FUNGALPUNK - CD REVIEWS Page 1
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JULIES DEAD - SOMETHING WENT WRONG A small treat from a band that are rekindling their rhythms and rockin' out with a new found gusto. According to the Facebook bilge drip they are 'feral punk quintet from Northampton, tearing up UK stages since the ’90s. Their snarling, high-octane sound channels Misfits and Black Flag. Unrelenting live shows and raw energy prove punk’s not dead—just louder, faster, and meaner' - well it certainly is a good propaganda push for sure. I have them booked, I go in neutral in the nethers, and here is what pips I splash out. 'Safe' is a beautiful number that deals with the situation of domestic violence, a real terror state of play that sees the bully beat on the already beaten and crush them into utter oblivion. I have known a few of these situations in my time, one ended up with a death, it is all fuckin' pathetic. Here a question is repetitively asked via strong song that rolls in, fuzzes with ill-temper and drives with an unstoppable force. The message is clear - 'lasses, do not take this shit'. The verses are nailed down, the segue into the chorus is smooth and the whole concoction works and works fuckin' well. For me, bands who deal with this kind of subject matter need applause and note, when they do it in such an effective DIY way I can only tip my titfer in generous acknowledgement. An opening track and a fuckin' impacting stunner with great power. The follow-up to this initial blow-out is laden with pressure as it has to be a good un' to hold its own with matters already laid down. 'Failson' ups the pace, has a remarkable fluency and more than stands firm in this small sonic arena. A twisting guitar, a roll and we are at it with a good energy unearthed and an opening rapid-fire verse gratifying to the soul. The fuckers who have it all and never seem to fail (in their eyes and the eyes of the sycophants) are dealt with via a quite delicious gallop of swiftly generated music that sticks to an orthodox composition but does so with fascinating appal. The 'whoa hoas' help us get involved, the uncomplicated approach and the completeness of the track make it another winner for me. DK string essences, a thrust and in we go to 'In Her Mind'. A serious question, an aftermath pondering, a kick-back of rabid retribution. The main winning assets of this song are the vicious cut, the infection factor of the speed rate and the overall torrent of verbal goodness that really operates quite ideally over the solid foundations of well-played musicianship. Key saturations, a break of spartan effect, a rant and rave and this song brings to the fore several elements that make it a cracking eruption of earthy DIY din-making. It keeps the CD flowing with a wealth of urgency and focus and magnetic high-tempo melody. 'Junkfood Generation' is a very old song and here are the words of Dunk, band member of Julies Dead and The Mispelt - 'this is one of the first songs that I wrote. It's something I penned in my bedroom at my parents when I was about 17 or 18. In this original form it was the show runner in the early years Julie's Dead set and the stand out track on our first ever demo. When Julie's Dead fell apart it then became a filler in the fledgling Mispelt set, lost to obscurity until dusted off and re-worked in the Gen era of Mispelt and then retired again only to see a new lease of life with the reformed and reinvigorated Julie's Dead - the version on this CD is what I heard in my head when I was writing it 30 odd years ago'. And so here are my Fungalised thoughts. The song mentioned from the Mispelt's 'Gen Era' is a fuckin' classic, a real upbeat and in-yer-face' song that stands the test of time. This version is nothing like the said beauty but is a still a ruddy good piece albeit in a less flamboyant way. I am in tune with the rough and ready blasting and the arrangement is highly applaudable. The closure is 'All These Years' - a quite muscular movement with rabid ravaging intertwined with cruising quality that really throws the CD a whole new angle and keeps one intrigued right up until the last. From the suffering is borne success, from incandescent frustration is borne a flame of defiance in a fuckin' healthy and kicking track that really turns me on. I shall leave the review here - nuff fuckin' said. Julies Dead have me aroused, I am looking forward to the debut Fungalised appearance, this is some fuckin' EP folks and I am giving it a real Fungal thumbs up with extra nobs on and nipples. Hell yeah! |
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NEXO - MINDFUL INACTION From Copenhagen in Denmark comes a thrashy hardcore unit with elements that are experimental and varied. I am happy to just come along, listen with good intent and thrash out the Fungalised thoughts as they come. There ain't no process, no pre-set thinking and the fresher I can go in, the fuckin' better!
'Concentration' begins the five track journey with a low rumble of controlled tonality. Hollerings come from depths cursed, we are immediately confronted with a grimaced and tense laden spillage that looks set to test the nerves. Poundings, a strum and then a relieving thrash hammer with a repetition yell factor taking hold of the reins and creating a very stressful sonic scenario. From the brink of a breakdown comes a primeval scream of needy depths, escorted by a whipping maelstrom of emotive seizuring that completes the whole discomfiting discordance. Powerful, intense and very shattering - take care folks, this is bold and sinewy lug-grappling matter.
I love the emergency surge during the opening throes of 'Deadline' all happening and addictive before a glutinous glug-pull drags one back into a nightmare realm of fear. The fear is borne from not making the grade, achieving matters on time in a lunatic world where people are racing the clock, tripping head over heels in a mayhem of meetings, catch ups and experiences before they ultimately... drop dead. The song soon picks up the pace again, feel the pressure, admire the noise as the valve is opened - this is a fuckin' strong and healthy track.
'Karoshi' kicks along with a good lick, it labours away and sends out a warning to those doing too much work that will see the final wage packet labelled 'oblivion'. The rat race has people snared, the 'working from home' brigade are not beating anything, thank fuck I retired first. Again we see a tension rise and ultimately erupt in a spark-shower of anxiety and cerebral poison. From the opening boomings comes a solid bout of regularity with the throat neatly seared and the players all unified in one well-channelled burst. This one hits the tubes and stays right on track.
Having previously mentioned the 'hatred' factor I witness a move up in thermal viciousness here as a blazing infusion of molten ill-temper splashes forth via 'My Blood'. Screwed up and tetchy mechanics are pulled all ways before a statement is made and then an explanation is given. This is not a fluid tune, is not instantaneously magnetic and doesn't hit all my positive sensors but the whole arrangement grows in stature as matters progress and the brutality, the honesty and the unapologetic delivery all work in a kind of 'oh fuck' kind of way. A very necessary song, especially for the singer it seems.
We piss off into the sable silent realms with 'Overcorrection' - a very submerged and sub-gothic piece that is soaked through to the core. A ball of radioactive searing that rotates without distraction and crushes all resistance. For me it is a hard track to digest, one that is best left to those who have a greater tolerance of things of this intensity. The musicianship is tight, the minimal vocals hard to decipher and the application sound but, I feel more emphasis could have been placed on melody and that all important 'hook'. Hey, tis' personal honesty folks, that is all I ever wish to offer.
There is a great weight of sound here, much to appreciate and some heavy duty outpourings that are of a certain generic realm. The release is on the admirable 5Feet Under Records label and the band know their stuff. Not my bag but not a CD to slaughter either (as if I would).
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DAVID DELINQUENT AND THE IOU'S - EVERYBODY LOVES YOU David Delinquent & The I.O.U'S are pretty new kids on the shit-stained block, I am sure they have slipped in a few turds as they have traversed the cruddy thoroughfare of sonic life but, it seems, they are making a little progress. I have no idea what progress is these days but, as long as they are creating, are as keen as mustard and are enjoying it whilst not ripping people off or kissing rings then that will do for me. If the music is shite, bright and just right I can only hear, ponder and assess if requested to so. Here I have been asked to comment on a single release, one track to try and sum up what is going on and how the vibes may bless or curse the awaiting lugs.
The title is feelgood, I am untrustworthy though 'Everybody Loves You' indeed. The opening throes are tattooed through with glammed joviality and gusto, a trait that continues throughout, much to the betterment of the whole arrangement. This is a fruity explosion of motivational music with a sensation of something commercialised (ooh how I shudder at the word). This is mighty fine fodder though, especially when played loud on a darkened wintry day when the black dog is nipping at the posterior. The clarity of all components, the fluency, the saxy swagger, the overall zest and the final production values make this a quite nippy treat with the orchestration tidy and the crossover from the DIY to the more processed highly applaudable. Perhaps there are corned elements and it ain't nowt new under the well-whipped sun but...who fuckin' cares. If it feels good, play loud and dance baby.
There ya go, a Fungalised nod of approval, am I going soft in my old age or am I spot on when I rate this a darn banger? With 1800+ CD reviews under the belt I hope I have some inkling of insight.
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LEGLESS TRIALS - AMERICAN RUSS NEVER SLEEPS Hey man, here we delve into 2 tracks from the realms of capricious cacophony where I have previously tampered. For those that have read my many reviews, including my sojourns into realms from where I send ye a Postcard on Metal, you will know the script here. For anyone not yet familiar with all that transpires get yer reading goggles on and peruse.
And spin...
...'American Russ Never Sleeps Part 1' - expected clink-clanks and micro-wanks come before the automaton's mandible robotically wags and spills poetical weavings of a quite ambiguous but observant leaning. A cold and stark reality is deranged and angled as the acoustic oddment unfolds and asks questions and comes up with no real answers. A cutlet of crooked and misshapen pondering with a fear left in its wake, a fear akin to a toxic slug trail that is smeared across the cranial sensors and left to do its rotting thing.
And flip...
...'American Russ Never Sleeps Part 2' - the frosted tones continue, the haunted cambers continue to be adverse and cause our inner carriages to duly wobble and stir the innards. Twist and twitch subtleties shapeshift and taunt whilst the oral dictator continues in an almost aloof and detached manner. The Legless Ones are a unit borne from ova of eccentricity and will not dilute their output just to please. This track is another twisted metal intrusion that must be committed to memory before it falls away in the empty mists of all-consuming time. What it is, where it was created and where it will end up seems irrelevant.
You want things off kilter? You got it! You ask for something different? You got it! You want something to challenge the senses in its own direct fashion? You got that too! Do I like it or do you like it? Is there any pertinence in the last question? For the record – I am utterly bemused but glad that folk do this shit!
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ABOVE US THE WAVES - COUNTING SEASONS From Kavala in Greece comes a heavy duty noise making 5-piece that blend the mania of hardcore punkery with the vulgar threat tones of death metal. It is all ferocious stuff played by people immersed, absorbed and with no hope. For me, 4 tracks of this sonic style is enough, I am happy to dip in and out and admire any quality on show. I have expectations, I may be overjoyed, proven right or vigorously disappointed.
'Cliffhanger' is an unapologetic vandalization of the rhythmic realm where poppism and delicacies are crushed underfoot by a severe Hell-beating of thunderous malevolence. The magnesium of the melody is lit, it sears the senses whilst the roaring gob and the unsettling back whispers contain the crucial unhinging factor. This though is still, at its centre, hardcore raving and rioting with the band blistering their mitts during a concussive cacophony. Subtle switches, not so subtle slammings, this has all the hallmarks of a noise ideal for those absolutely beyond salvation. Personally I find matters too stretched out and too stuttery in parts but I can also recognise a mastery of a sub-scene and a sweetly mixed poison to intoxicate those who dare get too close. Solid work.
'Guard My Six' tympanically tosses off, merges into a saturated soundscape from which rises a fully exposed mush of intensity that burns with a dull blue tone rather than scorching with a red alert intensity. This is still hefty and hurtful stuff but just needs some clobber added to the volume levels folks, Turn up, make sure you are in the mood and absorb yourself in some very serious noise-making. If you are looking for an easy listen and something for the background then think again, there are many layers to peel away and a full-on onslaught to try and tackle. Again, I am not overly taken but this is a personal view, I know many who will love this watertight racket.
'Ghost Issues' begins with lighter tones, eventually blossoms with great absorbing technicality before yelling away and altering the delivery with persuasive nuances. A full-on rampage comes, periods of contemplation are thrown in, angles and adjustments made in a composition that has a lot going on and leaves me flabbergasted and just plain old gassed. Perhaps overly convoluted and not of any definitive scene (which is no bad thing), this is noise for the aficionado or those converts who are ensnared already and are happy to wallow. Strong sonica you really must prepare for.
The closure comes via the song known as 'Counting Seasons'. Textured tones, mutterings from the dark and a creeping unease. Matters move after a holler, and then we get what is to be expected and more of what has been. The band know their stuff, apply themselves with great focus and expose a flawless degree of in-zone talent. The mix and match is repeated, we have moments to dismantle, examine and then put together back again - all I can add at this point is that if you have been thrilled thus far you will be more than aroused by this. I don't like it, what can I do - but, as per, my thumbs are raised to some healthy noise made by folks who do it fuckin' well.
And a big 'yes' if you like your noise heavy, multi-flavoured and polished, as you have noted 'it is a 'no' from me as I can't like everything and will never pretend to. There is no way though that I can knock this, the production values, the power and the passion are there, make of that what you will. I am outta here looking for things grubbier.
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THE MANSTERS - SNAPSHOTS FROM A SHITSHOW From Tønsberg, Norway come The Mansters - a tidy tuneful outfit that are laden with irritation, angst and good melodies. The title of the album and many of the songs will give you a good inkling of what is going down here and rather than waste time, I jump into the hectic fray and give my thoughts.
'The World Is My Ulcer' starts with a pomp and a patience. The opening build has fair texturisation and a general arrangement, it is soon washed away by an irresistible torrent of electro surging that has a feel of 90's US melodica and everyday skater punkery that always brings life to any cacophonic creation. There is no fuckin' around here or dawdling with the din - as soon as the initial intro is done the band go for it and nail matters in very terse time. 1 minute 46 seconds - the goodness is crammed in baby and I need add no more! 'Badeland Hardcore' waffles on in tongues indecipherable. The song itself soon comes with an intense hardcore slant and a tribal under-beat that helps the upper layers to thrive. The hopeless situation under scrutiny is taken as a state of play with a lack of popularity far from a niggle. The 'whoa hoas' add to the feeling of a band comfortable, cruising and doing what they do with an in-band know how. A number that bristles and sizzles in equal measure and one that helps the CD maintain its impacting commencement!
'The Beach' is wonderful basic power punch raging with a virulent hardcore surge that keeps things mightily effective. From the opening thrust we know that this one is not gonna last for any length of time and so it shouldn't. There is a thirst in the output of all players, a diseased relish that rubs off on the listener and we enter the fray, get tossed about (and perhaps 'off') and are hoofed out the other end smiling. 'Lessons In Giving Up' is a pop punk beauty with an instantaneous grab in the lick and an overall feel of something oh so slightly surfed. The opening verse is played within itself, the segue into the chorus is as smooth as butter and encouraged by a tympanic dictate that keeps the whole shebang lively and happening. Further blossoms come with a sincere honesty found in the oral arrangements especially during the closing throes. A song with more depth than it appears to hold.
The pace continues with high impetus, 'Home Til I Die' clobbers along and will please the manic pingers out there who like to crash, careen and ultimately collapse. This is a sharp edged song with an overabundance of vibro-matic vim and clutter-fuck-it animation. There is always a threat that things will come unstuck and the band will end up on their blistered arses but they crack the whip, refuse to fuck about and nail it. 'Something' is a harsh overspill of fiery acid, destined to splash all over your flesh and scorch you asunder with victorious vibes. After much nonsensical mumblings the escapade explodes, roars, has a brief tub and bass break before scorching to the final tonsil tear-up. Effective shit baby.
'I Should Be Getting More Likes' sums up the delicate needy world in which we live with folk desperate for note and attention. A glorious burst of tunery with a fine flow that has all the hallmarks of 90's pop punk and the simplicity of bands willing to just crack on and roll out a number. No depths to be surprisingly uncovered, no profound playing and no arsing about making for a cacophonic conundrum - it comes, goes, and I like it. 'Panicboy 2' drives hard, screws deep and hollers. A fear thrives, a stark semi-hardcore/hard-on thrust is raw but mid-paced. The flames lick at the undercarriage, there is a thermal radiation not to be underestimated here and the rising rage all helps this one to get by. I don't think it is as effective as the previous whipper but it works and works mighty well.
I crack on with pace, I tackle a set of four with the gears shifted.
'Run To The Pils' is a tale of getting away, a basic burst that surges from the first and keeps up the momentum til the very last. A state of desperation played without intricacy, slapped home in double quick time and with a sincere lack of self-wanking. I can't add much more, it keeps the flow going and I have no gyps. 'Yngves Fault' has a lovely lick, a quite steady and unobtrusive roll out that develops as the pace increases. There is nothing outrageous going on here and the song has no defining hook, it is as you would expect and just maintains the standard set without adding anything new. I rate this a weakling in the pack but one that still, as a stand-alone, serves the band well. 'No Money, I'm Worried' is a straight ahead jack-off that deals with a simple scenario and just goes for it. Bassism opens, a tub stutter joins in, and then the guitar and gob jump into action, find the main vein and pump home the amphetamine-based hit without regret or any thought of reconsidering. Once the song gets rolling the finish line is in sight and the band reach it with all conkers and kudos intact. I would leave to see this one 'live'. The final fling of the quick quartet sees me venture into the realms of 'Johnny Is Single Again' - a tap, a screaming statement and much clutter-fuck-it mania all done in 15 seconds flat - give or take the odd nano-second perhaps.
And we close - 'Snapshots From A Shitshow' is a neatly arranged shout out with moments of seeming composure and others that teeter on the brink of a thoroughly well-deserved breakdown. The band eventually do go semi-off-the-rails but just manage to arrive home to ‘Silence-Ville’ all safe and sound and with the last few tinkles somewhat poignant. This final song offers a little something different and keeps one entertained to the very last - a good touch.
Hey The Mansters do something that I have heard many other bands do over the course of many ages of acoustic eavesdropping. There ain't nowt new under the sun baby and for me, if it is played well, has good energy and reflects a band with talent and who are enjoying what they do then there can be no gripes other than I don't like it. I get the gist here though and appreciate many tunes - it has been worth the time (in some instances only a small snippets of time but worth it nonetheless).
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AMONGST STRANGERS - STRENGTH OF A FEW Hey, what do I know about this lot - fuck all? What are the chances of me summing up the sonica in all its glory - well, here's hoping? This is a 4-piece from Norfolk who do their own thing - if this thing avoids labelling and slotting into a social niche then that would be just swell with me. I dip in untainted by a press-release, any propaganda or sway and come up with a few ponderings. It is mere DIY doofing on all sides.
'Electric Loneliness' paves the way - a fast paced, unity-sodden skater sounding slipstream of sound that is well-mixed, perfectly balanced and delivered with a convincing adeptness. A gentle opening sequence and then the leash is released and the tempo increased. The content of the song deals with an eternal gripe of mine - the techno-onscreen addiction where people fail to operate without their plugged in fix and guidance. I am 60, never had a phone and am doing OK, I despair at the ones goggle-eyed and being mentally drained by the sparking fangs of the digital vampire. The crew relay their own frustrations with subtle anger in a song that breezes along with lofted energy values, admirable liquidity and a blend of components that really does work. Old school in some ways, modernised in others, overall a good spurt of sound with a good spittle soaked edge. Bang! 'Propaganda' is of a tonal stance and rhythm that I have heard many times before and deals with the ongoing shit-shovelling that really does need ignoring. After a bass intro and the brief guitar skin it is all systems go with a song unfolding that is breathless, all-action and a real choice grower. The overall unity, rapido animation and general aroused excitement make for a fuckin' good whipper that has US nuances and, may I add, a certain youthful freshness. Fine fodder for the whizzed up and jerked off rebels out there methinks. I am more than a little taken here. Onto 'The Strength Of The Few' - a tympanic tornado of energy that drives this uplifting tune along and hopefully reminds those with views against the crap flow that they had better hang in there and not dilute their thinking whilst facing the uphill climb. This is an all action piece (again) with seemingly more going on than first anticipated. The layers need peeling, the individual components scrutinising and when one does, the result is of a unit dishing out watertight noise with a solid snarl factor, invigorating pace and a tunefulness that duly grows. Yeah, this kind of stuff has been done a million times over and is usually of a lofted standard but, this band nail it and don't fuck about in the process. The last two, 'This World' tells you the state of play and asks what will we do. Judging by the fuckery and the continued downward spiral I expect the answer to the question will be 'fuck all' in many cases - aagghhh. This is a delicious piece of noise - the free-flowing liberation of sound and the perfect balance of vibrating liveliness make this a fast-paced treat that I consider a gem. The opening proclamations are solid and set the stage, the ensuing battering of wholesome and sing-a-long noise utterly effective and the clarity and overall orchestration is ruddy gratifying beyond belief - I have my latest choice for 'Song of the Month' - ka-fuckin'-boom! Closure comes via 'We Are The Difference'. A few hungry tub thumps, a relished rhythm takes hold with some ensnaring gobbage and then the band are at it. Tight and compact noise that cuts to the core, a sharp-dressed sonic assassin comes and leaves this old and cantankerous reviewer with little to criticise - ooh the rotten bastards. This is an enthusiastic noise burst with a content that speaks for itself. You are never too old to rebel - dressing up, being a scenester and getting pissed is not the way - each and every step needs consideration in a world going to pot. I am using this, and the other tracks, to keep my arse kicked and as a reminder that some are still disgruntled. This is fuckin' good music with essences of yore and now. For the youthful and the arthritic this is music to enjoy and use as a weapon of rejuvenation. A well-timed piece of noise making this. I like EP's I think they have a perfect balance of the teasing and pleasing and help bands to keep things fresh with plenty in reserve. I suggest this lot just keep on rolling out 5 trackers and if they are as good as this I will be over the fuckin' moon. A seriously good effort and one that has been a pleasure - go get yer fix fuckers. |
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AWKLAND - EPITHREAT Cultured cacophony from a band who were formed in January 2023, having last played together as Just Like June in ’87. Fuckin' hell man, how time flies, and how the sense of perspective doth crash. Here we have noise of many flavours, played with no rush and with thought. I have showcased the band, I have seen them since and have reviewed 2 EP's to date. So far so good and I am very much taken by the fact they are not falling into any idiotic sonic safety nets and wasting time striving to fit in. We have 10 tracks here which I always find is an ideal amount for an album, I go in anticipating.
'Dead Air' has many cool tones and is a reflection of a musically adept band who certainly play things tight, without strain and with a style that has that all important 'growing' quality. The middling pace is of several flavours and may one add, a muso's attention. The hook comes and maintains its hold, the questions arise, no answers are given as the political players roll out the same old bilge and the populace squabbles and clutches at straws. There is a gentle care intertwined with some good wholesome activity and a rising prowess that the band play out so ruddy well. In this day and age of ludicrous sonic overspill and so many easily categorised cacophonies it is nice to listen to something not so slapdash and obvious. I think this a song awash with vital equilibrium and steadiness. 'The Insurgent' slots into second place with comforting ease and with similar tremulations and vibes that we were blessed with during the first track. The sacrificing government get analysed in an irate song that has a definite bite and bouncing beat. The bass dictates, the skins hold matters together, the guitar work is allowed time to twist and turn without being anything other than grooved with a modicum of good awareness. Sometimes the bastards at the top need to be dealt with via thinking artistry - here is a good example of such a state of play.
A low belly grumble, light and honest vocals and a really catchy scenario holds our attention via the best song of the lot. '52%' deals with a vote cast and one we all have to live with. Personally I feel as though you can eternally rely on people to fuck things up and create angst, turmoil and hardship so that the observant creators of music will always have material to draw upon. This song is a cute creation that does well to keep the frustration and resulting ill temper in check. Within the weft and weave is a good uplifting accent that defies the doldrum content. I play this one over and over, tis a veritable fave for sure and a song that will stand the test of time - unlike the decision of the vote and the fuckin' populace.
'Internecine' deals with the search for balance in a mush of madness. This is a dark edged song with a groove hollowed out and somewhat jazzed up. From the opening tumult matters become more collected before the first verse flows with a certain angularity that makes the listener work a little harder to gain a grip. This may be a problem for some of the idle-headed sonic socialites out there who just want the same old throw-away stuff to douse their lugs with whilst they nod along and chat. This is a metamorphing song that one has to take time with. There are nutritious noise ingredients, many subtle switches and an all-round crafty-snag to hold attention and keep one guessing. Not the most instantaneous hit but a necessary inclusion. From bleak recesses and shadow-shimmer realms comes the contemplative and considered 'Plato's Cave'. With its cool threat, metronomic beat, old -school post punk wire waterfalls and gloom bassism this is a peach of a piece that grows like a cavern dwelling shroom of poisonous potential. Within many gothic overtones, a gentle fluency pervades with a progression that is sanguine and forceful. This is a very good track and at 5 minutes plus surprises me in many ways. As a lover of short sharp blasts I am still taken by this one - I think that says something!
'Terez Krout' was escorted by the following textual explanation 'A very brief history of the House of Terror in Budapest where fascists, then later communists, danced in the sumptuous ballroom while their beasts practiced unimaginable torture in the basement cells' - by crikey, heavy stuff man, heavy stuff indeed. The song, although dealing with vile material, has a somewhat colourful approach and although warped and unorthodox in many ways, the kaleidoscope of hues on offer are not all sombre. Banshee-esque tattooing’s, Killing Joke suggestions, and something intrinsically the bands own, I consider this a cacophonic cripple creating a melody that is aurally magnetic. The perversion runs deep.
'Squid Lips' warps the wires, wanks sideways and observes a fall into complicit complacency. Time flies, all the while your soul may be diluted. This is a very experimentalised piece with a jaunty and somewhat idiosyncratic unconventionality that in many ways sums up where the band are coming from. There is depth, there is cohesion, there are angle-jangles and there is a precipice danger but I find this a most fascinating strutter. I walk on a tightrope, in my brief ramblings have I captured the gist?
'The Call' marches in, it operates with hope, I think it is all in vain. A militarised regimentation to the opening structure is joined by an almost dictated vocal style that is sub-enraged and semi-authoritative. From a quirked and singular initialisation we tumble, trudge, sidewind and bounce around the sonic sonic-scape with unpredictable adventure. A strange piece this, enchanted with vibes from beyond and an untrustworthiness - I remain somewhat unconvinced here, there are better tracks but this has several points of potential.
The last two, 'Stent' is an accomplished montage of many shades and tonal enhancements with an obscure underwash of artistry that must not be overlooked. Escapism may be the key, a trip into a realm away from this mush of war, hate and general ego idiocy. The more one listens hear the more one becomes absorbed in a number with multi-tendrils of ensnaring goodness. This is beyond a grower - it is a veritable strangler - enjoy your throttling. The finale comes via a session called 'Sinuate' - a long drawn out number that towards the latter end becomes a little too self-absorbed and masturbates itself silly whilst leaving us waiting without any sexual tingle at all. Prior to the prolonged closing rub-off that would work on a 'live' basis but somewhat fails here, the song ploughs along in a slow and glutinous fashion that should be offensive to my caveman punk instincts but which is in fact a quite pleasurable cerebral massage. I replay several times and get dragged into the gist of matters and the sonic drift, I am not rating this a classic but I am not slagging it down as a duffer - it is a moment piece, a song that must be played with critical timing and care. Throw in the mix of some pop punk and ska with a side order of Northern Soul and 60's garage and the song will thrive. I hope you get the drift.
Awkland are a breath of fruity air - a blast that may repulse some, may soothe others, may in fact give a few a veritable shiver in the private timbers. I am glad I have had these on a Fungal gig and hopefully helped them along and on this evidence I will continue to do so. Very well thought out noise, not of any genre and with a subtle wallop and longevity factor - please listen with care and book the band.
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TIGER MACHINE - BITCH ON THE BEACH Hip-grinding sub-sleaze rock and roll offerings via a 2 man unit from Bologna, Italy. The crew previously manifested themselves under the tag of Daddy Was A Driver - a unit self-described as alt.country and instrumental surf. Now, after a break and a change of name, the music continues and I go in and do what I do. As per, I am rotating the essences and keeping myself intrigued, tha' gotta be fair, fruity and of many flavours don't ya know.
The awaiting silence melts away and we fall into the quite pleasing cacophonic cruddery known as 'Bitch On The Beach'. Filthy guitar, big slaps and splashes and snotted drawl-scrawls are all thrown against the walls of resonance and leave a glorious muck to become entranced by. Pure arrogant sleaze swinging with a sexist suggestion that one shouldn't take too seriously. This is cock-rock spandex sweating stuff with the emphasis on the unwashed, dog dirty and grinding. Backstreet club throwback noise straight outta Losers-ville baby, and all the better for it - nice.
'Painkiller' slightly ups the tempo, has a bad attitude' feel with a somewhat pestering motif that pecks away at the resistance and soon has one absorbed and rocking. I like the glammed touches, the slinky slovenly leanings and the perpetual movement of the song that seems to thrive on its own immersion into noise-making of the most suspicious style. This is, in general, an uncomplicated song, with the vibe and direction found and the orchestration unified. There are no accoutrements of pointless piffle and no moments of idiot showmanship - a steady inclusion that keeps matters... mucky and moving ma'an.
'I'm A Lonely Boy' is the best song thus far, it has a fine old time NY feel, born it seems, from smoke-riddled vaults of subterranean grime where only the disgruntled, disgusted and disillusioned get their fix. Mid-paced, with a certain acoustic austerity and an unostentatious feel that gives the whole mix a very sober approachability. There is an immersion in the art and an undistracted end result that works mighty well and into the bright, breezy and awfully naughty offering known as 'I Feel Loved' we go. The content is sex-soaked, a bit tacky in some ways, a bit horned-up in others but the whole shebang of sound is a true delight with the keyed inclusions really giving matters a pure lift and a feeling of completion. The opening swing in the hefty beat is excellent and the initial verse sets the stage for an absorbing encounter of stained sonica. The sheets of the cerebrum are left rumpled and splashed, it is a firm fucking given with pleasure and pain neatly intertwined - crank up the volume folks.
A set of two go under the Fungal spotlight next with the mid-paced 'Norwegian Disko Music' a reliable amble that keeps things mighty steady, underwashed and quite robust without going beyond the realms of expectation. A steady riff and some simple vocals make for a song that is delightfully easy to fall in line with. This and the chasing 'Barbie BBQ' are two uncomplicated numbers that work as one fine composite whilst retaining their own unassuming charm. The latter song has a certain barbed edge but both contributions have a likeable honesty and good old rock and roll aroma that avoids any serious critique. I play the duo again, they work a treat and favour just falls towards the second track with its nastier edge. Darn good stuff folks, awash with the aforementioned NY feel.
'By Now' is the next cutlet, a familiar sounding drift comes, I am finding myself immediately snagged. The key winning aspects of this song are the sanguinity, the reclined laid back delivery and the easy manner of the whole shebang. One play you are curious, two plays you are won over, more plays and you will soon be swaying along and joining in. The lack of intricacy but the wealth of unperturbed power and unrushed progression are also winning elements and when the organ of the mouth enters we move up another notch. The drums splash and crash and complete a fine musical moment.
We crack on, I grab a hat-trick and am pleased by the initial resonances of 'Summer Of 54'. This is a real idling traveller down the smoothly worked dope-slope to Oblivion City. There is a carefree cadence floating within the textured fabric and a fondness of times passed that seems to warm the attentive cockles. The languid loafing of the lilt, the now familiar tones of the instruments and the delivery of the oral offerer all make this an easy song to sum up - nice. 'He's Coming Alone' is a hot damn number with a sinister subtext methinks. A lusting nob of noise wanked with a rhythmic abandon that just holds a full on ejaculation in check. The winning facet of this blustery number is the full on boom/blast that consistently blows a hoolie from start to finish and leaves one absolutely blasted. A fuckin' hefty number with an all-encompassing energy factor and general gustiness - at first I was unsure, add juice in the volume and it works a treat - my underduds are fuckin' shredded man.
'Kraft Werk' is a plodder and a grinder. The cogs of this one just need a little extra grease and the whole motif just needs something a little different. I would have liked to see the harmonica make another appearance and the contrast between verse and chorus to be a little greater. In fact the verses are a little too juddery and obvious whereas the chorus cuts are better and give the song much needed life. Overall this is fair stuff but I just feel something is lacking (maybe that is just me but I gotta be honest tha' knows).
After a short break and an indulgence into other vibes I come back and rattle through the final three. 'Miner' gets the noggin down, keeps up the sweetly saturated sound and drives forth with a direct and unstoppable forcefulness. This is a moment that does enough without straining at the bit or trying to throw in a curveball. A song that is watertight and as safe as houses. There is the usual persuasiveness and in-built confidence with the task at hand - I am won over. 'Girlfriend' starts in a crumpled fashion before developing into a very attractive waltz of innocent love. There is a veritable good vibe feel here with the unflustered style and delicate coruscations all helping to make this a very relatable song. This is a good old fashioned DIY pop song done without pretentions - it is a joy to swing along with.
We end the CD with 'Killer In You, Killer In Me' - a ruddy fine song that rolls down my avenue of acoustica with gratifying effect. As a lover of things unwashed, rocked and rolled and raw-assed this one ticks all the boxes and once again, the whole shebang is enhanced by some Mississippi Sax spicing’s that certainly gives the song greater character, further depth and an extra enjoyment factor. I love this number and reckon it is a choice moment on which to sign off - magic.
Hey, a darn decent switch in style here with some earthy underdog grooviness slapped before you and left for you to just enjoy. A fine surprise for sure and here's hoping I can hear more mighty soon. A few quick zippers in the next offering would be nice and more of the gob iron in the mix and I reckon all will be grand. Go seek out what transpires - we must shake up the cacophonic choice of condiments.
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JUNKBREED - SICK OF THE SCENE A post-hardcore unit, one that hails from Portugal and born from that idiot period known as 'Lockdown'. This is a boldly entitled album, I am a little expectant of what is coming but may be pondering away in a realm far from that which will be. 9 tracks I have before me, I am just hoping the band keeps things neatly mixed up and not of one-bomb-blasting flatline - ooh what a fuckin' pessimist! 'Faulty Stereo' is a very stable, strong and controlled initial outburst and after some aqua-light daydreaming the song really takes hold of the attention mainly due to its general prowess, power and holistically saturated style. The players are immediately in the groove, all focused and playing in sync and hammering it. As I invest some lug time into the wholesome escapade I feel as though the band are nailing this one with supreme aplomb. I am rather taken by the sable layers, the headbanging intent and the very muscular and lithe manipulations of the wires. The tympanic backbone is rigid and ravaging and this is a more than adequate start to a CD that now has growing promise. We are catapulted headlong into the second number, this one known as '51 Gone'. The opening throes con one into thinking we may have a cool, calculated and somewhat less frenzied number on our hands. In part, this is the case but there are many assaults on the senses via a gloriously thrashing tumult that fully blooms and blesses one with a real jackhammer leash-free explosion. These snippets of TNT give the song an extra addictive life force that I am severely satisfied and, aroused by. I think the timing of the song and the clash-bash balance is spot on - grand work. We travel deeper into the discordance and now hit a number known as 'Viewer's Indiscretion'. Sharp cuttings welcome, typical hardcore accents escort and an arrangement that is generically orthodox is the end result. This terse labelling though should in no way detract from the mastery of the music and the adept application committed to the disc, the band certainly are kicking up a blaze here and as the creative juices grow in thermal urgency the heat radiated increases and duly sears. This is a song with many tendrils reaching out to ensnare you - be warned. Howling at the moon, twisted turns of the screw, a scene is set before violence ensues. 'Trash Beneath The Leather' is soon opening up its maw and devouring all of our attention. A swaying bough of impending doom is seen. All artillery of damning firepower is ready to cut down any resistance. The crew load, reload and rattle away with some absolute scatter gun attacks of impressive vindictiveness. Again, all areas are condensed and tight, there is no room to breathe or offer critique - good stuff and very energetic. 'Dead Weight' grumbles, threatens, finds its own life force and goes for it. A rumble jungle scything that prolongs the opening throes before the yellings come. This is not a winning number for me, it is just one of those that ploughs away and keeps the CD moving without doing anything extra special or anything to make me ping about. It is one of those 'connoisseur' moments that those beyond hope will love and appreciate the merits found therein. It is well-played and exact in its intent but, there are better songs here and I move on still eager. From a graveyard of nefarious mistings rises a machine of malevolence that fuck-functions with quite superb guitar glory and slap happy skin work. The throat rises to the challenge set by the fiery foundations of noise and the opening outburst is utterly magnificent. From here the song goes a trifle AWOL and I feel loses a golden chance at a repeater beater of lofted brilliance. This track still packs a wallop but man, that opening was set to create an in escapable maelstrom of madness, what have the band missed? I replay, I rate 'Misanthrope' as a powerhouse pummeller that lets one off the hook! 'Dinner In Hell' takes us into the final stretch and is a steaming brew of middling thermality with plenty to keep those absorbed consistently intrigued. Some moments seem to hinder matters a little, some snippets flow with the progressive and impressive prowess the band have already displayed. From a tentative tiptoe across fractured glass heavier steps are taken and the tumult begins. Searing sanguinity, a forceful flow and a fair blend of rhythms, to be fair I am not utterly bowled over but this is just a personal emotion and should not detract from another well-played boomer. The penultimate track, 'Stressed And Bucolic' enters from mysterious shimmers and tribal warfare with an intensity rising that is purely damned. The machines are whipped into shape, the 'animation' button pressed and we get dragged forth along with a hellish march of crushing intent and fully saturated sound making. From the cacophonic conflict moments of ease rise, plumes of irritation billow and all the while, the players remain focused and deliver the quite exceptional goods. Mammoth moments to consider further and come up with perhaps more gushings. Fuck off and finalise is the command, 'Over What I Know' obeys via an opening of discordant jarring that scrambles the internal motherboard. From the fuck-feedback spills a tumble and then a complexity of manoeuvres with the direction of the song seemingly in two minds until the final push comes. This is one of those episodes of sound to mull over many rotations and hopefully come up with a final verdict. There is a lot going on, perhaps a little too much and so I find myself left in a land of uncertainty - I would be a liar to say that I liked this one, I would be an utter fool to say it was rubbish - I am in a state of flux. One or two moments here don't do it for me but there are many zeniths that really blow my rotten socks off. The band are an acoustically adroit outfit creating some barnstorming snippets of sound and I reckon they have a whole lot more on offer than displayed here. Well worth my time this, it keeps things rolling for the band I hope and certainly keeps me sonically intrigued. |