Fake Turins announce “Inheritance” E.P & Farewell show at Village Underground!
Words by Angelika May
All good things must come to an end. Just as one, prior to their passing aligns their assets for the benefits of their loved ones, Fake Turins are preparing their fans for their unexpected departure and disbandment (quite literally).
Photo: Alfie Bungay
“Yr Made of Gold”, is the first single to appear from the final EP “Inheritance” an all encompassing motif of love, loss and transcendence. The eleven piece powerhouse, whose blend of brass, guitar and a certain front man (Dominic Rose’s) cryptic lyricism and David Byrne like physicality, had never failed to give me a rising feeling in my stomach with the promise of dirty, funky psychedelica, always on the path to a disco euphoria. Songs from their 2021 album “Time Flowers Now”, such as “Down!” and “Talking Prophets” are reminiscent of this feeling.
“Yr Made of Gold”, whilst yes, geniously composed into a sensuous funk noir, now leaves me with a sinking feeling in my stomach as the melancholy hits. Opening the track with isolated guitar (Scott Custis) and vocals (Dominic Rose), with instruments slowly layering through the track, it gives the listener a feeling of anticipation for the usual Turin’s lively crescendo, but instead ploughs us into the void.
This track has more depth than you can imagine. Amy and Rosie Wilson (clarinet and sax) drive this depth through their harmonic reed and brass arrangements, which creates a plummeting feeling, a slip through time and a journey into the unknown. A deeply pensive track is surely reflective of a deeply pensive lyricist, haunted by the skeletons in their closet? Correct. Rose divulged that this track is a response and exploration of the anger and rage he inherited from his father, as well as ideas surrounding death and the passing of time.
As Fake Turin’s are an audio visual unit, we are given this sentiment twice. The smart visual components that pair the single, ranging from amoeba’s and organisms that mutate into images of work, war and architectural structures bode the question of whether our behaviour is socially learnt, or genetically rooted. Either which way, we’re completely fucked.
Fake Turins, it was good whilst it lasted. Thank you for the reminder of our fleeting existence.
Tickets for Fake Turins final show at Village Underground can be found here.