WINGS OF DESIRE - AMUN-RA

Outside all circles, pissing in the face of complacency and reviewing what takes my fancy - here is the latest dabbling for a head addled, ears fucked and an attitude still motivated.  I know sweet virginal fuck all about the unit under the Fungalised radar but am giving it my best shot as per.  What I have learned is that the band is the new project from Chloe Little and James Taylor, formerly of INHEAVEN (who the fuck are they then) and apparently is 'a body of work that peels back the layers of modern life, heavily referencing the mid-90s spiritual awakening to sublime effect' - (mmm - we shall see then).  All I can offer is honesty and the experience of 50 years of music listening and 1600+ reviews under the belt - tis' fuck all in the big scheme of things.

Track one then and 'Choose A Life' picks its observational point, ponders and then reads out the cerebral notes taken.  Initially we seem destined for something overly gentle and a little too routine but the added bitter-stained verbals that comes in a cold and beaten down kind of way help give the song a distinct honest reality and barefaced aspect that sees the world through shit-stained specs.  The combo of the hard hitting and the softly effective strikes more deeply due to the repetition that takes one on a loop that resonates with the masses who have just gone through the traditional routine and woken up 'bewildered'.  The extra layers of sadness and regret seem to be natural and overall this subdued drift works.

Crisp and honest strings, with a regulated rhythm, welcome us into the confessing personality exposure of 'Better Late Than Never'.  A standpoint in life is taken, a reflection of that which has been and that which hasn't takes the stage. The desperate feeling of failure permeates every tonal touch whilst all the while, a destructive awareness of time passing and age creeping is there, piquing the soul into a stress-inducing stupor with the only relief had through admitting verbals and of course, music.  This is a smooth and yet uncomfortable piece, one to immerse oneself in and wonder 'what the fuck have I become, what the fuck is happening' - the answers may not be pleasant, the song is bob on the mark.

'Outtamamind' is a light and transient offering I feel, with no real 'oomph' factor to nail matters into the awaiting noggin.  The plod is middling, the drive just a little off the 'thrust' factor and from the off I find myself a little too reclined for my own (and the bands) good.  I stick with it, the chorus wins a little favour with its slight ascensions and general 'inoffensive' qualities.  As I progress on my personal listening journey I find myself snagged by the drift and have the chorus swirling around my head long after the music has stopped - I think I may have underestimated this little offering - it wouldn't be the first time, nor will it be the last.

The final track and 'Forgive and Forget' drifts in with a subtle determination and an embracing direction that has a quite rewarding lilt and certainly a naturalistic free-flowing arrangement that is very easy to get dragged along with.  A barbless drift that avoids a meandering approach and seems to take the more uncomplicated route thus avoiding any experimentation, any undue frillage.  There is a light and fluffy appeal factor that helps the song get by and for me, this is a moment to slip in when indulging in some en plein air activity or gazing up at the sky and just... dreaming.

At 4 tracks I feel this CD is nicely timed and comes, goes and leaves and in the process, leaves a behind a quite pleasant sensation.  The band have their outlook and style and looking at the evidence before me, seem to have options - I hope they follow up this 4 tracker with another quartet but next time, throwing in further angles - we shall see. 

THE INKLINGS - BRING OUT YOUR DEAD

The Inklings come across my radar again, the 4th time in fact with another multi-layered DIY effort showcasing what can be done with a little time, thought and effort.  If you combine these three aspects with an inner belief and a sincerity not to follow traditional routes and expectations, you won't be doing half bad - I think this trio are on the right tracks.

The initial snippet is called 'Under The Stairs', a strange and horror-laden piece delivered in a somewhat cold and calculated manner, but with a certain thoughtful insight.   Abduction, domination, control, fear, confinement and death - all elements uncovered as one listens more closely revealing a song more than it seems to be.  The opening string tickles welcome, the bass adds weight, all the while a certain melancholy pervades.  An incident is related, a situation set and a tale unfolds with lyrical confidence and a pleasing swing in the chorus.  This seems a light and breezy tune, the more one dwells on matters the more one shudders with repulsion.  The band nail this one - next please!

'Tonight' has a cool crepuscular swing, a twilight tonality perhaps that sidles in with unflustered but determined aromatics.  A very deliberate flow is set, ornamented with a more than convincing bass line.  The drift smacks of typical Inklings overspill and is utterly familiar to me after reviewing all that has transpired thus far.   The cultured merge from verse to chorus indicates erudite talent and players without giving a fuck for niche-induced rules - this is ideal ditty making to listen to amidst harder and more obvious material.  'Taxi For Swales' is a seemingly observational dabbling from a personal standpoint with a local character described and dealt with in quite fond-tattooed tones.  There appears to be a problem with the drink here and a sincere lack of fashion sense along with a melancholic aspect that brings back memories of many folks I have met in life that just seem 'misdirected'.  I like the tenderness here, the methodology of the song, but I must emphasise that this is a definite mood piece.

'Envious Eyes' is the highpoint so far, a melodic number that lifts the soul despite the content.  From the off the tickling rhythms get one moving, the first verse is laden with enthusiastic promise and the chorus is blatantly uncomplicated and repetitive that it works a treat.  A break sees the keys flutters in pure Dave Greenfield style - and that is a compliment.  We travel the same route over again, we reach a rising final thrust and I am left instantaneously reaching for the replay button.  Delicious music making.

A clutch of three, as is a frequent approach with me.  'Bicycle Smile' begins as a composite of barely touched moments before a sweet drift throws off the initial diffidence and draws us forth with an endearing drift that is quite simple to ride along with.  The pedals of momentum turn, the gear shifts are considered and the downhill flow is without any strain whatsoever - I am happy to jump on the handlebars and have the odd spin.  'The Real Price Of Oil' is a very cultured and clashing song, an observant piece that blends fact, cool control and rage in one effective and emotive piece that moves with a strong presence and a very impacting sonic stature.  The cost of the liquid gold is death and suffering, as the world wants to dash from A to B lives are lost and the power-chomping bastards use many unsuspecting bods to do their foul and dirty work.  Listen closely, hear, take heed, admire the architecture of the song, and feel the disappointment and depression of the conned.  A CD highpoint right here folks.  The last of the swift trio is 'Panic', a piece with a real clonking clockwork gait and a quite cold and calculated state and meditate vocal style.  The very robotic style brings visions of foot-stamping onlookers and the 'live' version of the song is delivered with emphasis on the slap of the skins and the hard bend of the wiring.  A very clanky concoction that needs some adjusting to and one that offers a little touch of something different.  The odd surge of anger increases the listening factor, but I am still left in a state of indecision - one to see in the flesh I reckon.

'Northern Star' leads us into the last three with a languid approach before slowing ascending with orchestral magnificence of growing majesty.  A scene is set, we are taken by the hand to explore and understand why the need to getaway is had.  The answers come on the breeze, scenes of sadness blend with subtleties of change whilst all the while the melodic melting pot is slowly swirled and the impression made looms larger by the rotation.  This is a bold track without being too imposing, it matures with time - I like it.  '93 Percent (Reality Bytes)' proudly proclaims itself with big initial tones that have me considering a time when Teardrops Exploded and bands branched out on the merest whim. The content reveals, so does the sonic goodness with a quite solid penultimate piece thrown down.  Reality is faced, the answers are not always to one's liking, but running away is not an option.  This deeply cemented song is enjoyed and leads into the last blast with comfortable ease.  'Bring Out Your Dead' exposes the religious conmen and collectors of coin whilst the fear-riddled cough up and fall under the ghastly spell of the preacherman.  'Pay or die, dare not ask why' is the ethos under scrutiny in this sinister and gothic final full-stop that borders on the cusp of being a masterpiece.  As a fan of things unhinged, horror-tainted and kissed with evil I find this an absorbing cutlet with vampiric undercurrents and ancient beliefs bubbling below the upper surface and something just downright unsettling pervading the atmosphere of the song.  I play over and over, I dust down a copy of Poe's scribbled imaginings... I dim the lights.

Into the realm of The Inklings I have once more been invited and been left with all manner of thoughts swirling around my noise-trashed noggin.  I have manifested myself from amidst the swirlings with the last song nudging me in a way unexpected.  I suggest the band do a full on horror release next, a melting pot of fantastical ghostly creations with added moments of punk-gore and sonic scaremongering - it must happen, the band have done well again here but I reckon can excel further with a trip down Terror Lane – I can almost hear the open doorway to dinnage creaking. 

KID KLUMSY - FAIR DOOZ

I like Kid Klumsy - their approach is simple - have fun, knock out a few tunes and fuck off.  They will never be ground breaking giants, they will never rupture the ring-piece of the rock and roll whore, but as long as they do what they do, enjoy and don't get any silly ego-riddled ideas then who am I to gripe.  The fact that they continue to release EP's rather than albums really enhances my appreciation - I love a short teaser rather than a drawn out drudge - as is always my ethos with music - make an impact, piss off out of it and keep em' wanting more.  Three  6 track EP's allows for more creativity and expression rather than one 18 track effort and also helps the listener pay more attention to each release - you know it makes sense.

First up and 'Coconuts' is looking to be knocked off its post via critical tossing and so I duly take up the task and throw my balls of feedback.  The warped and wanked off funfair opens its doors, we are welcomed in a twisted and skewed way with a haunting about to take place.  A greeting is spilled with eagerness, everything on offer is laid before you with the band up for the trip and bouncing along in a fine feisty style.  This a thriving opening burst with foaming and frisky frivolity thrown in amidst some fruity playmaking and an impish cheekiness.  The band are setting out their stall here, I like this noodle-istic approach and the undulations of the rhythm get me pinging - job done I think.  This opening snippet is immediately outdone by the more forceful and eventful 'Revolution', a very observant and having it number with the opening drive fuzzed up and orthodox and abruptly stopping to make way for a solidly striding verse that strips to the waist and advances with great assuredness.  The following chorus us neatly walked into with no quarter given and a great consuming rally-call gusto found.  This is a veritable ear-worm of rear-kicking zest that invades the skeletal membrane and makes its way right into the marrow.  A Kid Klumsy highpoint?   I think so!

So far, so sweet!

Onto 'SFW' we go, a repeat rhythm that is purely self-absorbed and utterly indulgent.  The bass rhythm is key, the pseudo skank overlay that shudders and shakes and then cools down is enthused by the whisper and roll tympanics whilst all the while the front lout does what he does and remains immersed in his merry-go-round musical maelstrom, from which he seems unable to escape.  The style of the step-up here is instantaneously magnetising, but with an ability to get on one’s tits.  I limit my plays and enjoy, I refuse to get lured into the KK pit.

'Media' deals with the omnipresent and pervasive pressure of the advertising machine that offers, advises, demands and then dictates.  Tubbed up tits, inflated lips and a Ronseal tan, you gotta get em' all if you wanna pull a man... what offensive puke hey?  The song deals and delivers in an insightful way with the listener easily magnetised and drawn into the somewhat sable-kissed tones.  The dark edge is very much a point to savour and the move from the contrasting verse and chorus is delightful and perhaps brings to the table the most complete song and one with the most holistic blend of influential matter.  A fine piece of cacophonic kit.  'Rise' quickly follows up and is a snazzy number with numerous accoutrements and tickling tonal touches.  The creepy crawl that opens builds a light tension, the follow-on surge is reminiscent of things heard before from sonic scapes tiptoed into.  There is a culture entwined with the almost threat laden donations whilst all the while the band keep things moving, organised and... effective.  Each area of this crooked composite is lucid, the emphasis on the crushing control that takes place on a perpetual basis is an area to zone in on - let the meat of the offering wallop you in the face and get ya thinking.

We waltz out on a carousel of corruption with the sights and sensations of a fully operational fairground rolling around the noggin.  I feel quite pleased with the journey granted albeit without any exceptional thrills had and no bouts of unexpected unease encountered.  Kid Klumsy are continuing on with a decent level of quality - the EP approach is paying dividends methinks.

APOCALYPSE BABYS - WRONG SIDE OF THE LAW

Over many years in this murky pit of noisy uncertainty and downright game-playing shittery I have found comfort and solace in the fact that some utterly determined players who never know when they are beat continue to ply their tried and tested trade.  The group here are such an example and are highly regarded by this aging sonic shambles.  Here I have another wealth of recognisable noise to dissect and do my thing with, as per, there will be no favours shown or fawning fuckwittery used - I am not one for insulting good people.

The opening burst comes, I welcome it with open arms and legs (well I do get worked up).  'This Ain't Rock 'n' Roll' has a superfluity of old git energy and comes after a brief skip and strum and a highly relished 'Let's Do It'.   The crew dish out some regulation noise that tells a tale of being sonic buccaneers swishing away on an eternally sinking ship - a ship laden with wankers, with many soul destroying, self-serving fuck-wits just adding to the overall unstable situation.  The angry venom spat forth is done with conviction, and for me, as a fan, I am elevated into a position of eagerness and intrigue, the foundations are lain for a good CD and this initial gambit has a strong fire in the belly - onwards.

'Traitor' steams out from the traps, has a problem and lets rip with a nasty kick-back against those who come, take, turn-tail and give fuck all back.  You know the fuckers, all for one and fuck all for all.  They play the game and stab one in the back when a better opportunity arises - there are many of them about.  I like the ass-kick in the impetus, the regular in-scene vibes, but, as per, in the AB way, there is an abundance of noise-making passion - nice.  'Nobody's Fault But Your Own' kicks some meaty shit in the face of the wannabe drug-dealing gangster who eventually finds their life has turned to shit and they have only themselves to blame for being so utterly stupid and lacking enough nouse to do something a bit more creative and positive.  The song is bog-standard AB offal, cut from the carcass of cacophony, molested and thrown in your mush with good spirit.  The scurfy underscore, the need to keep melody and the essential high relish factor are all accentuated by some well-bashed skins and plenty of bare-bollocked unaffectedness – double-nice methinks.

'Guitar Man' is a fair tribute to the metallic strutters and their brethren.  Riffed, glamorised and reliably rhythmic the song is mid-paced, has all the nuances and featherings of something AC'DC'd with many touches more than a little obvious.  The capture of a style shows that these underdog pluckers are of greater talent and value than many give them credit for - it is just a shame they are in a pit where if ya face don't face you are fucked.  This is a concrete creation of obvious strains - why the Hell shouldn't it be?  'Kill Or Die' is routine punkery, dive bombs with intent to decimate and gets on with matters in double-quick time.  Orthodox verse, simple chorus - fuckin' have it.  On CD this is not my favourite, in the flesh I reckon things could be so much different - for me, a number for the jiggers to join in with and get all worked up by.  Next time I catch these I wanna piece of this!

'Firewater' is splashed down, left to brew and then gulped via dust-dry throats of gun-slinging wanderers.  The song rattles along, the bandits are being sought, but time is always needed to slake the thirst.  Drums are galloped over, strings molested with hunger, the throat work pushed to the limits and obviously in need of a slurp too.  There is no fucking about here - a quick on the draw wallop that does what it does and is duly put in its place by the track of the CD known as 'World Police'.  This latest song is a capture of the AB Boys at their finest.  They capture a point, make a statement, blend solid rhythm with cute pop and rock steady music making.  The opening throes are cultured and utterly sanguine with a band in their element and creating highly listenable noise.  There is a comfort cruise going on here whilst an opinion is aired, an opinion any decent headed bugger should agree with.  I have this song rated as the CD highpoint, have it showcased on my 'Fungalised' Bandcamp page and recommend you all get yer ears cleared out and tuned in.  Go for it!

'Feeder' is sharp on-the-cusp comedy with a pertinence and a perverseness that really does hit the sensors of deviancy.  Maybe some will feel disgusted and rate this one has bad taste but the fact remains it is a fine tune, deals with factual goings on and shows that the band have a solid sense of good old fashioned fun that I for one can't help but titter at.  The lyrical content is there to be judged and no doubt there will be a few who are offended - I suspect the band hope so.  'That's Why I Am Ending This Affair' goes for the squishy-squashy love-dripped angle with a soppy soap, fractured hearted tickle altering the angle of matters and exhibiting the bands ability to change tack at the drop of a well-wanked chord.  This is not preferable listening for me but the band dish out the goods with convincing style and applaudable sonic efficiency.  The bittersweet and determined tones are exact and the open and honest slant works mighty well with the tonal application perfect for the task at hand. 

Into the last 4, 'Wrong Side Of Law' holds threat, races along with unstoppable force and all the while makes sure it is smarted suited, steel-capped booted and ready for a kick back.  The blue light opens, the criminal cacophony invades and the case is stated.  The mind of the law breaker is opened up and put through the confessional wringer - it ain't a pretty sight.  With weapon ready for action (ooh err missus), quick ready cash there to be had, this Sweeney-fied villain is a character easily summoned up before the mind's eye and perhaps, the bench.  A nicely cemented song this - no flaws found. 

'Bite It You Scum' is a vicious chomper that clamps its salivating jaws into one's chuff and make sure blood is drawn.  Steam rises, a temper flares, a fuckin' livid throat scorch leads the way whilst the crisp strings and slap solid sticks maintain a controlled sense of noise.  The sawing accents and the searing attack holds up well and provide a perfect neighbour for the joyous and liquid movement of 'Amsterdam' - a veritable homage paid to things corrupt and a Cornetto-licking lady who certainly lefty an impression.  The Dutch land is looked at with a soft-soaped tear in the eye and a longing in the heart for all things deviant it seems.  This penultimate song is a free-flowing energy-laden bout of listenable goodness and I for one am happy to bop and bounce - not bad for a bunch of old fuckers.  The inner sub-military switch off is a nice touch and prepares us for one last blow-out where a whole hosts of European lasses (and their parts no doubt) are remembered!

We close with 'How Many Beers Did I Have Last Night' - typical AB stuff, I mean what would a Baby's album be without a song about booze - take it away and it would be like Jimmy Saville without his quick-release shell suit, Jimmy Young without his list of stomach turning recipes or even Sammy Davis Jr without his generous dangling dongler - shocking I know.  This is an apt closure that does what it does and has one applauding the silver circle set and preparing to go for a slurp or two.  The song starts out as fun, the words that spill end up revealing a session turned sour with a bloke in the sack the final horror of it all - ooh Brian get yer mitts of me conkers.  The peril of a thirst, the hazards of overdoing it - by heck, we have all been there and hopefully will be again.

Irresponsible in part, utterly pertinent in others.  Melodic throughout, rock and roll enthused all the way.  Fun and fruity, happening and active.  These are a few descriptive combinations I can use to describe this CD and the AB unit - I still think the best is a 'Bread and Butter' band that we all need in our midst - I am sure some clued in bastards will get my drift, those still not convinced never will be it seems - what a fuckin' tragedy.

THE BORDELLOS - ALL PSYCHIATRISTS ARE BASTARDS

A double A-side from the prolific and off-kilter Bordellos - a noise making specimen pissed into the bowl of many scenes and left for those of a curious bent to sniff at.  Some may be disinterested, some appalled, but there will be a few who are intrigued by the sonic stench emanated - remember if punk exists and is best likened to a piss-bowl then we need all and sundry to splash their spillage and see what people make of it - no rules for sure.

'All Psychiatrists Are Bastards' is a deviant lug-worm nipping at the auditory sensors and making one reluctantly sit up and take heed.  I say 'reluctantly' as the overflow of sound isn't immediately appealing and one does consider switching off and 'fucking it'.  As a stubborn git though and a patient eavesdropper to many styles I hang in and become seduced. It is good to see The Bordellos keep things ambiguous, on the cusp and here, very experimental and intrinsically capable of inspiring the bod in the street to 'have a go'.  This latter aspect is the key to anything utterly 'punk' - I hope the many don't miss this essential angle.

'Will You Ever Be A Man' is a song with a tortured soul forever ill at ease due to a wriggling cerebral snake constantly questioning and creating labyrinthine tunnels of self-doubt.  The approach may be serene and tranquil but there is a bubbling undercurrent of trouble that nags at the neurones and leaves one... concerned.  The highly listenable driftings are sweetly lullaby-esque, the thoughts summoned are ideal for drifting off with, where the end silent slumber zone will be settled into and used as a place of consideration.  The fact that the song is kept short, refuses to self-wank and keeps things purely DIY simple, is all added win-factor material.

Again I trip into the toned-down world of Bordellos-ville and return to the land of reflection with positivity high and intrigue piqued.  This lot should get a kick up the arse from me and a prod into playing things with a speedburst - I am somehow held in check and I don't know why.  What I do know is - I am a Bordellos fan and this is good reality-sodden stuff.

THE DEAD BEATS - DIE SCREAMING, MARIANNE

The Dead Beats are back, they may not be dead as such and they are still beating - this may be good news to some, or utterly horrific to others.  I have a collection of songs before me with many a name to get the horror-nuts jowls juiced up and dripping, I am enthused before I even spin.

Track one 'Die Screaming Marianne' and after a haunting trickle and an unabashed question the main thread of the song is unravelled in sure-footed fasten with a fine lick in the tonal delivery had as well as a richly relished vocal offering puked forth.  The swift goodness of the surgings come and leave one with little room to criticise, the band set out with authority and spill forth this first number with know-how and eager adornments that easily catch the attentive lobes.  This isn't an immediate audio-gasm, but is solid initial foreplay to get the juices dripping a little more fluently.  'Flatliner' screws deep, screws fast, screws hard.  The impetus from the off is frisky, zealous and dripping with a hunger to get this grisly number wanked to the bone.  For me, there is a severe devious streak running through the sonic system with all toxic components riding the rhythmic rapids with frothing glee.  The power within the composite is barbed and instantaneously snags the attention - whether or not there is longevity within the weavings is anyone's guess.

The creeping sinisterism of 'Sweet Tooth Sickness' is borne from monochrome old school studies were a bass minimalism created a motif upon which atmosphere could be enhanced.  Things become more psycho-billy-fied by the tickle with a deep-rooted shake and shiver approach summoning images of 50's scare-laden comics where strange going's on and late-night chills were the order of the day.  Here a tasty snack is dangled, the ingredients irresistible, I may have to nibble more than once.

'Necro Nina' brandishes highly glistened tonality as the opening sequence has a thirst to get matters dealt with.   A highly relished verse is a really solid listening moment and certainly deserves more than the overly simple and repeatoid chorus.  I feel we are given a superb high followed by an inadequate partner and I recommend that this particular song is revisited and given a chorus to match the brilliant verseage.  Maybe I am too harsh and my critique blemishes the opinion of a decent song, but any reviewers job is surely to squeeze out the best of a band, here I am hugging with consideration.

A fistful of four - 'Drag Me To Hell' begins with demonic flavours pouring threats and promises before a gushing, rushing desire comes forth with pace aplenty and terror-tinted tones tattooed throughout.  The tumult makes for an elusive number and leaves me lacking in true thermalisation, but this brisk and breezy number is very much needed and keeps the impetus of the CD going the right way.  I am 60/40 in my end opinion, I am a fussy but honest bugger tha' knows.  'The Devil Rides Out' is named after a wonderful film that is duly based on the Wheatley classic, but doesn't seem to incorporate any relationship to the said movie - what a shame!  Nonetheless this is a beautifully disturbing and creeping moment that grows with sinister intent and then reveals that my initial thoughts were wrong and we have the dulcet tones of Mr Lee (aka Duc de Richleau) and a warning not to be taken lightly.  I love the groovy ghoulishness of this one - I am now out to meet up with Mocata and indulge in some surreptitious summoning.  Next up and after a 'Living Dead' snippet we are faced with the fact that 'The Dead Can Rise'.  A twisting ascension, a meat-mincing wallow in the land of the reborn with the band very much at home and cruising along in thoroughfares of darkness and twisted fantasy.  Romero and his creations are pondered, paraded and the flesh-eating scenario splashed into.  The stick striking is incessant and driving, the mush of musical movement highly relished and this a stabilising meat on the bone nutritious noise fest. 'Buried Alive By My Baby' is a consistent follow-up and still dealing with things beyond the grave. Delicate keys escort doom-laden verbals before the band take the reins and squirt out a number with confident abandonment that sees a Halloween breezed episode manifest itself with uncomplicated freshness that is mighty easy to drop in line with. The content is vile, the victim more than likely will be in disagreement with the thoughts of the song - get back in ya hole baby.

'Of Flies And Men' continues the consistency without offering anything overtly ambitious and flamboyant.  The song slots into its chosen groove, has a certain jig-inducing underflow as well as the typical suggested fear factor whilst all the while relying on a keen impetus to get the job done.  This one I find satisfying without being a brain-impacting slammer - it has a certain elusive something that snatches at the attentive neurones and the final liberated vocal touch is lovely.

'The Day The Earth Stood Still', 'Furball Fury' and 'Night Of The Living Dead' can be picked up and slapped down in one triumvirate of tonality with all systems very much set to go.  There is a good chant factor happening via the chorus and it is good to hear Michael Rennie issue a timeless warning once again - think on people.  The increased red-light urgency and straight ahead no nonsense approach is spot on the mark.  The second screws deep, blazes away without a thought of letting up.  I consider this one wholesome filling in a sturdy sandwich of sound, all it needs it a few extra spicings and seasoned sensations methinks.  At times I can be a fussy eater.  The final layer of the three-way snack is a firm and nutritious mouthful of music with some nice touches here and there and as per, all the ingredients well blended without any pompous gourmet touches.  After a re-chomp of all offerings I do feel the band are playing within themselves and have more to offer, I think songs of this ilk are there to be embellished, glamorised and souped up with atmospheric essences.  Just a thought.

The finale opens with a subdued Theremin, a funky strutting jive and some good spunk in the steam engine.  'It's Alive' is throwback glamour with a great sanguine rock and roll belief that has me further wondering if the band would be worthy of taking this more spangled route on a permanent basis.  I think another release with a full on New York Dolls bitchy flamboyance is the way - maybe a five tracker to test the waters, it could well work.

Have I said enough here?  Have I been fairly critical and praiseworthy?  I fuckin' hope so.  The job of any reviewer is to investigate, assess and get the band moving on to better things.  By the way, proceeds from this outburst go to Furry Tails Cat Sanctuary and Overgate Cancer Hospice - now have that ye ruddy DIY doubters.

THE BORDELLOS - DAVID BOWIE/BE MY MAYBE

The Bordellos show up on the sonic sonar again this time with more understated oddments coming in the form of a two-track release that really appeals to my DIY soul and has me considering the whole shit-stained injustice of a musical world where people follow the in-crowd, swallow that which is deemed 'en trend' and go to the gigs that the best social occasion can be had rather than the most interesting vibrations.  I walk the other way as per, and deal with these undercover DIY snippets with honesty and I hope, integrity.

'David Bowie' is the first leakage from the accessible and unchallenging tonal vaults from where these creations are stored.  The snippet is dusted down and presented for your unflustered delectation.  Waltzing in, asking questions and wondering if the man in the spotlight was akin to his film role and a being who fell to Earth.  The lyrics are almost sheer nursery rhyme, the approach simple and the catchy simplicity works.  I was never a fan of Bowie, an image that behind the scenes, didn't ring true, I don't do shady shapeshifters.  The song on the other hand is OK, nothing more, nothing less, just a personal viewpoint but these little nudgers are very much needed in a world going too fast.

'Be My Maybe' reminds me of late 70's sci-fi B-movie vibes, especially during the opening moments.  Overall the song is honest, spacious and of a syntho-garage sub 80's dance blend that really does throw one off kilter.  Again, the band capture the true get up and have a go elements and for some reason I feel as though I should wrap myself in tinfoil and try to venture into space using nothing more than a cardboard rocket and lots of fizzy Vimto as fuel.  This isn't my fave Bordellos track, I feel things are too 'corned' and somewhat 'worryingly cheesy' - is this the aim of the unit or am I being too honest for my own good.  Either way, I am not palming off decent DIY dabblers with bullshit.

2 songs, not the best release from this lot but they are producing and in that there must be gratitude.  I hope my honesty is respected and I get asked to review more by this unit, to be fair though, if not, it wouldn't be the first time I have been cast into the wilderness.  Anyway, in the meantime, check this creative machine out, they will test ya mettle and get ya thinking. 

GRIPPERS - BLACK TEARS

Due to being off the radar and looking to draw back into the shadows there are many bands making moves and passing me by.  Grippers are out there and making minor waves, I am left splashing around doing my thing and am no longer concerned with 'keeping up' with the sonic scene. Punk, if anything, should never be one dimensional and I certainly won't ever be.  I have heard good things on the grapevine about this lot, but I can only deliver a true verdict in Fungal style and not be swayed by the lugs of others.  In I go again, stumbling into the sounds and in danger of being stung on the arse - well, tis better than doing nowt.

Slamdown one and 'Never Surrender' is typically entitled and is indeed typical tonality that I have heard a million times before.  The song though has a raw-boned feel and a certain mechanical affect that gives an industrialised feel that many will ultimately adore.  All areas are crisp, perhaps slightly distanced from one another but giving enough space for an appreciation of the exactitude to be had.  The song begins on a tightrope, strides forth with above adequate confidence and hits home with a certain obdurate self-belief.  This is a fair opener that lacks the true 'wallop' factor but the promise is there.  I advance... wondering!

'The Flame' has eager tumbling lustiness with the stick action the cornerstone that keeps all areas sturdy and highly animated.  The straight ahead 'go get em' assault is uncomplicated and just kneads and massages the eavesdropping cranium and gets the juices flowing.  No rhythmic rocket-science is used, no unnecessary accoutrements are added although the terse strip-down works well.  This is a case of have it, fuck off and crack on.

From here the CD stops dead my cranial pondering, the ante is upped, I become absorbed.

'Black Tears' is a fine emotive blast laden with immovable foundations and a rock steady upper construct that is worthy of everyone's attention.  The saddened heart shows a stoutness and a sincere loyalty that touches and keeps one involved.  The blend of frustration, a panging pain and the 'Whoa hoa' inflections breathe life from death, kindle sparks from ashes.  The underchug of the song is honest and highly effective - the growing capabilities are immediately obvious and the more I spin the more I become convinced - top dollar stuff.  The follow on, known as 'The Void' is straight at it, a pace-riddled thrash along with defiance and 'fuck this' emphasis hammered home without a thought for your delicate lugs.  One to play loud in the midst of calmer offerings.  There are no apologies here, this is a mere blow out with sharp intent - I hope the band walk the walk as well as talk the talk.

'Carry On' as the trimmings of Oi-esque chanting with touches of US cliches and upbeat essences to keep your soul elevated.  The band do this mode of music very well indeed and blend clear components, sound melody and an arse-shifting persuasion with great aplomb.  Again the players do not over-indulge or hang about.  The playing time is as minimal as needs be, the impact one that isn't instantaneous but one that builds with time.  I am finding good favour here and after several rotations am becoming more pleased by the minute.

Last two and 'Squad' is a tight-assed track-wrecker with questions posed, bombs dropped and a watertight race along achieved. The bass is vibrated to buggery, the guitar scuffed and scraped with abandon whilst the sticks are whipped with fervour. The hungry-dog vocals savour the delivery and contribute to a well-sizzled song with little fuss.

'Broken Boots' is an easy number to jump in line with and has a great street-feel with an embracing melody and intention ideal for the down at heel 'erbert on the street.  A few corned inclusions permeate the score, a few obvious traits stand out and despite having a reason to dig a steel-capped toecap into these overtly 'influenced' moments I find that my foot is tapping and I am enjoying the jaunt - I am a real sucker for an easy tune at times.

The Grippers have come, they haven't got me in a full-on stranglehold at the moment but I am taken by the gentle squeeze they have applied.  I don't want to appear overly harsh or critical here, but please remember I have reviewed over 1600 CD's, perhaps heard too much for my own good and I just want to keep bands pushed along and keep them on their toes.  This is far from a duff do, it is highly listenable, the fact is though, the band have more to offer and I want it 'big' time. 

BORDELLO AND CLARK - ATLANTIC CROSSING

Two cults (excuse the spelling), continue to be creative in a creaking and clanking kind of way whilst making sure a certain defiant ethos is maintained with the end result being a clutch of queasy-easy curios.  I play over and delve into the primitive darkness where all manner of hauntings take place.  Again, I strive for a fair impartiality whilst donating my time to the cause - I am passing time in a world of multi-hued tonality - it seems the only DIY way possible.

'Jingle, Jangle' progresses from afar to the fore with shadowed memories gently opened wide and a desire to escape and hide very much the focus of the monochrome piece.  The cinematic retro flicker of the tonality has a certain nostalgic warmth that permeates and massages inner senses and brings forth a welcoming embrace of the melody proffered.  In a nursery of yesterday we find ourselves pondering, looking out through a window into when things seemed so much more uncomplicated.  This is a highly appreciated opening hand-hold - into the acoustic adventure we willingly go.  'Memories Of Denmark Street' is a weary dirge that shuffles along on a corpse-like mode with a very heavily lidded eye looking back with a blanketed sadness and underlying longing.  Visions created are rain soaked, misted, run down and reality riddled and I am carefully watching and listening with untamed absorption.  This is not easily listening, but of such a strain as to groom attention.  We travel under the murk and get gladly saturated - I feel the paradox of being happily tearful.

'The Girl With The Cadbury Purple Hair' pseudo-throbs with regulated beats as the throat tones join the routine and utter some care-soaked words awash with sincere thought.  What we have here appears to be a stripped bare rock and roll number that is re-adorned in minimalist garb and kicked up the arse.  The hesitant and shy touches work well, the under-vibe is there to be embraced and the overall urbanised starkness twangs a chord of yesterday whilst brining an almost dystopian modernity.  What is needed as a follow-up is something more melodic, what we get is just that.  'Sunshine Rain Girl' is a bin-lid scuttle that moves through an easy chorus before hitting a delightful chorus moment that really elevates the spirits.  This is a sweet contrast factor that shines bright amid a sonic skyline star-speckled with sobriety and honesty.  The clash of emotive content and temperaments makes for a snagging sonic experience that one is more than happy to be ensnared by and I am ever desirous to see this one performed on a 'live' basis.  This is a sublime snippet of beauty - I love it.

'Handsome Jacques' whines and dines on your receptive generosity with a poetical dirge enveloping one's interest and making one work darn hard for a judgemental opinion.  I revolve the rhythm and then toss the tones over the palette and spit forth an undecided verdict.  The caress of the tones, the slow meander of the drift and the careful placement of the oral additions all conspire to groom and yet, I remain sober enough to assess with care.  The song is indicative of the artists output, is easily digested but perhaps is a little too much of the same although the sexualised sub-text is intriguing.  The chasing tune penned as 'Dreams Of Rock And Roll Stars' falls into the cool slipstream and echoes from soft-soaked silhouettes of reflective promise now long gone.  Regrets and situations lost come and go as the song becomes self-absorbed and finally lost on a shimmer-twinkle of hazy abandonment.  The major flaw I find here is that the song sticks to one route and offers no option or diversity - it is a chance lost methinks and something greater could have been built on the initial foundations.

I progress, 'Holy Love' is a sozzle-eyed consideration that comes forth as therapeutic advice that, in these troubled times, many may be persuaded to partake of.  The pillow-soft warmth radiated, the sun-blessed thermalisation and the offer of escapism all combine to create a Valium need that becomes almost addictive.  We all have times when we just... need - here we have the perfect opportunity to just wonder why and to wallow in that want.  There are options out there - is this the one for you?  'Sixteen' has an innocence and a certain understated sweetness that is laden with rose-coloured remembrances that soon become slightly blemished and leave one... confused.  A panging for simpler times is blatant, a tear-filled touch of the strings gnaws at the ticker, the stroke of the sonic brush, once more, barely touches the canvas.  I like this intrinsically uncomplicated caresses of reclining rhythm - I rate this last coupling very highly indeed.

'Gedge' struggles to become oxygenated in a pool of cloying and choking weedery that reaches out amidst a slowly swaying undercurrent of drossed up liquidisation.  The strain to breathe and garner some inkling of light is too great and the overall length of time submerged is way too much for this needy reviewer to take.  I am finding this one the low point of the CD - whether this is due to taste, the song is actually crap or I am missing the point is anyone's guess, but all I can do is what I do and by transparent all the way.  'Lonely Henry' finds a lick and hop-frogs along with appealing ease.  The tale deals with an outsider, with a situation of external need and travels with a focus not to be underestimated.  I can see this one being a treat in the 'live' pit with the crowd swaying and clapping in unison and becoming immersed in the joys of bog-brush DIY doofing - it can be a joyous thing.

The last two come and go and leave me tapping in the following assessments.  The languid tin-can approach, the spartan tympanic accoutrements and the soporific drawl all make for a cushion-comfy droplet that, at this, the penultimate stage, is very much welcome.  The angle is of such a bent that it draws one in and has one singing along.  For me this is a fireside tricklet best played when the fire is crackling, the sherry is being sipped and contemplation levels are gentle.  I feel all aglow, relaxed and in need of a snifter - job done I reckon.  We finalise proceedings with the seemingly ambiguous defeatism of 'Watching The Garden Grow', a song that moves with metamorphing emotions and one, despite all the pessimism, ends on a somewhat positive note.  From despondency, to defiance, to a ray of hope, the arrangement is exact and carefully lain before our listening lugs.  I explore several times over, let myself go with the flow and come out convinced, although a trifle jaded.  A tiring number that thankfully gives the final punctuation mark that much needed kiss of positivity.

Well, there ya go, I have done my bit in the only way I know and I hope I have gone some way to clarifying the cacophonic matters under the Fungalised radar.  This will not be everyone's favourite tuneage, but it is relevant, done with passion from the subculture scene and I reckon, always worthy of my time.  Too much tick-box regulation is no good for anyone, tis time more folk stepped out of their niches and partook of a bit of Do It Yourself cake - nibble, nudge, nibble.

SPECIAL DUTIES - 7 DAYS A WEEK

Who would have thought that in 2021 this old DIY bastard would be scratching out a review for the band known as Special Duties?  It really does confound the senses, but the band have produced, a request has come my way and of course, I shall do my bit.  The band have several solid songs that most old stagers will easily bring to mind and also the crew are not noted for fuckin' about and like to keep things simple, effective and without unnecessary frills.  There are 14 tracks to get through here, I am expecting a quite easy time of it, read on me old chinas and see what opinions I have of some old school vibrations.  Order, order - ah fuck, there is no order!

'Billy Jones' scuzzes in and picks up on a reliable and easily grabbed thread that sees the band post their first regulated chorus/verse out-spill with no thought of twat-twanging and flamboyantly posing.  This is bog standard street sonica with a real-deal bloke-in-the-street sound that was indeed the bread and butter of a scene now ripped all ways. In my tonal travels I listen to a bit of this, that and certainly t'other, but I can put my hand on heart and say that this is decent wholesome fodder that I can easily take to and enjoy.  The guy under the spotlight may have dubious initials but he sounds as though he was a fair sort, a bit like this song in fact.  The follow-up to this opening gambit is 'Bring It All Back', an honest look over the shoulder with good wire work and tin can clattering for company.  The verses are no sooner delivered than stuck in the bonce with an inner rant ideal for keeping the defiant spirit chipper and from keeping you from joining the washed-up wankers who are now only fit for burning.  A good lick, to the point gobbage, a running time that knows its restrictions and a decent mix - you get what you get with this lot and nothing has changed here.  Many new schoolers may smirk, many are better fuckin' off and having a jerk - I think some deliberately miss the point.

2 down and not a bad do at all, albeit in the mode expected.

'Do It Today' begins with caveman drums, a fine bass wobble and a twist and turn of the guitar.  There is no rush apparent, when the uprush comes it is worth the wait.  Stated and hard delivered vocals decrying the abomination of those that do without thought for others.  A call for a change of tack is had, the move from that what is, to that what shall hopefully be, ascends with authority and towards the end of the holler out a certain unifying chant is had.  The methodology and the message works, the growing muscularity of the street-punk sound is impressive and this, although built on basic sonic scaffolding, is a more than sturdy effort. Any song with 'Fight Back' as its title needs to have bollocks, and this fucker does just that and can be used has an inspiration to renew the spirits whilst pounding away on the punchbag (my chosen therapy).  Clouting and hammering and going for matters with gritted teeth this is a fine wallop with a touch of Motorhead-ish riffage thrown in.  The gob is gravelled and radiates a refusal to buckle at the knees and give in to the demons of addiction. Concrete stuff. 'Johnny' is one long joyous tribute to a noise-loving family that scrapes by to get their fix whilst doing no harm and striving to keep things simple.  The rhythm of the song is stable, snagging and done with great balance without going overboard.  All components are steady and lucid and the band maintain a tight fix on matters whilst producing something that is easy to listen to and without anything new to offer.  A solidifying moment that delivers - what more can you want?

The next hat-trick of sounds and 'Lie To Me' clatters in, rams up a repeat point and ask 'why' over and over again.  Perhaps the most simplistic construction of the lot and leaving me with very little to stay.  It is what it is, one for the pit to ping about to whilst in a state of inebriation.  I find no harm in these short and simple outbursts, they are mere demon-banishing, angst-relieving uproars that may help save a soul - enjoy or fuck off.  'Mary Whitehouse' is perhaps the most 'punk' thing on the CD and really poses a question many so-called liberated and free-thinking spiky tops will be niggled by (ooh I love it).  The charge and thrust is wholesome, the clobber-tastic welly effective and the poser placed before us highlighting how a lack of censorship has perhaps contributed to a downfall in society and its values - I mean, people have proven over many years they really can't handle freedom - the silly bastards.  I am sure this song will annoy and trouble, I hope so, a bit of thinking never did anyone any harm.  I like the steam radiated and the whole rib-rattling frustration - it is right up my shit-laden street.  'Out Of Control' cuts to the quick with a sub-radio lick that develops into a flow that soon leads to a raving disgust at a world gone haywire.  The smug sit tight, the detached stay self-absorbed and all the while the downward spiral continues, the wretched and reckless cause mayhem and the criminals and insane run amok.  The stark reality slapped home is true to life with things only set to get worse.  A moral free society laden with deadheads and those cerebrally trapped - this uncomplicated song states the case and fucks off, like it or lump it.

Hands in the air and a countenance of sincere honesty adopted - I don't like 'Punks and Bootboys' due to the fact the lyrics are somewhat corned and deal with an area where things have become too diluted and washed-out to make them believable.  The so-called rebellious fall into line when the whip is cracked, the fashion they follow is merely that 'a fashion', and the in-scene fighting and prejudice nob-rottery make me utterly and decidedly sick.  The song is well played, will find good favour with many beer swilling gits who look no further than the upper sheen of things, alas it is wasted on me and I move on with nuts clenched and ethos intact.  'Radio' is straight ahead noise with a look over the shoulder at times when tape decks were required to record one's airwave hits and compile a list of new bands to be checked out.  After a lengthy tuning in and an adjust of the volume button the noise pours, the lyrics spill and we are carried back to a poster laden bedroom where a pimply arsed youth clicked and paused whilst preferred songs where pilfered from the airwaves in the hope of making a pure DIY compilation.  Rough and ready were the results, we had no complaints.  This is a fitting outburst to rekindle the thoughts of times simpler, less flustered and more fuckin' encouraging.  I play over and disappear into yesteryear then come back to where I belong now – I still try and keep it mighty real.

Onto 'Rebel' - a mighty fine tune, although my rebellious streak says 'fuck punk' and 'fuck those in line with the rules of another scene' - how's that (wink, wink).  This is a good thumping tune that encourages those who wanna make a racket to get up and have a go.  Too many apply over-intricate embellishments, showcase unnecessary musical manoeuvres whilst lacking any fucking shrewdness and believable spirit.  Get up, do, do not be afraid to be shabby, just be sincere and do what you do with the best of intention.  I play this loud, forget about the many fakers and players, and just... enjoy. '7 Days A Week' is the best song of the CD in my Fungalised opinion, a real thoughtful and cultured piece of tuneage that starts with subtle subdued tones, develops with care and then blossoms into a fine listening experience awash with consideration, care and a certain underlying clobber factor.  The ones in the doorways and living life under testing skies are put under the spotlight and the question hinted at 'could we do more'.  Special Duties move matters up a notch here and add good value to a CD that grows in stature with each rotation.

The last two (still out of order) are the orthodox drive of 'Stand Up' and the rough and ready assault of 'Time Bomb'.  Both songs are what they are, the first is a bit too laboured and readable with an uncomplicated accent that is easily forgotten.  The latter song gets by with its robust street-hoofing and quick stated verbals.  It ain't rocket science, it ain't a lot of posing and posturing, it is cobblestone kick-back delivered in an earthy and somewhat primitive fashion that is heavily reliant on gumption - sometimes we need little else.

So, the SD Squad have decided to jump up and have their say with a CD that is decent enough but could be in danger of disappearing into the great musical mush if the band don't push it for all their worth.  The fact that these old troopers crack on may display an inherent stupidity or a defiant stubbornness - all I can do is eavesdrop, assess and hopefully encourage the buggers to try harder, carry on and fuck em' all - you know it is the only way left.