uluru

Post-rock first proved an elixir to jaded indie kids because it offered a scenic amble into the verboten territory of jazz, classical and world music without insisting you had to box up your leather jacket. Naturally, within two years it had it's own rulebook - one with a very boring chapter on marimbas. Bit of a disaster really.
Anyway, The Rock of Travolta are an instrumental band, and yes, they have a violin player. But rejoice! Because this Oxfordshire sextet breathe fire and sink ships and eat cute, furry Mogwai for breakfast. So, 'Clean My Boots' rocks like The Mars Volta plundering the graves of dead Norwegian black metallers, and the mighty 'Clique Rock' reimagines Stravinsky's 'Rite of Spring' as a triumphant feedback battery.

NME, 8/10

'Uluru' is the Aboriginal name for Ayer's Rock. It's the biggest rock on the planet. You see the point TROT are trying to make? Theirs is an intelligent rock, a brooding of guitars, violins, trumpets and rampant drums bilding to a climax of occasional brutality and frequent beauty. Thrown into the mix are clusters of techno beats and sub-bass driven fuzz and catharsis.
Veering in sound from Shellac to Fugazi, or Godspeed You! Black Emperor to ...Trail of Dead, the sonic interplay emerges through swamps of feedback and guitar attacks that can be both delicate and angry in equal measure. There's almost no singing whatsoever, and the little there is sounds almost out of place, as though indie troubadours Belle and Sebastian had gatecrashed a Throbbing Gristle gig.
Immense, bruising and excellent.

Kerrang!, 4/5