I think I have reviewed all of the releases by this band and having seen them 'live' too, I can honestly say I am a fan.  The T-Shirt I had was worn til it rotted on my back, I need to get another methinks and spread the word.  What I like about this lot is they play with good pace, a fine popped up clarity and with suggestions of sonica from here, there, now and then.  Here I have 13 tracks to deal with, unlucky for some, lucky for others - we shall see!

'Total Tantrum' taps in, captures a great lick and plays away from a slightly cavernous oubliette thus giving the song a subversive lo-fi appeal.  Despite this there is a sound element of pop punkery and the expected effervescing enthusiasm and all round directness and unity.  Good earthy sound with a core that is kept stripped down and gently built upon with no thought of idiot and pointless accoutrements.  This is 100% typical ZP produce - orthodox, straight forward and zippy nippy man.  'An Eye For An Eye' quickly follow, pounds in with greater gumption and as a result, gets bigger note.  The opening verse is sublime and gently encroaches into our private listening space.  Open, well-aired and exact with an ascension to the very effective 'sing-a-long' chorus that really perks up the soul.  The strings are, as expected, tight and ruddy effective, the flourishing goodness and unifying embrace of the song works a treat and as I re-spin I feel a fine song unfold and one that is surely worthy of a good work-out session to get the blood pumping along with the vibes.

'Under My Skin' has a mean groove as well as a brisk and happening impetus.  We are thrown in without apology or any chance to prepare.  Riffs, vocal statements and repeat before a brief roll, a twist and into the basic chorus we go.  A quatro-echo and we continue, into the mush of another basically orchestrated song that cutely progresses and pleases no end.  The artistry of these affairs lies in the fact that the band do what they do with polish and good effect and leave the reviewer with little to say - that is the sign of some sharp music-making methinks.  'I Miss Me' cruises in with upbeat tones, adopts the usual posture, this time with a  down-hearted viewpoint and a certain self-loathing.  A look-back to times when one felt fresher and more purer is had, a longing to be a better bod is the call and although the content has a pang, the tune itself has a ping.  A real episode of encouraging fuel to pour on your fading embers and get the flames of enthusiasm burning bright.  A quality combo and keeping the whole affair... glowing.

The next trio and a pulse, a light crisp overlay, a promise and then a crash, bang and wallop (all done in the coolest possible way). 'Power Play' carries on with lightened tones, is an easy meander without any barbs or offensive angles.  The crew are perspiration free here and not really pushing matters.  I do prefer it when the pace is upped and the riffage more obvious and rocking and although this is a tidy tune and supremely hygienic, I find it is the weakest of the pack so far and one I can take or leave.  It may be a bit to professional for me and a trifle too fluffed up.  'Bulls Eye' scuzzes in, fights for air and then after a brief pause, races on.  A slightly scurfy sound with a cold and stated verse that opens up and reveals a subtle venom via a chorus that brandishes a blade with a slightly sable edge.  The heads are down, the number is nailed with little fuss and is over and done with in the twitching of a nerve-riddled eye. 'Kir' is a 4 second snip, quicker than reading this review - the verdict - why?

'Stop It Now' races along with a wraparound pivot of rhythm that the song uses to propel itself forward.  A real fizzing energy burst this, with splendid impetus and from the pounding commencement we have a gushing, rushing, pushing thrust of liveliness that the band do so well.  Hop on board, come for a cruise along the highway - an unstoppable explosion of combustion that is a delight.  'Never Say Die' jumps straight in, drives a mean groove and slaps away with fervour.  A no-nonsense verse and into the chorus we go - without hitch and as smooth as butter.  A very resounding skip has me captivated and tapping the lower extremities.  The youthful exuberance and breezy lusty lilt hold up the gratifying fluency and this one glides by and leads us into the thermally warming and quite comforting nugget known as 'Frontline'.  This one is built on tasty ingredients and nutritious noise fundamentals and just goes about its business in a well-balanced and winning way.  All contributors are, as usual, given good airspace and a fair chomp on the tuneful cherry whilst making for a very agreeable musical moment.  Safe man, safe and very secure!

3 to go, 'Devils Twin' chops in and ends on a very strong note.  In between we get the usual Zoo Party cruising with the guitars utterly harmonic and watertight and the vocal work as clean cut and embracing as per.  Straight forward Zoo Party noise - what can I add?  The band do this stuff without hardly thinking and this one slips into the pack with little fuss.  For me, 'Up To You' is the highlight of the closing hat-trick and perhaps, the best song of the lot.  I love the spunky opening lick, the chug steady verse, the sanguine injecting style and the liquidity of the very reclined routine.  I think the band should do a few skanky numbers on the back of this, I reckon they would do it well but in the meantime, this is a sugar-sweet visitor that is welcome in my aural home any day of the year.  Ramp up the volume, get a big slice of self-confidence, devour and go forth assured.  Massive.  The closure comes with the rather sedate 'Busy Making Difference' - a slow cruise that leaves no bruise and just floats its way to destination 'finale'.  A creamy, dreamy opening, a rather unhurried push and a switch back to a slow assurance that all will be well.  No stresses or strains here, I would have preferred a good walloping blow out to finish but hey, this is a curio that eases us out after yet another fine release from a band that are in their own zone.

Aye lad, Zoo Party never fail to invigorate, and they do what they do with accomplished aplomb.  Nah then, Fungal is pleased once more but the screws are turned and this bugger wants the crew to test their own mettle.  How about a 5 tracker next time with something really different in the mix - a 100mph pop rattler, a ska blend and something that really lays on the riffage in obvious and old-school style.  We gotta push folks and as a fan, it is my duty to keep squeezing the chaps to keep themselves entertained and of course, myself. 

A plucker, a conscientious creator, a Celtic Punk artist they say - I know the script.  I have the blighter booked, I have done 3 previous reviews - I think this may give hint on my thoughts.  I am going in sober though and hold no patronising favours or willing to offer up any sycophantic shittery - honesty, good will and fairness is the only way I know, if it ain't good enough then I'll be buggered.  

We begin with 'Intro (A Moment Of Reflection)' - a slow and steady heart-bearing and an insight into what to expect.  The strings ascend and descend, there is a deep rooted transparency here, and a whole wealth of promise.  The initial clarity is noted, one hopes it continues into the depths of the discordance, and beyond.  The atmospheric foundations fill up the soundscape after much mulling over and this is a more than adequate lead into the album proper.

We begin with 'A Demon In The Dark' a real hop, skip and hump bouncer that has a lush relish to get one immediately involved.  Political kick back comes via the crystal clear babbling brook of the opening verse.  There is a solid orchestration here and it is more than obvious that a lot of thought has gone into producing the end creation.  The chorus cuts slip in and out with ease, there is a tenacity within the tone and the quick-step gallop is played out with good precision and many obvious sub-scene nuances.  If you are a devotee of this kind of dinnage you will be hopping and skipping with unbridled joy.  'Dic Penderyn' follows, a song about a Welsh labourer and coal miner who was hanged in 1831 for allegedly stabbing a soldier during the Merthyr Rising. A plucky opening, one to get your feet moving to with a skip in the saddle generated.  The tale of the example made unfolds, the red flag of the workers is stained with the blood of a leader, a leader with defiance at his core.  The winds of the orchestration blow with high relish and captivating animation, the aftermath of a miscarriage of justice is exposed, we see that once again the powers that be are corrupt.  The impetus is fluid, the pluckery infectious and again all areas are crystal clear.  Bob on folks.

'Sending The Soldiers In' is a usual snippet with an emotive start, a certain disillusioned sadness and a feeling of hopelessness in a world of desperation.  The opening verse is half naked with a sound undergallop with the chorus breezing in and adding a heightened sense of urgency and freshness.  From here we race along with all areas indicative of the general modus operandi and aim.  When the volume nob is twiddled and the emanations increased it is more than gratifying to feel a sonic soundscape that is saturated and mixed to a tee - a very polished end result is had.

Shuffling forth and 'Wasted' comes with good vigour, takes it easy and drifts forth before rising and taking us on a tidy tickle that throws a little caution to the wind (in many ways). Matters seem to abandon hope and suggest a 'fuck it and see' attitude.  We all get times like this, the key is to dust down, kick back and recharge.  The music here has a paradoxical perkiness, it has good life and texture and a sobered look.  The world spins too fast and with an off-centre kink that discombobulates the senses, this sombre yet heartwarming tune reminds us that we best hang in and keep jigging and maybe... swilling!

A threesome dealt with in rapid Fungal style.  'Collateral Damage' is not an instantaneous boomer but steadily cultivates applause and a nod of approval.  Politically aware and pootling along on perky heels.  Parts are spartan, others sonically soaked, whilst all the while we have a clean cut tune that does well to rise from a rather tired out sounding start.  The final burst of defiance is a good turnaround.  Gothic tones from pasture bleak come via a keyed approach and a desolate feel.  'As Darkness Falls' is portfolio image of monochromatic heart pouring that deals with loss, memory and a determination to keep a light alive.  A touching moment that doesn't shy away from deep-rooted hurt with the aim to try and help others make progress through many a darkened tunnel. Life is hard, sometimes cruel, why are we wasting time squabbling when we just need to reach out and help each other along.  A well-crafted and neatly judged inclusion with added depth.  'Tested On Animals' strums in with patience, feels its way and then punches hard.  The content is as suggested by the title - a good wallop against the animal abuse and the industries that make a bundle whilst disregarding many innocent creatures.  As we, as self-appointed Gods, go forth and fuck up the planet and dish out much suffering we seem quite happy to make those trying to just get by, feel some pain.  This is a bouncing song despite the subject matter. It has a good edge pressed against your throat to make you think twice.  Consider your purchases, think beyond the smash and grab and 'I want' mentality and play this even louder if the message doesn't work.  A fine song reminding me that we can all do a little more for the overall good.

Another trio, 'Celtic Skies' is a 'Wuthering Heights moment, a song that gives visions of lonely blasted moors where the wind dictates and the skies roll forth and help the time to fade away into the distance and memories to build.  A look-back, a soppy song that is for a certain kind of folk.  I am taken by the tune but the soft edge leaves me a trifle cold.  A bit corned for me, I am an old sober bugger and am not keen on these waltzing fantasies - gimme good earthy reality and a chomp.  I am sure some peeps will love the lilt here and who can blame em' - silly gits.  We bound on with 'Never Again' a feisty fire-belly start, an acidic opening verse and a jabbing jauntiness laden with toxic juices.  The mix of the galloping and the trotting is perfect, the fingerpoint at the money-sodden warmongering wankbag is pertinent in these (and all days) of war, bullying and power dictates.  The impetus and general lucidity make this a stand-out and the overall fluency is choice.  

Down the back stretch, 'One More Round' is a look back at a time when we aging creatures could all drink a bit more, soak it up like sponges and get hammered before bouncing up next day and not giving a toss.  The drums roll us in, we bounce along with fresh zest and hark back to carefree realms that perhaps we should re-embrace.  Can we do it without the booze though?  Of course we can!  An invigorating number that ends with an abruptness and leaves one wanting, well you guess it - another round, another spin! 'Second Chance' is a solid gear change with a clatter-batter attack pounding forth and pushing the creative forces into testing pastures.  A thumping, humping blisterer that doesn't hang about or dilute matters with an overly long running time.  In, rattle, out - job done and it is a good un' too, albeit basic, straight forward and without flamboyance.

A boozing song for the penultimate track.  A corned aand crooning sozzled eyed soppy spill that has a tear-filled pondering played out above a military roll and emotionally kissed trickle.  'Raise Your Glass' is a maudlin moment that some half-soaked swillers will find a perverted solace in as well as those with inner grieving and a need to remember.  I am not keen on this shizzle and even though this is a neat number that hits all the bullseyes it aims for it really isn't my cup of cha.  I move on into the last hoping for a kick up the arse cacophony of greater chomp.  The bonus track is entitled 'Grey Tracksuit' and celebrates the crunching of a racist's conkers in the sea resort of Southport.  The video is online, a poser with a problem is dealt a couple of blows - one to the big head, one to the smaller head, and justice seems to be done (although is violence the answer and do we all have to sink to the basest level).  This is a steady and strong song that finalises matters and rubberstamps the stance of the plucker and the whole ethos of what transpires.  A song with chunky goodness and a concrete way to sign off - boom in the bollocks hey!

Well I hope I have summed up the CD as a whole, related my honest thoughts and got a few folk intrigued.  This is quality stuff and if you like it or not it should be held in high regard for its approach, its passion and the polished delivery.  I am looking forward to a 'live' fix, this will happen on a gig that is appropriately against 'hate' - we have to keep the flag flying and hopefully make for a better world. I think music like this is relevant and always will be and if you have ever had a housebrick in yer nuts due to idiot thinking, get this and play fuckin' loud. 

A message, a request for gigs and response given explaining the ethos, the approach, the DIY attitude.  Gigs will be forthcoming for this lot as they know the score and in the meantime I thought I would have a go at reviewing their EP.  The bumph says 'Old School Punk Rock with a twist from Cardiff, led by the enigmatic Toxic Nik' - now this sounds tasty.

We begin with 'Toxic Nik' - a question is asked, a response given and then a song unfolds with an abundance of vicious comedy and a snot and spit joy of yesteryear when giving a fuck was not even worth a second thought.  The initial verse is snarling and deliberately obnoxious - a tone set for the rest of the song as the mouth hollers and radiates an understanding of the controversial and comical whilst maintaining a good energy above the old wired scuzz fuzz and stabilising tympanics.  A steady and acidic opener this but I do have a preference for the utterly defiant gob off of 'Shallow Grave'.  A real kick-back fucker invigorated by the dictators of life out there and the piss-arsed know-it-alls who lack respect for others whilst thinking they are the sage retailers of learned living - ooh the daft cunts.  This is toilet-toss, bog brush without fuss, pure punkery done with the DIY flag flying and the spirit not giving in.  Yeah, there are basic qualities, yes there is a scummy edge and an obvious approach but... in this day and age of piss, polish and posing, by heck we need this shizzle.  I like it, if you do or you don't - fuck ya.

'Idle Chat' skips in from the waffling, shouts out from a cavernous realm, and is a seemingly desperate dabble on the look-out for nothing more than meaning or purpose (aren't we all).  A rabid ravaging that takes hold and finds its groove, a groove the song sticks to apart from a contemplative mid-way break that adds variation.  Again we have travelled back, plucked out many fundamentals, passed by many years of affect and posing and slapped this one down on the table of the modern day tonal scoffer.  Some will walk away upset, some may nibble and then go for more arranged fodder whilst some punk pigs will devour the whole mush til they puke - can you guess which one I will be?  Yum, fuckin' yum.

'You Scum' is a scratching dog laden with frustrated fleas and irritating nibblers of disgruntlement.  A blow-out that says how it is, spits back and just gets on with matters in a fairly short running time.  What can I add here, there is vitriol, plenty of bollocks (and other bits bared), some meaty clod-hopping cacophony and all the hallmarks of a band not willing to ponce matters up. Shite-arsed, back-street punk - yeah, worthy of a listen for sure – get yer pogoing boots on.

As said, I am gonna book this lot, throw them in a Fungalised mix and enjoy these vibes on a 'live' setting.  The bands they play with will hopefully be contrasting and complimentary and I know a fair few folk who will love what is happening here.  Spiky, sincere and salivating - anything else is just a bonus although over a longer running time they are gonna have to vary matters up - watch this space.

A band here, who have played a Fungalpunk gig and ruddy well impressed me.  They are a hardcore band, smash and grab with great effect and were primarily based in Púchov (Slovakia) but are now plying their trade in Stoke on Trent (UK).  They are a trio of terror, their first album was good but I suspected there was more in reserve, here I reckon they have topped their first effort and added extra sharp-edged nobs just for good measure.

A twinge, a splatter-clatter and a pounding riff.  'Spreading Plague' is impacting and forthright with a real power snag that attracts my attention from the off.  A change in the onslaught comes with the impetus whipping and the roars unified in parts and gravel-gritted in others.  The driving force is breathless and as I look at the running time I see the band are really trying to make one hell of an impact here.  More subtle twists, the quality and application is supreme and here we have an opening machine-gun attack that will mow down the doubters and create real aural bloodshed amongst those on the periphery.  A blazing beauty this that seems to be over in double quick time - scorch man, scorch.

'Wild Cry' pounds in, hollers and surges with high pressured passion.  The strings are searing and the drums oh so reactive and clobbered with vim, vigour and great accuracy.  Power chords, moments to pose, twists and taut twanging with an ongoing incessance that is neatly kept on the straight and narrow.  A massive montage of forcible thriving with the pace and overall quality drenched musicianship all making for a mesmeric listen.  The fact that this is hardcore doesn't mean melody is lost and things are hellbent on ear-destruction.  The band are cultured and thinking, the driving core of the song is watertight, this bastard has a fine longevity factor for sure.  'Flush The World' is a fine title, by fuckin' heck, it needs flushing - right round the fuckin' u-bend methinks although if this cleansing operation just gets rid of the human filth and leaves the wild side with a purer realm then that would be some triumph.  This hammer and tong rattler bounces in, takes stock, vomits forth a nasty bass and agitated guitar whilst the tympanics slap around. What comes shows a deep-rooted frustration and anxiety as well as another heavily-beefed up boomer that attacks from various angles whilst remaining one cohesive crackerjack.  Fury and frenzy, a full focus and a relish for the rhythm make this another convincing clout around the lugs. The opening hat-trick is now a certified joy.

The next trio of twat-rattlers with 'Against The Wall' a place I know so well, in this DIY dogfight.  A superb opening lick has me enchanted and the simple over-statements are perfect for accentuating the entire intro impact.  The rush and gush, the change in tack and the machine-gun assisted defiance all help the ascending ill-temper to shine bright, pour forth and blister those who get too close.  This is more evidence of a band who have grown in stature and who are upping their game.  A marbleised number with a glossy finish and many sharp edges - we move on, absorbed.  'No Way To Survive' begins with enveloping waves before screwing down and rolling deep.  Sharp pulsation before gruff growls are tipped over into your earholes.  A routine verse flexes and stays rather orthodox before a musical pronouncement and a push forth.  The main key here is the liquidity, the general smooth running and general unflustered application that makes a regularised song hold attention.  The band are hardly breaking sweat here and I relate this just above middling but decent enough to keep this Fungalised Fucker absorbed whilst applauding the delivery.  'Konflikt Zivota A Smrti' is rattled out in the bands own language so this life and death conflict based boomer is beyond me.  I love the opening preparations, the muscularity and the invaded wire coruscations - very nasty man.  The song pummels with a tasty zoned in blistering, the full on harmonised hollerings work a treat and the switches and tonal twitches all help give this song depth whilst keeping the listener on the edge and having much to ponder.  A fine piece of noise and again, highlighting the pure quality of this active unit.

'Čierna duša' comes next, no fucking about here as a black soul is delved into and is blatantly ravaged.  A dark edged song with a somewhat malevolent feel.  Hauntings comes via emotive guitars, cymbal whisperings and gothic bassism whilst we have the usual heavy slam-dunks and all out aggression.  Metallic grooves invade, certain poundings and some top notch riffage in another montage of high calibre racket-making.  Play this as a lone wolf and the impact it makes is all the greater - a quite magnificent sounding insert all adds to the weight.  'There's No God' is a shuffling sniper that releases the catch, squeezes the trigger and mows down all those who dare get in its path.  There is a seething viciousness here that works and the fact that the song doesn’t overstay its welcome helps no end.  There is little to add only it is one of my faves.

'Bludná cesta' thunders along with great energy and has a certain 'in the groove' zoning in that will not be derailed. The path will not be strayed from as the heads get down and we see the band execute another journey with good speed, adept ringcraft and a determination to only add intricacies now and then and when necessary.  Overall this is a specimen of hardened granite with little in the way to make it a rhythmic runt.  It sits in the pack and more than holds its own without being anything too flamboyant.  A pure disgust with misbelief and faith not trusted almost spills over into a spasmodic seizure of fractured lunacy.  The band somehow keep a grip on matters and make this one hell of an exciting racketeering with a lush punctuation at the end.

Into the last brace we go with the aggressive pummel of 'Deny The Policemen Of The World'.  This is a violent and punishing song built on a gripping, tight as fuck verse and a very simple but ramrodding chorus that will get the rebels foaming at the mouth and jumping around with unified kick-back zeal.  With a grimace and a snarl the main glut of the song is spat forth with a midway pounding and then a mad dash to the finale.  The last blast comes via the stubborn soaked 'Never'.  A long intro with sweet flamboyance and a time to take stock.  This is another articulate and happening moment that displays the wealth of talent the band have at their disposal.  A scatter spray and then a gruelling verse unfolds.  The focus is high, the pace middling, the alteration of attack complimentary of a band in charge.  Defiance, primeval explosions and some regular playing all combine to finalise matters in a solid and effective way - nice!

Yes, Picasso Blot have upped the ante and produced a really sound piece of work and yet still, I feel they have more to come.  The direction in which the band are moving is the right one, I would like to see them throw in a few 90 second tumults on the next release though with all hands blazing and the pressure hitting level 'insanity'.  This is a fuckin' good CD though, and they have another Fungalised gig lined up - once again, the expectations are rising - Oh the joys of DIY music!

From the Dutch realms comes a throwback unit of gratifying rock and roll goodness armed with a debut album on Wap Shoo Wap Records.  I was more than intrigued by the bumph that came with the CD and after listening to the opening track and being requested to review, I gave it a go and came up with the following considerations.

'Heartbreaker Soulbreaker' is a deliciously titled piece, right out of the annals of old-school vibrology and the song certainly matches the hints given by the tag.  From the off the band embrace the lo-fi essences with fine throwback melody making whilst the verbals deal with an uncomplicated premise of emotive simplicity.  Bubble-gum pop is intertwined into the sub-sleaze and low-slung ease and this is nothing more than good old throw-away music that must be played in the midst of assorted tuneage.  Play, toss in the trash can, play again, boogie away and repeat the process - it all makes sense.  There is a good joy de vivre here and something so obvious and yet exciting - nifty.

'Evacuation' begins with a filthy guitar lick before stuttering along via a jerk verse that just takes a little adjusting to.  The chorus comes and is a simple serenade to join in with.  From here we get alive and shit-kicking guitars, rock steady skin and cymbal molestations and a distinct 'off the leash' feel that contrasts well with the bands tight musicianship.  There ain't nowt new under the sun here, in fact you could hire a Tardis and visit many previous decades and find spillage of a similar ilk but, this does not make this shizzle any less exciting and impressive - we need this stuff baby.

Title track, great tub thumps and a lovely lick, this groovy mover starts on a winning note and keeps us immersed into the grubby glam realm we are now easily accustomed to. 'Sick Shooters' is raw but well-rehearsed, grubby but approachable and has an earthiness not to be underestimated.  There is a good solidity to this song, a real wallop dollop of old school noise executed with an exactitude and a feel for the generic realm complimented.  The verse is snaggy, the chorus easily joined in with and all the while a loose unity dictates.

The next 2 with 'Daisy' tumbling in, twisting with tight wire wankery and radiating a feelgood promise.  Clear and neatly scuzzed essences come and we segue without fuss into the magnetising moment when more sing-a-long simplicity is delivered.  There are no hidden depths here, no great profundities or political intrigues - it is a case of bare-arsed Rock and Roll played with a short, sharp and sound intent.  'Sweet Telephone' has a gruffer feel, is more purposeful in its orchestration and strides forth with a darn decent prowess.  Not an immediate sac-snatcher but one that slowly embraces and squeezes out good recognition due to its slight alteration of flow and overall consistency.  The more I play the more weight and promise I feel and the more in line with the general swing I become.  This is a midway settler with many crucial facets.  The guitars are allowed to strut stutter and the main motif keeps all areas as one.  A nifty mover not to overlook.

A chopping, a machine-clank and hard wank and then the cogs find their adjoining teeth and 'Supersonic Lovin' begins.  Grimy, rusted and almost falling apart but held together by good wires of riffery and some real low dog rhythm.  Again we pick up on a motif, lay it down and embroider matters with things unflustered but still with a mighty good attraction for those lovers of the vulgar.  There is energy aplenty here and that scurfy upper surface and slightly submerged gobbage helps it succeed.  'Never Coming Home' as a sub-country, pseudo tin can cable manipulation before finding the chosen course and ploughing away with a very direct and unperturbed focus.  This is a primitive sounding piece with explosions of flex posing, a good cavernous chorus croon and the usual straight ahead unified acoustics.  Straight out of a cave, tub-thumping, noise humping and staying away from any realms too processed and hygienic.  The CD moves on without distraction, the whole shebang progresses with tidy action.

4 left and I swing in and swing low and sniff the underbelly of the CD proper. 'In Between' rolls in, chomps away and takes up a rather expected route.  I am already in-line with the spillings and this is easy fodder to digest.  The usual twinklings and twankings, the steady structure and the vocal style all make for an unflustered listen that is perhaps the tamest song in the pack.  Nothing outrageous, nothing overtly snagging and grabbing and also nothing that offends - an average number for this lot which, as it transpires, does just fine.  'Holdin On' pronounces, crumples up the tin can wires, works inwards and has a groovy kind of verse that rolls forth in a very satisfactory manner.  Again, the band are playing within themselves, producing regular noise with just a little extra found here, a likeability that gently worms its way under the eavesdropping epidermal layer and creates an increasing tingle of pleasure.  I think this is an wholesome track with a tidy balance without being anything too extrovert and up front.  Another steady snippet methinks.

'Gambling Girl' stamps down, goes straight at it with a relished zip.  A sweet urgency, the lo-fi appeal and an avoidance of overdosing on things sugary sweet.  There is a resounding impetus here, a flavoursome approach and an all-round feelgood factor that is not intrusive or eccentric in any way.  I pick up, play and find a resonating appeal that is indicative of all that has transpired thus far.  We move into the last snippet still smiling and jumping around.  We close with 'The Great Escape (On The Run)' which expectedly bounds along. The tracks are screeched and the wheels turn with a hot-damn pace that gives off a good spark reaction and attraction.  After the swift headway through the intro things calm down via the verse before a simple chorus comes and gets one joining in.  A good spunky number this, in keeping with the album, with the fires well stoked and of a running time that is more than adequate.  I think the band are most effective over 2 to 2 and half minutes - and here is a reason why!

Yeah man, this kind of shizzle comes my way now and again and is always a welcome change.  It is perhaps of a very defined sub-niche that will have the sleaze and glam brigade salivating. This stuff needs to be out three amidst other vibes as a tonal tonic to keep matters varied and vibrant.  All jolly good stuff don't ya know and Fungal is sporulating with joy.

On Postcards of Metal I scrawl a review that sees the Trials of Salem go under the spotlight yet again and bamboozle my senses with all manner of mystic and eccentric vibrations.  My 7th venture into the void of deconstruct/rebuild dabbling with the lugs scaffolded, wide open and ready to take the 5 way hit.  

The initial tinkerings sludge-drip from the speakers under the slag tag of 'Best Trip'.  A post-punk psychedelic advancement into strange and colourful continents where clashing tones merge, fuzz-fuck and rearrange.  The mental shape-shift is a waltzing wankpot that swings, states and slowly defrosts.  A post-punk chemical crossover disappearing into a swirl-pool of creamy, dreamy shadow-shades and endless voids.  The rhythm is slightly echoed and wraparound and the overall head haze adds to the character - my advice get bombed or get bummed and feel your soul cored out.  We move into the initial structure of 'Stick's 'n' Stones' before  a complete dissolve decadence comes and we are clatter-battered with a jigsaw jumble of jangles and misfires whilst the poetical verbals drip feed onto the fractured canvas with unpredictable abandon.  If anything that this lot do could be described as 'abstract' and 'experimental' then this would be one fine example to use.  I find it all rather jarring and lacking in any cohesion which is a shame, as the palette is there for a masterstroke of many hues to be daubed across the canvas of your cognisant gunk realm.  The strange finale does intrigue though, it is almost like the suggestion of a song birth - I do wonder.

'Impressed' is brief, this running time allows us to focus more and not get waylaid by too many distracting forces. The song defies the fritz, trundles in with vocals submerged beneath a crud-haze of psychedelic swirling that is awash with self-sanguinity and a certain cock-of-the-walk, fuck you assuredness.  I reckon if folk hated this it wouldn't matter one jot.  I reckon it works, the dirty danger, the terse delivery and the downright contrast with decency all add a smattering of spice to the turntable dish.  'Spit And Soldier' has roots deep set and questions arise as regards the transience of many things and the value of treasures  overlooked.  We are passing along and the question is - are we positively productive?  The vibes I am picking up on may be completely off the mark but they are my vibes and that is the soul point of art such as this me thinks.  Let it flow, feel the vibes to the core, listen, like or loathe but let the impression be made.  A bit too sludgy for me but something snotty, DIY and decadent reaches out and touches a nerve long neglected - I don't mind that at all.

The finale, another slow gruel boil, a gloop soup that is poured forth and duly drips in dollops and leaves one hesitantly taking a taste.  'Nothing Left Inside' is a wanked off waster that is a thick conman who approaches on idling tones but whose words offer up encouragement.  I find this a confusing end statement and one that I may be misreading.  Having said this, the slow boa-constricting embrace and the overall suffocation factor do offer up some meritorious points - strange I know, but there ya go.

An aural invasion, a Fungal evacuation, I came, I saw, I even listened in and I was left - wankered.  Believe or not - this is no bad way to be.

Another toe-dip into the dayglo experimentation of feline confoundedness where fires burn with twisted flames and are poked by hands that cannot keep still.  The pictures seen within the conflagration are sometimes harsh, sometimes enthralling but always liable to singe the senses and leave one smouldering and reeking of critical acoustic ash.  I have invested many moments in the sonic cinders here, this is my 9th scorching at the hands of discordant devils, I am keen to crack on and discover what transpires.

The first blister inducing tongue of thermal tonality to test the flesh is entitled 'Living In A TM World' - a question is posed, are we a commodity in a world full of commodities - it fuckin' seems so.  The inner rebel must rise higher and avoid the shit-slots and niche drains.  This clank and crank wank is a chugger of choice capricious tuneage that sends forth its message and does so with a warped and rather shapeless arrangement that somehow works.  A reflective introspective image appears, are we thinking enough?  Are we varying up the angle dangles?  I like the machinations that combine with the pseudo-oriental utterings in a montage to help the creative juices flow.  

'Litigation Mitigation' unravels a case that becomes a complexity, a scenario that should have been unravelled but instead became all convoluted.  The creators play it slow and steady here and shuffle and slide beneath a slime-whisper shadow vocalisation that all contributes to one shimmer and shake freaklet.  A short and almost unfinished and semi-clad tune but maintaining the crews stance in the doorways of decadent discordance.  'Cocaine Lawyer' is a bleaker track, a drugged up automaton of plodding rhythm with a consistent back motif that will not be denied. The words come in terse droplets, the ambiguity is the greatest intrigue and again, without real thought and effort one will wonder what the fuck has just transpired.  Weirdo wanderlust into pastures warped.

The closure comes with 'AI Case Hallucination' - a construct that begins with an engrossing sound ripple that radiates with Who-vian mystery and sci-fi nebulousness. We are gently lain in an intergalactic pasture of swaying crystal blooms and chiming underworms were the fabric of reality is uncertain to say the least.  Brief words in a brief tune and yes indeed, the tape may have run out and I am heading for the exit.

This is my last jaunt with the Neon Kittens, I have run my course and can only review so much.  As expected we are gifted something way out of sync with the norm and with a gravitas and dedication to not playing ball.  I applaud and yet am at a distance, I dabble with all realms and we need these experimenters and outsiders for sure.

Wildman raucousness from a realm where things are white hot, offensive to those of a delicate nature and ultimately very fuckin' exciting for those turned on by people happy to tear themselves a new sonic shitter.  Two of Norway's crazed cacophonic units combine forces here and it must be said, as a mere occasional dabbler with things hardcorian, this is some fuckin' effort.  In the great galaxy of racket-making we have several generic asteroids coming together, crashing headlong into a blister-inducing sonic star and making for one all consuming 'fuck-you' supernova.

Forcefed Horsehead come first with a sonic ascension that blossoms into the snarling magnificence of 'Promise Breaker' - a real heaving gargantuan of overwhelming stature that breathes fire, stomps with spite and claws with ramrodding zeal.  I fall under the sable shadow, tune in and become a beaten down carcass with no critical resistance to offer.  Watertight, heavy handed, armed to the teeth with in-scene nuances and poundings and… to the point.  No over-elaborations, just enough showmanship to make this a pregnant animal ready to splat its litter on yer loins - what a mess to savour.  'The Will Of The Many' clatter batters in, roars with fury and sees all crippling components blend as one and make the beating for the listener both critical and unapologetic.  Large and looming stuff this with a malevolent streak for those daring to doubt.  The raven-pitch tonal shadings, the steaming hard drive and the piston-pumping/heart jumping full blown ejaculation should not be taken lightly or regarded as just a racket - this is quality stuff baby and I love it.

'Keelhaul' fires hard from the off with a fine lick to savour.  The opening vocal additions are fuckin' delightful and those tonsil chords are stretched to fuck and complement the heavier and less taut vocal tones to a tee.  This is the best offering so far, a double-dicked decimator of vandalising beauty that will leave you reeling.  Sincere, sparking and spitting fireballs of potent power whilst the players hammer away with great speed and cohesion.  The tympanic blur, the whizzed wires and the saturation factor all make this a veritable high to lose your mind to - fuck man!  The final fling from the opening unit is 'Cryptids' - a dazzling psychopath fuck burst with a more traditional and orthodox arrangement.  Volcanic vocals borne from depths of Lovecraftian mystery and malevolence, string work executed with a wide-eyed, head down intent and drum work carried out by a slap and slam dunk merchant who must be burning calories by the bucketload.  Glorious powerhouse gratuity without giving a second thought for apology.

And onto Shaving The Werewolf we go, a band who kick off their 4-track account with 'Smoking The Crack Of Dawn' - a double entendre if ever I heard one.  Grim and grinding tones open, a nasty sonic syrup gloops from the speakers before raw energy is induced and matters progress with alternating pace.  A scorched soiling comes, a semen splash of angst and unprocessed frustration.  Anyone wanking off to this deserves a pat on the back and needs to be reminded to wear thick gloves.  This is blizzard-bashing, bell trashing of the most awkward order with anti-rhythms and judders played in great time but liable to do your bobbing conkers serious harm.  A great concentrated slam of driving H/C lunacy - toss on folks.

'Affordable Victims' rises on quick taps and fuzz feeds before unleashing its own violence and beating up the silence.  A screwed up frightmare with a hectic pace and a look at the consumer madness that eats away at the gullible and those needing a 'spend' hit. Vulgar semi-immersed scuttling, straight forward ram-raiding, a pillaging of the senses and an acute invasion that cores out the carcass and leaves one far from hollow.  Machine-gun skin ravagings, searing cable work and the expected oral passage shafting - a veritable violent-core overflow that questions - tha' can't fault it baby!

'Complaining In Body Language' is nutjob noise liable to fracture a few levels of decency and have the hardcore wank warriors out there duly ejaculating blood (are they still at it).  A tantrumised, ill-tempered twat paddy of varying moves that twists, turns, tickles and tortures whilst all the while, showcasing band members of one damning desire and delivering the goods with a fantastic accuracy.  Horror threats come, gratuitous visions are dragged to the front of the noggin and we are left bulldozed.  I like this one, it has a sable edge and some genuine terror sequences.  We fuck off to oblivion with 'Man Song' - a bizarre song that seems stretched to the max whilst hanging on to cohesion and sanity by the very fingertips.  I have mixed feelings here, some areas roll and rock my inner rafters, a few seem to hinder the flow and don't appeal. Beasts rise and vomit black vocal bilge water, near collapses come and things get a little too treacly at times - definitely one for the death metal bleak-heads methinks.  In the midst of some lighter pop punk tunes this arrangement may be enhanced, here I give it a 50/50 rating.

Overall this is red hot shizzle from two units complementing each other, working as one and showcasing some real talent.  As I always say, this shit is an acquired taste but, when played this well, new converts from all genres can be had and even if folks don't like it you can't knock the adept ability and the end production that is bang on the mark.  Impressive stuff I reckon.

Filthy sexed up cool cat cruisings from a trio of trouble that traipse around the realm of Blackpool and (shudder, shudder...beyond).  The songs are borne from numerous influences, remain half-naked affairs with plenty of wallop and sinisterism whilst always tickling the testes of attention (or indeed the nethers of notice, nay the pussies of perception).  This menacing trinity of tonal tinkering have graced 2 Fungal affairs thus far, I am mighty pleased with what I have witnessed and more will be offered, ooh I may be having a breakdown.

So here we have 4 tracks to assess and roll around the aural palette - here are some open and honest Fungal thoughts and first up is the sinister sounding tickle known as 'Soul Digger'.  A waffle, a question, a neat tap and some solid semi-glammed strutting.  The unsettling dulcet tones of the lead lass are restrained before sexing up and adding that lustful life.  The chorus is simple but deliciously snagging and this throwback sound is something I am very much in tune with, perhaps due to my fondness for 60's garage and things raw and real.  A real groomer this that deals with the energy vampires who are primarily all show and little substance - gimme this lot any day, the real deal I reckon with a seasoned sex-salt sprinkled quite subtlety and with insightful artistry.

'Typical One' kicks back against constraints and the sub-text demands that want you to know your place and stay in your bubble.  Fuck the censors, the boundaries and in-scene dictates - be you, be awkward, question everything and do not fall into any rank and file.  What we encounter here is a slow hypnotic serpent that slowly uncoils, sidewinds closer and offers up an embrace.  We are smitten and take the plunge only to be slowly strangled by a real asp of intrigue tattooed throughout with untrustworthy intent.  A sleazy rebel that is awash with sanguinity and micro-niche fascinations.  The tribal underscore only enhances all - oh yes.

'Cock Bat' regards a true yarn.  I have heard the story, cripes baby, cripes.  There is a snotty cockery mockery here, a rising intolerance that blossoms bright via an acidic and sugary chorus that blows gently in from vicious verses that cut to the core in their own unassuming way.  There is plenty of weight to be had, a fine relaxed feel whilst a tetchiness bubbles below.  The guitar break is darn-tootin' countrified and throws forth a new angle and adds variety to a rewarding EP.  The most flowing song thus far, one that you can immerse yerself in and just get carried away with the current.  

'Mary's Estate' - a jangling, a claim of prizes untold and then a regulation riff.  A tale inspired by Viv Nicholson, a lass famed for winning the pools and blowing it all within a 5 year period.  I remember the documentary 'Spend, Spend, Spend' and thinking 'ooh the silly cow'.  Money is a bewitching thing, it leads the weak astray and dazzles the eyes of the dimwits - the key is to go with the flow, never chase the coin, look at the real pleasures in life and, of course, piss on the leeches.  I love this one, it is another cool, deliberate mover, it sums up a situation and has a 'matter-of-fact' feel that somehow works against the opening sub-celebratory statement.  Cracking stuff I reckon and mixed to a level that gets the best out of the cohesive cacophoneers.

Pop-pickers, shit kickers and nipple flickers - stop what ya doing and get some of this.  This is far from 'bog standard' and captures a very groovy essence of yore and throws it into the future and your gaping mush.  The DIY scene needs many shades and many characters, with Cock Batteth in the realms we are all the better for it - juicy baby, juicy.

I immerse myself in this strange sonic world (again) and deal with the odd and off-kilter experimentation from Matt Nauseous.  Here were are fed via the DIY label known as Half Edge Records, a not-for-profit affair based in not for profit Salford/Manchester.  You know the Fungal script - I am too busy for my own good but waggle the swords of honesty and good intent and go in with abandon.  Kaboom.

'Down At The Boomerjacks' is the place where we are greeted, a semi-space age waltz done in roboticised metronomic style with a regular pulse not to be broken.  The initial groove falls in line with my arse crack and gets the buttocks trembling whilst shooting stars bounce off the quivering cheekage.  A pseudo-verse, a tale of a carcass falling apart and some deep and dark tonality before a skip along and a hint of a schizo-scenario on the brink of unravelling.  Matters level out, sanity is saved, I am unsurprised as I am getting to know what goes on here and would expect nothing less.  Strange, disturbing and may I add, entertaining in a perverted kind of way. 'Silver Fork Stories' scuttles in like a pesky insect beneath the resting rear.  A troublesome little snippet that fails to raise any tingles of pleasure.  I find it all rather disturbing and the lo-fi recording does hinder matters rather than add mystery.  The demonic voices, the rising head-wank tension and the overall dis-arrangement do nothing for me - I remain out of kilter here and dash on with haste.

'Inadequate' is a tapping nag fuck that delivers a stark and naked statement in a running time that is less than one minute.  Automated vibes fall from a waffling maw that is disgruntled beyond belief and really spits back in the face of the charitable and perhaps, the condescending.  A mere short rage put down with minimalism being the key component - I am not keen but it is all a matter of taste, especially for these capricious and unconventional offerings.

'Arthur' is wound up and angsty with the religious vibes adding to the general twitchiness.  Interstellar pulses come and sci-fi rear arrangements are done in a style that is on the cusp of a blackhole collapse.  A twisted song that follows a set theme from the off, rises slightly in thermal pressure and travels to the end without a thought of being flamboyant, overly processed or indeed, routine.  A method in madness portrayed by a player who knows what he wants to do.

The finale and 'Your Interiors' comes and goes and leaves a shit stain over your sapient swill basin.  Glass-running hums, semi-metallic skips, icy words and damning notes made.  Misfires, malfunctions, the end is nigh, can we hear those doomed cry?  A tumble-toss of sinister narrative invades and has one reaching for the bookshelves and seeking out a cypher that may just unravel the complexities of this ambiguous creation.  I play several times and rise up dumbfounded and none the wiser - is this the aim of the creator?

This one, as a collection, I am not keen on.  I find things too lo-fi, lacking in anything new and just of one nebulous strain.  There is plenty to build on here and tricks are being missed with this release.  I refuse to try and claim to like everything and I stand firm in that ethos but, if the player/s is/are happy with what transpires I am not one to correct them.  This is a realm of multifarious creativity and dabbling and so it bloody well should be.