In no particular order, there's Climax, Mushaboom, Sexsmith, Punkeydoodles Corners (no, really), Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump (which is a World Heritage Site, and you could only guess at why), Witless Bay, Saint-Louis-du-Ha!-Ha! (but wait, there's more!), Balls Creek, Quispamsis, Crapaud, Crotch Lake, Ball's Falls, Moose Jaw, Spuzzum, Skookumchuk, Stoner aaaaannnnd Big Beaver.

Right, settle down, settle down.

There's also a place called Dildo. 

To the south of the town, there's a smaller outpost, called (are you ready?) South Dildo.

I mean, a dildo used to be the pin you stick in the edge of a rowing-boat which acts as a pivot for the oar...Unbelievable but true. 

Kamloops (to return to the mechanic's breakfast) is notable on the world stage for one thing and one thing only: it's where guitarist and memoirist Chris Masuak grew up.

Now, just imagine you were brought up in a place with a preposterous name, like Paradise (which absolutely isn't); Jimcumbilly, near Bukalong and Bibbenluke, which sounds like an Only Fans kinda place; Humpybong (more Only Fans); Knuckey Lagoon (and again) ... 

So, there you are, living in the pleasant town of, say, Mount Buggery. Or indeed, Kamloops. As you grow up, you realise that while amusing, the town's name will taint and taunt you forever. You have to escape, you must! 

While the first step in escape is locating the train station (or a boat or airport if you live in Taswegia), and then managing to get the fare together ... Chris Masuak had a stupendous stroke of luck. About the time Chris discovered that an amplified guitar is a fucking incredible thing, as did his neighbours a mile down the road, his folks got him out of there and took him to Australia. I'm sure the two events were not directly linked.

You probably know the rest better than I do.

So we'll fast-forward 40-what years, and here we are listening to Chris Masuak's new band in Spain, Los Revelators. I shall take this moment to politely nod at my involvement with Chris in his first book, “Faith and Practice in Bedlam”, and dismiss any daft suggestion that I might over-egg the omelette. If anything, the reverse is true, partly for that reason, and partly because ... truth is, and The Barman knows this, that if I can't review something because I think it's not that good ... I tell him. 

Masuak apart, Los Revelators comprise the following rough'n'tough Spaniards:  Adolfo A. Lombardero "Fito " (bass and vocals),  M.C "Bambi" (drums and percussion) and Andrés Haensel (keyboards and vocals). 

What an extraordinary EP “Revelation” is. Sheer tuff pop. Could've come out of 1976, or any decade since, really. The difference between Los Revelators and much of Chris' recent work is that here the pop edge is far more to the fore, as is a pile of catchy hooks, bridges and pushin' music. He's on a roll.

Haensel's bonkers organs (oo-er) make the whole thing that much broader - there's a distinct upbeat feel to the band, which I haven't heard in Chris for some time. There's still that "biting on tinfoil" feel to him, that unexpected sensation, that toughness, but the entirety of “Revelation” is, frankly, danceable.  

Detroit-tinged power pop? Is that sacrilege? “Kissing Me” could be a Peter Holsapple cover, and “Sarola” wouldn't be far off. Sure, you could say that there are big brush-strokes of “the ‘60s” (whatever the hell that means anymore) all over 'Revelation'. You know, you can dance like an elderly geezer or a young 'un on their first venture into Stickycarpetland, but it's the lyrics which stay with you, the songs. They're powerful, but not in a rawkenroal way. 

“Revelation” is a hell of a finished, balanced, fuckable disc. Get on it, get it on your shelf (instead of that stupid fucking elf).

four

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