Ivory Springer

PRESS
"A lot of people have been telling me about this band.... A lot of people have been talking about them and raving about them because of their live performances. This is the album I've been listening to this weekend and it's superb… Very original, very different and I'm really looking forward to seeing them live." - Radio 1 Evening Session:

Maybe it's the area's Neolithic lapidary pull; maybe it's cos they all smoke far too much weed down there; whatever - they like their stoner rock in the West Country. Unlike Gonga, however, maritime obsessed trio Ivory Springer leaven their primal riffing heaviosity with hardcore's nimble fretwork (Fugazi & Shellac), sinking it deep in angsty, post-rock grooves. Jokily they describe themselves as "thematically nuanced ship-core". Seriously - they fluffing rock. Time Out

This West Country trio major in quirkiness on this seven-track mini-album of howling art-core rock, themed around the travails of sub-mariners. It's reference points include Shellac, Mcluskey and Slint, and that's no bad thing. The Independent

Three-man stop-start precision rock from the West Country. Ivory Springer nail down a tightly wound, riff-driven attack that brings Shellac and June Of '44 to mind - a compliment not bestowed lightly. with their vintage seafaring theme, Ivory Springer also have the distinction of being frontrunners in a scene of one: the nauti-core movement. Mojo

"Nautically themed artcore... or weird brainy shit about seamen. Either way, Bristol three-piece Ivory Springer are about as thrillingly innovative and eccentric as it's possible to be with a guitar, bass and drums. Their debut album twins an Albini obsession with epic, Ernest Shackleton style yarns of brawny bosuns and sinking vessels, forging rhythms and riffs so stutteringly off-kilter that dancing to them would be like playing hands-free musical statues. Although they rock with a terrifying, faultline threatening gravity, they also understand the power of pause and control. This stuns from start to all too quick finish. The nation's less able post-post-rock contenders should walk the plank." 4/5 BANG!

Three deep-sea diver helmeted West Country eccentrics make a concept album about sailing. It's an idea that should go down like the Titanic, but works at ear-level because Thirty Two Points on a Compass has nary a shanty, nor swashbuckle in sight. Instead, the axe-wielding landlubbers ply a heavy metal sound that combines the angular riffs of Shellac with a stop start dynamic that's choppy enough to leave you seasick. Swinging the gang-plank into action with clunky bass hooks of the opener "Fifteen Minute Song", and navigating a course between landlocked melodicism and deep sonic explorations, it's anchors away for a sound that sinks or swims purely on your love of the rock Sleaze-Nation

As my knowledge of all things nautical starts at Portland Bill and ends at Captain Cook, after seeing this cover, I had shudder inducing visions of the shipping forecast with a touch of sea shanty thrown in. Thankfully, I was way off the mark. Joining Gonga on an escape mission out of the West Country Choke Collective, Ivory Springer combine a very British eccentricity with a tongue hanging out worship of the jerk-around dynamics of Shellac. The Submariner song’ is math rock by numbers – all taut disjointed guitar, jazzy handclaps and vocals that sound like they were recorded three rooms away from the mic. ‘Weight of Ropes’ echoes the empty guttural feel of Albini project ‘In Utero’ and the vocals chop and change for every song, but are particularly sweet yet sour during ‘Newfoundland’. As the album wears on, I feel excited, not just because the music I’m hearing is so raw and unafraid, but the fact that for once, instead of waiting for the next strange thing from the US to arrive on our shores, I’m hearing what I want out of new music – sharp, special, raw, brave and a little bit crazy- coming from a place that’s best known for bloody trip hop. ‘Thirty Two points…’ may be a taste of what’s to come, but I can’t wait to hear how they’re going to push the boundaries forward next. Dripfed

Bristol, the home of Ivory Springer, has a shipping industry whose legacy is largely built on slavery. This having proved a little embarrassing for generations of Bristolians, it's understandable that this trio's obsession with the sea and its cruel beauty takes a more universal stance. Almost all of the seven tracks on "Thirty Two Points..." concern themselves with matters nautical, while Ivory Springer are defined musically by a fixation with the machinations of Shellac. In its more introspective moments it recalls Shipping News and The Shipping News (E. Annie Proulx's novel of life on the remote Newfoundland coastline - there's even a track called "Newfoundland." It's more reverential than derivative in the main, though; with a certain singsongy swing of its own. Rocksound

Bristol’s Ivory Springer, on the other hand, might wear their Shellac influences pretty clearly on their sleeves (and in their choice of guitars – singer Stu sports a Steve Albini-esque Travis Bean), but even then, they’re so tight that you can’t help but be impressed by the instant control of noise and silence in ‘The Submariner Song’, achieved without so much as an intra-band nod or glance. But then there’s much more to them than the usual stop/start angular dynamics of broadly similar bands – their songs take in all the usual Dischord/Touch and Go influences, but craft something utterly distinctive from them, not least in a lyrical trip taking in first mates, rigging, piracy and time travel. Vocals wander from being distorted through pedals to being whispered like a nautically-themed incantation, from a falsetto imitating a chorus of women to standing five feet away from the microphone and screaming. Starting off pretty cagily, their charmingly self-deprecating stage presence is well warranted until they get warmed up a couple of songs in. By the time set-closer ‘Time Travel For Beginners’ comes around, they’ve won over a packed Wheatsheaf, leaping off the stage and practically posing for photos with the audience (women and children first, naturally). One of the best bands we’ve seen around these parts for months. Oxfordbands.com

The guitars rip through the track with an icy presence, and the vocals are harsh, tough and salty. This nautical themed band are fantastic. The 7 tracks with one hidden track are all strong in their own right and demonstrate a willingness to experiment with guitars and push their boundries forward. For me, "My Best Job" and "Fifteen Minute Song" (which isn't 15 mins long by the way!) are the standout tunes, but you could argue that any of the others are just as immense. For anyone who wants to hear music that has presence, then look at Ivory Springer. Outstanding. - DJ Peanuts.co.uk

Having been a feature on the music scene in Bristol and Bath for a couple of years, Ivory Springer unleash their fury on the rest of the country with their debut album. The word that people seem unable to resist including when talking about them is OShellac¹, the name of uber-producer Steve Albini¹s pioneering post-punk outfit. While it¹s true that Ivory Springer are more than a little reminiscent of Shellac and it would be a surprise if Albini wasn¹t high on their list of influences there¹s more to them than just copying. The opening tracks of the album, Fifteen Minute Song and The Submariner Song, do sound like Shellac. They both toy with the listener to stir things up: Fifteen Minute Song is in 3/4 time, a rarity in popular music, particularly at the punk end. The second track plays with timing by adding seemingly random pauses to the chugging guitar riffs. After getting the Seattle influences out of their systems, the band seem to settle down into a more melodic, laid-back vibe, reminiscent at times of Aereogramme¹s crystal chainsaw riffs. - Pennyblack.co.uk

"We've been in need of heroes around here. Sturdy men, strong of hand and true in heart . But now, through the perilous mists of indie rock stride three heroic figures, with lantern jaws and sledges stacked high with spiky chords and rhythmic splendour. And what splendour. Much has been made of Springer's powerful stop-start assault, crisp as a biscuit and machined with such precision it would make a German engineer weep with envy. But through all these technicalities it's easy to forget their stirring humanity, the warmth of their outwardly harsh poetry and the poignancy of their uncomfortable silences. Familiar live favourites like "Fifteen Minute Song" and "The Submariner Song" have gained an unexpected organic glow after their distillation through the studio pipes. And the surprising addition of a girly mob chorus only makes the whole production seem rounder less Albini-encrusted than anyone who's shared the air with them in the backroom of a smokey pub could ever have imagined. It's an extra dimension that raises their songs, steeped in the imagery of exploration, sacrifice and the heroism of both selflessness and selfishness, to levels of spine-tingling, heart-wrenching proportions. This isn't so much a surprise; as we always suspected that the boys had it in them, more an affirmation of the promise they always showed but we feared they might stifle." - Venue Magazine

"Seven tracks of ace Shellac/Van Pelt style punk noise from three Bristol guys who look more likely to give you a library fine for returning 'Handy Andy's Home DIY' a week late than to rock your socks off. But my socks are rocked, and some. 'The Submariner Song' is a tad over-complicated perhaps, but by final track 'Time Travel For Beginners' (something about a fridge or two on Salisbury Plain?) you won't care. I only came across this record by chance at a live show; you're advised to actively seek it out." Do Something Pretty:

"It begins with a song called "15 Minute Song". It's a song that's a five minute long song. Lies then, but white one, as it packs enough into their truncated quarter of an hour to warrant pardon for their deceit. The guitars and drums crash along as though working to completely opposite mandates, yet to a similar agenda and reaching ultimately the same conclusion. yes indeed, I like Ivory Springer already, as this skewed take on US style alt. rock, utilizing regimented but violent guitar chops, tempestuous feedback and rattling bass, leaves me physically unsettled in a away that I kind of crave."Vanity Project:

Rightly or wrongly, there was time when the very mention of the Purr label would automatically get me thinking of girl fronted garage rock or the spirit of mark E. Smith. Just shows how wrong a body can be, as Bristol's very own Ivory Springer are about as far removed from said styles as you can get. What they do sound like, however, is a fusion of Shellac's edginess. Fugazi's skewed timing and Helmet's split second precision. This is obviously a winning formula as they can count Messrs Steve Lamacq and John Peel amongst their fans and I can see them breaking way beyond the boundaries of the Bristol scene. Trailer Park Trash

"Smart and sharp debut from this Bristol three piece. The influences are almost exclusively American, but the attitudes are thoroughly British, ranging from the cold-eyed sneer of "Weight Of Ropes" to the thoughtful, almost math rock of "The Submariner Song". This is one of those rare records, cohesive, but rough sanded with gritty n raw renditions of some slick rock tunes, the best of which has got to be the broody, coiling riffery and bass bubble topped gem they call "Newfoundland". Buy it, no really, buy it." - Unpeeled

"Favourites with musos Steve Lamacq and John Peel, Ivory Springer are a punky Bristol-based three-piece band who specialise in stark, swampy riffs and hell-for-leather Shellac-style dynamics. Stripped down, brutal, and refreshingly free of major label sheen, this album is an essential purchase for anyone who¹s into straight-up DIY guitar music" Total Guitar

"More excellence from the entirely loveable Purr stable. Shellacian shapes a go-go - except with songs - from this hard hitting Bristol trio. Earnest, integral & not at all unconvincing." - Trakmarx

The name of the band is great enough in itself, but when it is backed up by such fantastic music, it's really worth getting excited. Bristol's Ivory Springer are a three-piece that sing about time-travel, Seiko watches and seafaring… like Fugazi and Shellac, work ceaselessly on their song craft- everything on the record is tuned to microscopically fine tolerances, resulting in a brilliantly realised statement. - Twentyfourseven Magazine

Wee mini-album from band that are obsessed with ships. It's good to be obsessed. I like to meet people that know the minutIae (oooh spellcheck matron) of small things. Their cover is diving helmets, the title (32 points on a compass) speaks for itself and even the contact details are in 'ship'..(semaphore and morse...). And the music? kind of swaying (hey probably a shanty-inspired!) rock with sort of classic rock vocals if you will building up from a gentle swagger to a stomping shouting roll around the deck in full storm. And then an albatross takes you by the musical neck and yanks you all over the ships deck slipping and sliding on chunks of guitar, nuggets of drums and unexploded veins of vocals. - Artrocker

Right. Cunt off with all yr empty, hollow bluff about the de rigueur New Rock Revolution. It’s symptomatic of the fickle world of musical trends that revolution no longer means rebellion or insurrection. It means going round and round in fucking circles. I want something that’s holding course by a different musical compass. The latest Disque De Purr is a mini album from Ivory Springer; its selection of sparse monochromatic imagery imparts nothing about the people responsible, but suggests endeavour, exploration, unimaginable hardship, inhospitable alien Antarctic terrain, and feats of superhuman endurance. It’s possible to picture IS living in a rundown Alaskan wooden shack in self imposed isolation, cut off from the vagaries of the outside technocratic world, subsisting on only that which they had caught by their own hands…sometimes casually chopping off a finger or two, as they strip all the extraneous, unnecessary, flabby excess from their hard as fuck songs after a 28 hour stint of drinking grain whiskey, spitting tobacco and rusty nails, and contemplating divorce/murder in the endless, incessant daylight. Let’s be careful out there. 15 Minute Song relates a tale of a “women and children first” Shackletonian stylee maritime disaster leaving you wondering whether redemption will ever come. It’s a rough-ass waltzing yell of desperation reminding us of the adage that the sea can be a beautiful lady if you play in her, but if you play with her….she’s a bitch. Weight of Ropes has an unhinged distorted vocal, telepathically beamed in from the damaged mind of planet nutter, and sounds like a 2 minute confessional from someone who knows that the spiral only goes down. Ropes are fucking heavy; you shouldn’t try to pick them up. With a hiccupping, klanging riff and all-join-in yell of “Sammahtheearjurrpledwivanoermansgin”, My Best Job has such a sense of urgency you’d think it was attempting to rescue a diabetic child trapped down a well. It’s an anthem for disgruntled postal workers everywhere, and a cautionary note in the margin for anyone that forgets that the Lord loves a working man. There’s an occasional nod to some of the great independent American guitar bands: The Antithesis of Rust could be a distant older relative of the Butthole’s classic Florida. It’s the inbred offspring of a 37 year old, tobacco chewing, scrotum-fingering, PCP imbibing hog slaughterer and his trailer-dwelling, Dr. Pepper chugging, piss stained sister who “rilly loves Metal y’all”, arguing with daytime TV and slowly becoming engulfed by the accumulated detritus of shiny consumerism run amok. And ver Springer summon up the inspirational spirit of the Pixies in The Submariner Song (which includes a single sonar sound effect that’s almost the equivalent of Springer going techno; such is their adherence to the pure rock aesthetic). Time Travel For Beginners has an intro like a driverless locomotive running into car stalled on the crossing- all sparks and grinding chewed up metal, and develops into a blackly comic story of the futility and disappointment of best laid plans. Lyrically, there’s nothing around like them. The narratives are lean and stripped down evocative mini-stories like a nautical James Ellroy, hollered over undulating, stuttering riffs as phat and phearsome as your phather’s phallus- tugging over, against and around bass and drum rhythms as streamlined and taut as Bruce Lee’s chest. It’s an impeccable, ultra live-sounding mini album that should be placed at the helm of yr most played cds.Boat, Selecta!" - CHOKE

A band that cannot be accused of pandering to pop market dynamics is IvorySpringer, the other band that I¹d seen before without being seduced. It is not a seductive band. Ivory Springer is spiky and insistent; it is, as the Bath Chronicle so amusingly typoed, 'music that drills right into your bra.' It is also music that, once you get past the tough exterior, has, if not warm and cuddly, a thoughtful and sincere interior. First mate Stuart, singer-writer-guitarist, must wake up every morning listening to Led Zeppelin¹s Presence while ingesting a few volumes of William Burroughs followed by a quick reread of Jane¹s Fighting Ships. So that¹s what the songs are like. As far as the playing, well, muso-inclined punters were debating what weird tuning his guitars must be in to get such dissonant chords, but I know for a fact that at least one guitar was in normal tuning it¹s all in the fingers, mate! Or, even better, the mind. And this time my mind opened, like one of those beautiful smog-infused LA sunrises, to the idiosyncratic and persuasive vision of Ivory Springer. Charlie Dunlap