LP reviewed in Sounds, 3rd July, 1982
ANTI-PASTI ‘Caution In The Wind’ (Rondelet ABOUT 7)**1/2 | EXASPERATION. CARELESS sentences fly like red tracer bullets through the air as the kid struggles to compile a coherent critique. Anti-Pasti? Who the hell are Anti-Pasti? This piece of plastic tells me nothing.
Despite catching their previous vinyl and seeing the occasional Pasti gig, the band appear no more than wraith-like enigmas. A league of little Caspers cocooned in studded leather.
Somehow they’re unique in their own anonymity and happy artlessness. Sure they seem to sell a heap of records, so someone somewhere must like ’em, but I find them astoundingly soulless.
There’s nothing about them that grabs me, makes me want to care. If they have any REAL character they keep it well hidden.
Anti-Pasti | Caution In The Wind | (Rondelet) 1982
‘Caution In The Wind’ is not so much a progression as a minor detour from the path forged by their earlier effort, ‘The Last Call’. Here the ramalama buffoonery has been tempered by some hesitant melody and restraint — a consequence perhaps of time spent across the pond or maybe the influence of new man Ollie Hoon (sounds like a shrub). Only Pasti as a unit remain unable to throw together a decent tune.
They obviously try well enough, but something somewhere is not gelling. ‘Caution In The Wind’ is a feast of half-baked, over-formularised ideas and the end result is a sort of New Wave (notice I haven’t said punk!) by numbers.
Anti-Pasti | Caution In The Wind | (Rondelet) 1982
Dugie Bell‘s guitar repeats itself remorselessly as every track trundles to the inevitable multi-tracked chorus cum chant. There’s the odd brave failure like ‘East To The West’ with its limping cowboy gait and windy guitar and the jaunty, instrumental wind-up ‘Beyond Belief’ but that’s about it. Yawnsville.
That said, I’ve gotta admit that I just love the title track, it’s a marvellous chunk of (very) Clashy combat rock that’d make an ace single. But the thing’s nothing less than an oasis in a 12 inch desert. It’s also the only track upon which vocalist Martin Roper actually attempts to sing, as elsewhere he seems content with an unimpressive street-cry rattle.
It seems to me that Pasti are a mob surfing on a wave of redundancy. This album lacks any fire of inspiration or conviction, and you know what, I really don’t care at all. Anti Pasti! Who the hell are Anti Pasti! (Steve Keaton)
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