Inca Babies
Plutonium (1983/1987)
By Jillian Abbene
(SugarBuzz Richmond)
SugarBuzz Magazine
The Inca Babies…all trashed out in post-punk murder ballads that twang and shoot monochromatic drones into their sullen-sunken cheeks. Possessed in sharp-edged yearnings of Americana, they are not of their roots, yet their style is captured in the time warp, circa 1982. It’s the leftover stains of The Cramps, Link Wray, The Birthday Party, Nick Cave, The Gun Club, Tom Waits, Television and Siouxie & The Banshees, that blueprint the same timeless encrypted contemplated torture, branding the melancholic soul to keep churning out brooded rock ‘n roll.
Deriving from Manchester, UK, the lead vocalist, Harry Stafford, and Bill Marten, the long-standing bass player, formed
Inca Babies in 1982. Through the years, there have been transformations within the band line-up; however, it has been Harry and Bill who remain the glue. The current members are as follows: Harry Stafford-guitar/vocals, Various drummers however, Rob Haynes (Goldblade/Who Shot Who) – is the current honorary drummer/backups, and Vincent Hunt (former member of A Witness) – is on bass, standing in for the late Bill Marten who is also a personal friend of the Inca Babies.
This is a band that is rising out of the ashes of the past and into the present with their new CD entitled, “Death Message Blues,” ready for release. I can’t wait! The Inca Babies’ sound carries beyond the predictable post-modern tune; it is now more tangible in the present music scene than back in 1982. You can’t mistake texture or substance with their Link Wray references, demon-drunken writing, or their clever melancholic melodies.
So let’s start off immediately with their first song from their CD, “Plutonium” entitled, 'Devil In My Room,' that digs deep into the belly-pangs of ominous western post-punk. Its slow-sludge beats and tinging cymbal takes a bite out of Harry’s electromatic semi-acoustic guitar wreckage. In somber plucks of Bill's bass, the beat picks up after the first 2 verses, all within a 1/2 metered time. The dismal ballad is walled-out by Harry’s melancholic recall boomeranging with his sharper vocals on the chorus, the second time around.
'Opium Den,' is a solid song that opens with a gust of kick pedals and drum thunks all slithering in a melody of thin-edged tinny chords. [Link Wray reference here.] Interestingly, the overall tone is more reminiscent of Siouxie yet still within the framework of guitar-rattling rock n roll. Harry’s monotoned verse is straight-away--right after the chorus and guitar melody. Thereliable prevalent punching drums are right there in 1/2 time. With the last verse-chorus in feisty brood, in rolls the M8. This triste of verses in the emotive bridge is rattled off like a worded list all in a haunting twinge. I never tire of this style as the last repeat chorus possesses a little more growl ‘n scowl collectively with the double-drum beats right to a hollow ending.
Known for their next song, 'Grunt Cadillac Hotel,' The Inca Babies’ scratch-chord in oil-slicked mid-tempos aside the Batman-bass crawls, and is listlessly in the lead as Harry hurtles a one-vomited, echoed yell. The spoken lyrics (in Tom Waits style), are fluid from one word to another. Craggily and guttural, the syncopated guitar perforatings and swells are in quick-successioning drum-pops. The chorus is sped up--emphazing acid-drone, like an old engine revving, as the guitar chorded arpeggios scale in the background. That Batman-bass is catchy along with Harry’s truncated stir escorting the slither to a sudden end.
It’s all dirgy in a drunken plodded sort of way in, 'The Disease Stranger's Waltz.' Unlike the traditional navigated waltz in 2/4th time, a notable heavy-beat clunks against cymbal tings. Squalling hollow guitar overflows, climbing over the spiraling guitar 
chord-strumming in that tinny/hollow haunt, to swerve right underneath Harry's 1/2 croon, 1/2 spoken last verse. "I am a stranger… from out of town," comes from the gut of the UK dank streets with a deserted western twang ending in guitar-slowing chords that sear off to a fade out.
Next-- "Big Jugular," is a really a great song! Showing off uncoiling emphatic drunk n roll, the romantic post-punk theme is squelched by chopped up scratch and drawl. It's solely Harry's vocals against the guitar melody that grovels along the beat. A glorious guttural, drunken, chorus eclipses with a surly slurried swirl of verses peaking with high-pitched squeals trailing after each line. Distorted warble guitar has just as much presence as Harry's gargling growls. On the chorus, switching to intense tribal drums, as the M8 is maligned with filleting guitar twiddlings. It’s full throttle to the beat. Harry’s lyrics are sung in soul-bearing low-register threads underneath the bridged drum pedal on verse. Harry's tirade silences—as Bill's bass rises from the raw to deliver the haunting and meet the riding guitar melody. Spinning into a hollow riff, the song crescendos into a punctuating drum/bass/guitar twang all on one beat. Unable to 
contain his discontent, Harry is allowed enough room to spout off one more row before the abrupt last note.
Although, 'The Lung Knives,' is a newer song, the opening rat-a-tat snare-drum syncopations is smack-dab between the quickened verse--parting the seas for Harry’s rendition in his twin Iggy Pop's stance. Leading to a sudden accapella crescendo, the verse is topped with that dissonant guitar. The lyrics are dark and with imagery, "--With both hands....You collapse my lungs,” before slamming into third gear, piling on the constant heavy-handed drum syncopations. Drum snares throughout as Harry's more nasal lead vocals rollercoaster to the end.
However, the song that I think best encapsulates the Inca Babies is, 'The Judge.' It's all in that soul-preachin' hallelujahs and a conscious slap in the face ‘n forehead that wraps the guttural crazed and slightly perverted passion and takes shape. Harry accapellas in Jim Morrison leanings, but is far more riddled in demon power than Jim could ever match. As Bill's signature bass pluck-crawls along cymbal tings, the catchy melody is christened as a punk rock penance.
I’m not finished! It's the second verse that the song expands with drum pedal in rock n roll that has Harry's identifiable vocal terror in stereo-Cabaret, playing the role of an evil villain. It's like it pulls up some kind of subconscious imagery that makes me just shutter.
The beat welds into a mini-jam of snare pops, overlapping tinny guitar, and increased cymbals that repeat on the first beat. Harry's burning soul is on a-fire of donning squeals, bellows and howls that reaches all highs and lows in mini-explosive verses. His high-pitched "Yee-ows," leaves a long trail of scratched up echo-growls, ending to the fade. This is one hell of a smokin' song.
The last song on the CD, "The Interior," is fittingly a more upbeated rock ‘n roll melody. Harry's twanged, sharp-shouting vocal gives that morbid edge. Accapella guitar introduces the 1st verse as the drum ‘n cymbal joins the piling on of beef. Harry's lyrics punctuate the last line after each section of verse before splitting into an echo-crooned chorus. This is where the beat trollops. The Gretch guitar chords are only with drum/cymbal--no bass, rolling into the M8. The guitar’s revenge encompasses the echo making Harry croak, choke, and spew out the chorus. As the guitar recedes on the riff, the bass takes over. Harry's croon on queue, picks up the pace as the drum and guitar quickly evaporate at the end.
Surprised how The Inca Babies squeezed in jazz influences and Cabaret vocals, its balance is entwined unaware, trancing this listener by their sound. Somehow there is a twisted sophistication 
within the song-structure that spotlights in the raw. With their sudden tragic loss of Bill Marten, the bass player, I feel as if his spirit is within those bass lines. Dedicating this write up, despite the fact that I did not know Bill Marten personally, I can appreciate his laid-back song writing talent that proves a musician doesn’t have to succumb to a stereotype. John Peel got it right when The Inca Babies recorded four sessions for his BBC Radio 1 programme between 1984 and 1987.
With this write-up, I am paying homage to Bill Marten--wherever you are… along with the rest of the Inca Babies--here is your recognition you so deserve.
[Note: You can purchase The Inca Babies CD, “Plutonium,” here: http://www.myspace.com/incababies.
Keep your ears open…they will be touring soon after their album release.]