Haight-Ashbury

Haight-Ashbury 2: The Ashburys

(Lime Records)

It is 25 years since Glasgow's bent for seminal indie bands obsessed with West Coast 1960s America reached its peak, which is roughly long enough to welcome another one. Despite their lazy name choice, Haight-Ashbury's reverb-drenched girl harmonies feel more aligned to that C86 era than the original hippies. Yet they also plunder from slacker grunge, lending a lo-fi quality that edges towards Juliana Hatfield/Breeders territory. There is nothing as radio friendly as Freeman Town from 2010 debut Here In The Golden Rays, but The Ashburys may be more unified as a result. It starts with Maastricht, a sprawling tangle of sitars and chants, like The Wicker Man meets Morrissey's Alsatian Cousin; and ends with Love, Haight And Ashbury, where bombastic piano in the early Elton John mould gets steadily overpowered by layers of feedback and noise. Other highlights include the unsettlingly urgent Dum De Dum and the Surfer-Rosa-inclined 2nd Hand Rose. Give this trio another couple of albums to fully flower, and they could be capable of something marvellous.

Steven Vass