Mad Action Teac Attack EP / Just Like Fresh Air EP

Funny how these things work out. By now you've probably had Wheel, the opener-proper from Teac Attack, heavily rotated at you for a few months, and maybe that special little buzz of new band excitement has worn off a tadge. This slightly tardy, and you may have spotted, portmanteau review gave me the opportunity the revisit that rather splendid moment when the promo stork delivered these two babies to my door.

For those who don't know, Mad Action are Paul Nicgorski and Ryan Bernstein, a two-piece who occasionally grow to five as family members and friends join them live. They used to be called Ty Cobb, until said baseball player's family got litigious. Then they were discovered by BRMC, and on this, their second and third proper EPs, they evidence the great Bruce Lee adage: if one masters all styles, then eventually one can achieve the greatest of all styles, that is, no style.

As you listen to Mad Action, you will kill yourself trying to work out where you've heard those chords before, that chorus, this line of feedback, until you realise that, no, by some strange marvel, tunes this catchy really are original. On Teac Attack, there are enough ideas to astound many of their peers. Sure, they'll be compared to the Jesus and Mary Chain, the Beach Boys, the Beatles, a bit of Pavement perhaps, and, doubtless, BRMC themselves, but in 16 and a bit minutes and then 17 minutes on Just Like Fresh Air they showcase such a thorough knowledge of the rock canon that very soon our boys begin to sound like no one except themselves.

The standout on Teac Attack is either the radio-friendly rocker mentioned above or the marvellously downbeat poem Positively Waiting. But there's also the bluesy shanty Oakridge Town, the Dylan-esque Flowers, or the wigout closer Dynamite. And a very necessary flute on Upside Down. Genius.

Just Like Fresh Air takes a more visceral approach, from the folksy and aggressive Show Me Your Hands through to the rock out Coca Cola Boy, which I suspect is great live. Even the tiny snippets - bits of noise, snatched vocals, probable outtakes - are embryonic stormers. Add to that the oddball tenderness of Chained and you have 17 more minutes of vinyl and valves, gaffered up with soul and glued with together with inspiration.

Recently, Mad Action toured the UK in a white box. This sort of skewed innovation makes them rather unique. Some time later this year there will be a proper album, but for the time being, I'm going to stick these two together with some duck tape and have my own album of the month. 8 for both, so 16, I suppose.