Bad Valentines offer up their new EP, “Memory Tattoos,” and these four songs arrived like a bundle of stubbornly persistent wildflowers pushing through cracked pavement. This Helsinki quintet, veterans of the Finnish indie scene, isn’t peddling easy comforts; they’re dragging the raw, beautiful mess of existence into the flickering neon glow of their glam-punk-pop leanings.
The EP itself feels like being buttonholed by someone with a story etched onto their very soul, an urgent chronicle of loss so potent it almost carries a scent – something like damp earth and a forgotten bonfire. Themes of grief and the overwhelming weight of darkness aren’t just stated; they’re thrashed out with an energy that’s both defiant and desperately seeking. There’s a particular kind of Nordic melancholy, perhaps, in the way personal sorrow braids with the turning seasons and the wider, colder ache of global conflict. It’s the sound of trying to remember the exact shade of a loved one’s eyes while the news blares tales of far-off devastation.
For all its heavy heart, “Memory Tattoos” struts. The glam swagger and punk snarl are not mere affectations; they’re the glittery, slightly chipped armour worn against despair. One minute you’re lost in a 60s pop-inflected melody that could almost be playing from a transistor radio in a dream, the next, a guitar riff cuts through like a shard of glass, demanding your attention.
It’s this peculiar blend, this melodic resilience, that captures the “life, love, and grit” they aim for. It makes me think of finding an exquisitely crafted, slightly tarnished silver locket in the pocket of a well-worn leather jacket.
This isn’t just lament; it’s a howl, a plea, and occasionally, a determined, if weary, foot-stomp against the dying of the light. Bad Valentines have managed to distill that feeling of carrying impossible burdens while still scanning the horizon for some, any, flicker.
Do these tattoos ultimately heal, or simply mark the scars with a defiant artistry?
