TINDERSTICKS LOUNGE AX, JUNE 16
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Tindersticks, the latest popsters to catch the wave of ever overinflated British press hype, aren’t so much revivalists as prospectors panning for gold in the stream of 60s pop gems. They seem convinced that certain aspects of Nancy Sinatra and Lee Hazelwood’s 20-year-old cubic zirconiums will prove valuable in a 90s setting. But to mistake the time-specific nature of cultural products for timelessness is to misunderstand their essence just as completely as Margasak’s revivalists.
Like many of their countrymen, Tindersticks bring an unseemly theatricality to their music. In addition to the affected, trite exclusion of the “the” from their name, there’s Rudy Tomjanovich-look-alike frontman Stuart Staples, who dons a new persona with each of the 21 songs on the sextet’s 77-minute debut. All the while the band skulks behind him making moods and atmospheres. Rock critics have described Tindersticks as “cinematic,” “spooky,” and “romantic,” though I’m at a loss to explain why such words are used as compliments.
