GONE FERAL - UNLEASHED

As the e-mail service does what it does I receive nudges from all manner of sonic dealers - I can only do so much.  I am now at a stage where I have to pick and choose as I have done over 1800 CD reviews and I am lug-buggered, guilty of having heard too much and perhaps in danger of acoustically overdosing in too many similar realms.  I play, consider and then pass or process - I liked this one from the off, a review seemed ready to spill, and spill it duly did.  

Again, I know fuck all as regards the band, I did pilfer the following info from Facefuck - 'New wave punk echoes from a time of better music with a stomping rock twist and a cheeky disco beat. Based in the UK'.  This is enough, and I can do what I do hopefully, untainted.

'Why Should I Care' is a fuckin' banger that doth drop no clanger.  The weight of the weaponry, the choice femme-fury throat attack and the general heavy-duty force of matters is mightily impressive and played without leaving me time to settle and survey.  The blend of all components is immaculate, the louder one plays the one realises we are in the midst of inescapable tonal talons and the thought of being utterly shredded is no bad things.  A power-laden beast with a watertight delivery that radiates defiance and hope.  What an outrageously good start - I am already salivating for more. I expect the second track to be a let-down, not so - 'Doggerel' is a beauty with a great swing in the hips and a real connecting vibe.  The vocal style hits the spot (when these lasses get it right they can't be beat) and the back racket is utterly bang on and gives the throat donator a great stage on which to shine. This is a collaborative effort though and drums, bass, guitar - all combine with great effect and make for a dramatic and fluent bout of good racket engineering - what a combo!

Third up, ‘Change’ - the accelerator stress is eased, we have a more simplistic song but man the way it prowls and predates your inner resistance is both sublime and astoundingly impressive.  The band know what they are trying to do, the production values are at a mesmerising zenith and those glass light tones that shimmer and glimmer with life-affirming animation give this track a real flavour boost.  Is this my fave track so far, no way!  Why - because I fuckin' love this opening hat-trick in equal measure and each track compliments the others with unquestionable certainly.

Further into the mush I go - 'Beetroot' survives on bass, tympanics and mouth as well as a great spartan accent before threat, malevolence and determination take the reins and the guitar jumps in and sets the scene ablaze.  No great pace is injected but it doesn't need to be - there is a predator at work here, a huntress on the look for a likely victim.  There is a vital essence of something 'Iggified' here, a dog that wants to be yours, transformed into a jowl-juiced jaguar that will not take 'no' as an answer.  A very sable promise from the depths of DIY desire where many will be hypnotised and consumed.  Another superb inclusion and taking us into 'Irrelevance' with just aplomb.  This latest track pounds in with a routine stick rhythm before sharded strings add texture and the banshee bails out her now recognisable tonsil tones.  I am unsure by the opening throes but soon dragged back to the realms of highly convincing rhythm by an exciting attack of 'get off yer arse' warning.  All silence is damned into oblivion as the soundscape is saturated by a song laden with the fear of not doing enough whilst the cruel hands of Father Time pilfer.  Despite the terror there is a relaxed interlude of guitar wanking exhibitionism that makes sure the flow  continues, we return to stage zero and come full circle - crafty.

'Smack And Crack' ups the warble factor, blurs the line between reality and fantasy whilst upholding a perilous edge to the entire shebang.  This is the most 'off the leash' track so far and walks a very precarious line between the stable and the uncontrolled.  A spit-soaked, nasty bastard essence comes with an almost suicidal abandonment always lurking in the shadows.  I remain enthused, intrigued but, also at this stage, on the edge of my rickety seat.  Music is always better when trust is trashed - watch yourselves folks, this is sneaky sonica liable to push you over the brink - yippee.  

Into the last quartet, 'Lamb Rock' has a real orthodox feel, ticks many obvious boxes and has many inklings of old-school punk and, may I add, gentler rock.  This is a recipe made to invoke the wrath of the Fungal boot (a kind kick never did anyone any harm) but again I am forced to submit to the demands of my honest ethos and hail this as another enjoyable, healthy and kicking tune with yet more sublime threat.  Yes - I have heard it all before and recognise many of he touches but man, this creation is a job done well and brings a smile to my face yet again.  Applause, applause - hitch up your draws - there are still 3 numbers left.  

I am all ears when I listen to 'Eyes' and am expectant of the same standard that has gobsmacked me thus far.  hesitant bass, a Pasti-esque strum, and then the waltz begins.  Metronomic beats dictate, statements are laid down, a submission comes.  A slow creeper this with no unnecessary bangles or bollocks dangled just for the hell of it.  Power still reigns supreme, a tight stranglehold number that bends down, bends backwards and still has an irresistible strength.  This is almost like a sanguine laden pose-down - with all muscles flexed and showcased for those already smitten - and now my peepers are all agog too.  'Bully' is a bout of defiance, a foot-planted effort that will not be broken.  This is now par for the course music which all sounds quite negative but... it isn't.  The course traversed is of a high standard and to stick to the tonal territory trespassed is no mean feat - the band do it with aplomb.  This is a cementing layer between hefty bricks of immovable density and the more I play it the more I appreciate.  One to stick with and apply a little more cranial effort with - it is very much worth the concentration.  Compact, leak-proof and as tight as a gnat’s chuff.

'Rochambeau' brings matters to their conclusion and is, I personally think, the most complex, erudite and challenging track on the CD.  A veritable grower that doesn't have the initial impact of its counterparts but one which grows from a cauldron of suffering mixed-up love and rises to become something firm, tangible and wholeheartedly passionate.  The sober start, the rising emotion and the sub-skank essences all make for a piece to toss around the palate whilst in a seriously contemplative mood.  This is a punctuation mark to a very bold statement that is the bands first album - they have set a very lofty standard.

I sign off, I have the first major contender for 'Album of the Year' - it really is a mighty affair that has many layers and is mixed and presented to an exacting standard.  I said 'wow' earlier in the review. I repeat 'wow, wow and fuckin' wow'!

RANT - RISE OF THE IDIOTS

A message came through via the e-mail mush and I discovered that there was a new release from the label that is Deadlamb Records.  This label have been supporters of DIY, the Fungalised cause and many fine bands.  The lads at the helm are gems, they do what they do with unassuming humbleness and great passion, it goes without saying I was intrigued and of course enthused.  Rant are from Belfast, throw in many styles and come up with an 11 track CD here.  My spore-sodden  digits were soon at the keyboard, here is what I typed out.

Openings from the silent void are had, 'Too Close To Home' swings in with great gusto and sanguinity.  A full-blooded push with neatly gruff and blow vocals adding the final layer to a good tiering of racketeering.  Pacey without being reckless, melodic without being poppish, well blended whilst avoiding things too processed, I find this a good foundation layer with plenty of street-based cobble stoning and a catchy edge that will soon have the punters singing along.  Neat and tidy work and leading into the swift bass-twist and power thrusts of 'Generations'.  This is a more brutalised song with a harsher, meaner edge.  The frustration with a status quo of prejudice and failure hammers forth with the brief chorus terse and snagging.  The band waste no time here, the whip is cracked, the boot-hoofing, bollock-busting angst and aggression works well in a number that packs a muscle-pulverising punch.  I think the liquidity of the attack is the key to this songs success - a flurry to reckon with.

'Demons comes and follows the set suit, an opening gambit sets the stage in tranquil and thoughtful tones before the kecks are hiked up, the pace is increased and the hollering tyrant at the fore gets enough sonic fuel rammed up his jacksie to get him duly roaring.  Battles against addiction, falling and failing with dust downs attempted all get given thought as the song unfolds and slaps itself against ones attentive sensors.  A fair do, completing an opening hat-trick of some prowess.

I crack the whip and try and keep the flow going - 'Paddy's Curse' has a very orthodox opening strain with a tonal quality best described as 'amiable'.  The life of the song is enhanced by the pebble-dashed gob work and the clean cut segue into the chorus chunk.  The overall mush is mid-paced, consistent and solid - there are no zeniths, no nadirs - we get a constant steady rattle of routine rhythm-making with a feeling of the band not breaking sweat or taking any risks - this is a good and questionable thing but the song does work.  'The Brink' rumbles in, plays a good hand and keeps the ship sailing steady.  Matters surge ahead, a snarl is saliva laden and the band are unified as per.  Personally I want a little more danger as I have heard many similar offerings, all of equal quality and musical erudition.  This band are good, they are gonna win many fans and create many potential highs but, they need not overproduce what they do and they must make sure they lose none of the coruscating clobber factor.  I like this, of course I do, but I am hankering after more.  I reckon in the 'live' arena this, and all the other songs, will take on a whole new lease of life.

The trend is set, the quality is enhanced with the volume button cranked to the max.  'Turn My Head' begins with slightly glassy tones before throttling away and garnishing matters with oral relish.  The first verse has a superfluity of industry and vim, the continuation is incessant and the band produce perhaps the best track of the lot here.  The chorus is of the sub-variety and almost non-existent. This well-planed and acoustically athletic number runs at a steady pace and negotiates all manner of unnecessary barriers.  A minor bass dictated sing-a-along section, a flow to the last - done and dusted with all doubts busted.  A good boozing song follows with 'Two Bottles Down' completing a joyous double act without going overboard or venturing into waters off-kilter.  Again, I always want danger and dabbling but this brace, if taken as a standalone marriage, works in great unison and sets a new standard to the whole CD.  Positioned in the midst of a wealth of good musicianship these uncomplicated numbers, with all their obvious traits, still hit the mark - that is down to the exactitude and insight of the players - nothing more, nothing less.

The last four - I spring to the finale of the review to keep thee intrigued (well, here's hoping).  'The Burden' taps in, takes an easy stroll and slowly blooms.  Tonal petals unfurl, gristle-dripping vocals and a steady serenade comes, in homage it seems to a real sufferer but a real die-hard defier.  A very impacting song, the band seem to get the best out of themselves when playing at this mid-range pace but hey, the band are no duffers and do display a great wealth of quality.  This one will cross many borders, as will the whole CD - on we go.  'My Pride, My Roots, My Street' and 'Forgotten Road'  both tunefully entrance, are just above middling songs that have a good feel and an essence that will appeal to the Sparrer Boys and those of similar melodic entrapments.  The standard is very high but I can take or leave these tunes or indeed play in the midst of more obscure and angular offerings.  The expertise and clarity of delivery is rock solid, I can't get excited about every track I hear and although these are of a very lofty standard, I remain sober.

We close with the almost apocalyptic sounding 'All Day Negative Long' - a long drawn out orchestrated piece that sets out the scenario and atmosphere before clobbering along in delicious fashion and making for a hefty track of stark reality that really does hit home.  The whole shebang is fucked, it seems to get worse by the day as the idiots rise and multiply.  This is a real thumping closure that brings out the best in the band.  Authority-laden accents, neat tonal touches, great aggression and an invasive unrest make this a punctuation mark slapped down with a wealth of intensity.  Plenty of throb completes the job and the 'Rant'ing rebels sign off with justifiable glory.

So, that is my take - honest, transparent, encouraging and positively critical in the hope of encouraging folk to investigate and to keep the band on their toes.  It is a concrete release with great muscularity - dare you take the plunge?

PUNK 4 THE HOMELESS COMPILATION - VOLUME 8

Another fine compilation from the good hearted doofers who will not be denied.  A fine assortment of goodness from the DIY depths all done with an aim to share the word and send all proceeds to The Girls From Hope Orphanage.  I applaud, I remain clinging to my honest approach, no matter what, the ethos of the CD is rock solid, the music is a mere added extra.

The first fistful of three that I aurally lunge at begins with the corrosive acid horror by the Belmont Beach Weirdos.  'Iver Life' has many psychobilly streakings and terror-tinted applications during its short existence, with a certain madness just kept in check by the obviously immersed listeners.  The clatter-sub-garage vibe suits, the ghoulish relish and the overall insanity helps this one get by with a  factor both surprising and somewhat off-kilter.  Deathtraps jump to the fore next with the more orthodox and expected gruff growl known as 'You're The One That I'm Talking About'.  A very liquid song that batters its way with dogged focus and a shackled rage that works better when kept under control.  This lot have a fiery edge and belt out a good blitzer here without going overboard.  The Daisymen finish the opening hat-trick, a band I hold in high regard due to several 'live' performances that have rocked my acoustic rafters.  This is a very melodic wrap-around number that is ideally mixed to get the best out of a band.  The vocals of ‘Gof Forgot’ are clear and honest, the guitars sandpapered to just the right degree and the tympanics clobbered with balanced talent.  The song is a veritable ear-worm that invades the lugs after only a single listen.  Of course, the replay button will be reached for, this lot are a decent set up tha' knows.

Batch of three number two begins with 'Broadmoor Bound' by Black Widows, a song on the cusp of a full-on mental aberration with a feisty relished perversion invading the whole general output. A very old-school sound is the main gist with slashed and rusted guitars, dustbin drums and a hollering that is raw and filled with energy.  A fine old romp this and followed by the perky tribal sound of 'Sunday Morning' by Rebel Troubadour.  A quite rewarding chill number, ideal for playing after a night of noise, pinging and wandering into the early hours.  Nowhere to go, nowt to do, sometime this can be a pain or a pleasure - a cup of tea always helps.  This song has a good wire bumble, neat skipping skins and a sweet brass addition - the lyrics are delivered with great lucidity and ease - smashing.  The closure of the second three is the soothing 'Cardboard' by the folky angularity of Hedgehog Reality.  A very honest DIY look at being down on one’s luck and outside in the elements of harsh reality.  Homeless and observing, the world rushes on, a strange state of play for a so-called advanced 21st century. As time progresses it will get worse, this is a reminder methinks and a very steady song to consider.

The third trio begins with the sticks and stones serenade known as 'The Walk' by Pisces Jesus Man.  A hump and bump metronomic intro, lightly fluffed guitars and then the backwoods folk cadences from their narrating warbler who keeps things somewhat monochrome, docu-styled and stark.  A very sober and observing song that ponders a simple situation and adds a sharp acidic edge that could be easily overlooked if one doesn't take care.  DIY incarnate and with an easy drift to fall in line with and into the crisp strums of 'Red Top' by Shughie McVeigh.  This latter track is a cute prod at the people who read, believe and never question.  These kind of folk are victims of the tabloid press and beyond but, in this day and age of so much misinformation - what can you really rely upon, I mean, even this song must go under the scrutinising spotlight.  If you wake up, regard everything as shite and then just try and live yer life with love, respect and honesty you are a winner I reckon.  I like this easy tickle  - clear, precise and lurking in no sub-textual shadow.  The completion of the next threesome comes via Malcolm Atkinson and the very acute and cutting 'Tommy' - a real gut punch against the uniformed idiots who become a different beast when given a position of so-called power - silly cunts.  The mix is unwashed, rusted and natural with the pseudo-lullaby lilt of matters adding to the vicious intent of the material.  A fluent and consistent piece for the politically aggravated who are sick of the rank and file and their bullying ways.  Nice work I reckon.

Taffy Twp knocks up next with the unplugged and thrifty scuttle known as 'Battle Of Millbank' - a tale of a socialist protest and how a disgruntlement led to a kickback.  I don't mind people voicing their views and kicking back against the suited and booted business drenched dicks who are really playing a game at too many peoples expense.  Good disgust here, an unpolished gob from the depths of the street, a few stops and stutters which hinder the flow for me and a tickle that I am sure will reinvigorate a few, this is how these things work.  Angry pitch in next with the obviously punky title called 'I Don't Care'.  A very retro-Crassite sound of great feminine wealth and bog-brush basics that appeals to my raw, ready and unassuming punky streak.  The lady warbling has great spirit, says what she says with damning content, especially against the macho pricks who are drilled into a way of thinking and never question.  I suppose if I was an up-one's-own' jacksie journo I would find fault here and over examine the music, thankfully I like good spirit, a distinct minimalism and of course, attitude.

We 'Jump' next with Nasa Control who tickle their way in with charmed wishes via innocent tones.  A psychotic grind comes, a metronomic fuzz-fuck with a snotty low-brow vocal style making for an impish expulsion from the cloying undergrowth.  Another song with a retro-feel from sub-circles that the discerning anarcho-punker would be wallowing in.  The winning edge is almost intangible and ambiguous but the song does work.  Next and New Dinosaur Extinction grant us the experience of 'Future Sound Of Nowhere' - a mush mix of dancey-trancey crust and thrust enthusiasm all thrown into a cauldron of bubbling discomfort and toxicity that does take a little adjusting to.  The main gripe here is that the lyrics are hard to make out and so the main message is lost.  The flow is molten and consistent, the nasty corrosive edge does sear the senses, I would just like some clarity to the message - darn these aging lugs.

Eagle Spits pops up next (surprise, surprise) with the apocalyptic doom-drone of 'The Thanatos Drive'.  This is a sober slice of forthcoming life when all the shit we have piled high will hit the fan and blow back in our neglectful and quite apathetic faces.  We serve self, we fail to contribute to the bigger picture, the kick back is coming you dumb fucks.  Interspersed with Eagle's stated poetical tones we get some melodic respite via a gob I recognise, it makes for a release and an enhancement of the whole concoction.  As per, Eagle does what he does and does it with an unquenchable passion.  The Mad Badgers recently played a Fungalised gig, I was very much taken by the bouncy drift, the likeability of the players and the overall set.  Unassuming punkery with their own style of sonic drifting with the number here quite a pertinent piece in a world that is closing in, adding pressure and getting more suffocating by the day. 'Anxiety Society' fluently moves, at times threatens to tumble away into a miserable collapse but maintains a good balance and reminds me to get these on a gig again - it will be my pleasure I am sure.

The last two songs, beginning with some very 90's new wave melodica via 'Stable Alone' by Great Silence.  This kind of music was once overly abundant and won the hearts of the more clean cut type of punker who wanted music with certain technical nuances and a decent level of production hygiene.  As a scabby fucker from the gutter this kind of tonality was always placed behind more varied tones and was never my number one choice for the turntable but, this is good hearty stuff, played with the expected skill and with a great freshness that will appeal to many.  I can't knock it and it is a necessary inclusion.  The shutdown comes, Informal Complaint provide the punctuation mark to another mixed bag of musical meddling.  The band’s song is entitled 'Drown' and is a dirty escapade that spills from the speakers like a malevolent turd from a Satanists malformed ring.  The initial stench is soon eased by a bout of the gallops with the band getting all focused and nailing a sub- hardcore fuzz-fest of swift racketeering that is done with a delightful breathless lunacy.  This is a vicious piece that makes no apology and those speedbursts are liable to give the lovers of the rough and ready a real tingle in the areas marked 'erogenous'.  I await the forthcoming gig with my privates held in check.

And hey, another compilation done and I am now up to speed.  I like everything about what is going on here and the fact that bands help a fine cause makes this review almost insignificant.  Applause must be given to all and if you wanna find new vibrations to invigorate or upset your undercarriage then have a nosey here.  If tha' can pick up a copy your support will be warmly received too - bonus.

SIR ROBERT ORANGE PEEL - BANGERS

What we have here is this - a UK independent electronic music producer dishing out lo-fi, DIY samples.  It is all done with great humbleness I suspect and with no great underhand plans to follow any trend. The Postcards that are made of Metal provide the platform, I scrawl on the wall of my digital domain and let the passer's by make of it what they will.

'Brutalists' disco shuffles in, has a throwback feel and then gives us a commentary regarding a great contest between two warriors that has duly stood the test of time.  A meeting of two combatants that I never tire of watching, this was the culmination of chosen paths to glory ending in one outlandish and temperamental bust up.  The tune that accompanies is almost secondary as my mind drifts back to those 3 rounds of mania.  This is a mere combo treat with some experimental pootling not being given enough air space - a shame.

Chit chat, mystic strings are plucked and 'The Mystic Bengal' jaunts along with a certain aloofness and obliviousness to all that is around.  A touch of ancient times in far off lands with the creator turning his hand to another strange episode that is played well but abruptly cut short (which in itself may be more 'brutalist' than found in the previous track).  This is mere dabbling and music made for the release and sheer Hell of it - oddments to tickle senses untapped - and why not? 'Whiteness' takes a look at a famed soap powder – it states, bubbles and twang-tosses.  The famed cleanser that allowed whites to be washed whiter is the star of the show here and all I can think of is giving my undies a new lease of life and binning those pesky Lux Flakes.  Jobs a good un’ I reckon (for all the wrong reasons).

'Pipes' is delicious coffee-table idiocy that contemplates a mere pointless fashion situation that really doesn't matter one jot.  The cool elevator tones seem to come from a retro superstore akin to Grace Brothers where all was done in subdued tones of numbing hues that left minds addled and with much time to ponder the nonsensical.  I titter at this one, but I have now been given a black eye by my missus for buying her a phallic shaped Meerschaum of the most valuable hydrated silica, shipped in from the porn hub of Turkey - darn the creator of this mental aberration.

'Get That Down Yer Neck' could be misconstrued as a sexual threat but seems innocent enough.  Big tympanics remind one of the time the Stones wanted to shift my arse from a floating cloud.  As matters progress I get sucked into a dancey-trancey garaged situation where the mind is awash with smoke-filled dens, gurning and turning goons and lights flashing, tonally clashing and duly meddling with the senses.  One for the old-school ravers I reckon, the silly pill-popping buggers.

A TV Ad from yesteryear is interrupted with vulgar fuzzes and tiptoe key-insertions as another crackpot curio of cacophonic dabbling comes to the fore.  'Majorca' arises from a time when going abroad still contained a certain amount of mystery and certain drinks elevated one to a state of knowledgeable superiority.  Another oddment from the vaults of misshapen sounds all remoulded with hands of devious and quite restless intent - music for perverts, lessons in ambiguity for dabblers of the decadent art.  We finalise with a look back at a time when TV Presenters were shocked by the cretinism of young morons who were yet to learn the value of respect, common sense and using time to be productive.  'The Blue Peter Garden' perhaps was not the place to ease your vandalising hard-on but we have all been complete dickheads. Let those without sense merrily cast the first stone if they dare.  A quirky wank out that will bring back warped memories - ooh those poor goldfish!

Ping, pong, poo, what can I do, I stuck in my pecker, and it came out blue.  I attempted to charm my way in and summon some sense from a release of manifest madness, I hope I have at least shed some light on matters or indeed tempted your tune-loving senses - I remain in a state of flux but somehow in a position that takes pleasure in knowing that people are having a go and avoiding all generic restrictions.