazers, creating something new; it’s just a bunch of dudes rocking out. And more power to them for that. There are a couple of moments that save the album from complete and utter disaster. On the title track, when Hess dispenses with lyrics and falls back on the tried-and-true ‘Ba na na, Ba Ba Ba’, things sound kind of right, the lo-fi production and absence of effects pairing with descending chords and obligatory off-key backing vocals to nice effect.

Hunters, Run!, the epitome of the proletarian, journeyman musical experience, have, in Forgotten Souvenirs of the Modern Age, created an album which is by turns unimaginative, uncomfortable, uninspired and verging on unlistenable. If music be the food of life, then Hunters, Run! are consuming their own vomit.