SHH
Water Rats, London
03/02/2010

Those of you who’ve been waiting patiently these last twenty years for a second (i.e. not Stereolab-related) chance to go “Woo-hoo! Bilingual agit-electro!” feel free to break out the party hats now. Yes, there may have been a shortage of Argentinian synth-poppers in recent years – hell, in any years as far as British ears are concerned – but that’s an imbalance that SHH do a sterling job of rectifying. Diana Gorgostegui, as well as having one of the most fearsome monikers we’ve stumbled across in quite some time, makes for a remarkable frontwoman, striking striking poses galore in practically sprayed-on cerise catsuit leggings and obsidian pixie boots, affecting a provocative hauteur that unexpectedly calls to mind Agnetha Faltskog, and hollering away in a manner that suggests Karin Dreijer Andersson and Linda Lamb siccing a panther on an unsuspecting Annie.

Keyboardy cohort Daniel Huarte, meanwhile, cuts a more affable figure than tradition for such duos demands, and, while not exactly auditioning for one of those hideous who’s-got-the-crispiest-dance-crew tussles presently cluttering up all manner of music channels, clearly knows his way around club floors virtually blindfold. Not, of course, that this leads to the pair producing all sorts of disco nonsense, appealing though that would be. Au contraire; theirs is a more feisty undertaking, all lasery strobes, subterranean subtext and sultry sashay, and, while the more decadent points on which they touch musically are occasionally reflected in the lyrics (the English ones, at least – sadly, we’re in no position to determine whether or not that also applies to their excursions into Spanish), they also, delightfully if incongruously, aren’t afraid to engage in a discussion about human rights. Oh, and, in ‘No Sleep’, they’ve even struck scarf-waving, bleep-pop gold. Clearly, then, there’s a good deal about SHH that demands to be heard.

Iain Moffat