CLEAVERS - HARDCORE FABULOUS

Pure trash straight out of the trash can into the trashy CD player puked out through the trashed up speakers - and I like it! What Cleavers offer is nothing more than soiled hard-edged sonica dipped into a grime filled gluten and dosed with every repulsive granule of noise you can think of. The soiled underpants of punk expel forth more grotted droppings and here I am with my open mouth to taste. Stand up and fight oh deviants of defecation (but don't forget to hitch yer britches up too)! 3 turds, 3 overviews - let's go!

'You Will Soon See The Omelette Of My Egg Plans' surely convinces the punter that not only is the music warped but the minds of the players also, along with the fact that a tongue is well and truly placed in the cheek. Shoddy accuracy comes via the opening strings that seem borne of the hands of a crazed chainsaw killer hell-bent on mixing murder and melody. The gob work that follows is crazed and dazed and artistically inaudible and combines with the garaged grottiness quite nicely and so ensnares an essence that isn't as easy to grasp as one thinks. Many know it alls will smile oh so slimily and class this as top notch bilge water - how wrong they are. As soon as this track is done we are propelled with punk propane explosiveness into the ludicrously entitled 'Who Will Eat My Pizza Crusts When You're Gone'. Sharp tinned out guitar strokes, dustbin lid drum assaults and shredded larynxes make this another hot water scorching that never fails to keep erupting with numerous power burns. The break where drums are left to slap around is only to prepare us for one last unhallowed scream out - glory, glory grimy gunge pour forth on me!

The climax and sub-epic mush that one can mentally collapse to is the delicious delicacy known as 'Hulk Hands (Cryin' Into My Cafitiere)', another penny dreadful soaked with noisy nonsense in fuckin' amazing wasteful sincerity. The riff is easily picked up, the pages of the tuneage flicked through and enjoyed and the lurid murk bathed in with such absorbed joy. When filth is played with abandoned precision like this the paradox of adoring shit is complete and for me, anyone interested in the more genuine rawness that punk has to offer should feed on this with a frenzy second to none.

3 tracks and that is quite enough. Anything more may have overdosed the listener, anything less may have starved the connoisseur - but set a three I reckon we have a small beauty which to get our warted lickers on and one to blow out diseased minds with - repulse me some more!  Scat on!

HOMEBREW - LAST ORDERS

You know, when I first opened this latest can of worms by this long journeyed band I wasn't the least bit impressed. The songs don't instantly settle and instead wiggle and wriggle like the aforementioned annelids within the soil of your soul and so cause initial discomfort. Luckily I ain't one of the sonic gardeners who digs in the spade, sees the worm and cuts in half with spiteful blade and scathing textual twattology. Over the years one thing I have learned is that the things that at first don't appeal can be capable of winning your overall favour if only one takes time to look more closely and have a little more patience. Too many shit arses in the natural and noisy worlds rush along with a 'I don't like that, stamp, crush, next please' approach and these fuckers need to slow down and watch their step or be in sincere danger of missing out on some real beauties. The band take risks here and that always gets my applause even if I hate every darn note. No risk, no knowing what one is capable of - the formula isn't too difficult to grasp surely. So as a green fingered assessor I wander into the garden of dinnage created by the ale infested louts known as Homebrew and with shears at the ready I hope too many blooms ain't gonna be dead headed.

The first feisty flower that catches my eye, and thus I duly sniff at, is the semi-fragrant 'This Seat's Taken'. A strong bloom borne on straggling spiked stems they crawl over the sonic soil and take hold wherever they can. This is a very awkward style of growth that branches off in many directions and so takes a bit of time to fully contain and assess. In some parts the song pulsates with inner juices, in others overloads with unnecessary thorns and so spoils the general aesthetic edge. The fact that Homebrew make this so darn difficult to grasp is not a failing and at least the band are attempting to push themselves into newer, more fertile ground. I like the inner toxins, am unsure about the stop and start pattern but am ensnared by the unorthodox end mix that leaves one wondering. Tricky! 'Remote Control' is a towering bush that burns with passion over how the capitalist wankers have fucked the game of football up the arse and made it an all raping, all taking non-contact farce. For me to support the game and be a punk is a total contradiction and all spiky tops need to abandon their tribal ways and get back to basics supporting the sides in the non-leagues where prices are still at a working mans level and the heart just about remains. That's my opinion on a great game ruined and here’s another one on the song ya fucks! Plenty of thriving material surrounded by a healthy bark of belligerence with guitars threatening, waiting and then slapping one into attention. The nettle sting given irritates and so demands you take note. Still the routine is out of step with what one would expect and once more I find myself admiring a band stretching themselves beyond the typical punk output. The seeds shed are loaded with spirit but you will have to spin this quite a few times before mental germination takes place - think on and don't give in at the first few spins - dig in!

'Fuck Revolution...I Need A Drink' first appears as a cautious stalk reaching for the light in sunless Heavens. The sky splits open revealing the golden orb and stature is gained as leaves of toneage are produced little by little with yet another period of rest taken before further strains are had, forever striving to reach maturity. The root system of this one is healthy and so the players that come into flower are of exact artistry and high potential. Each note is a nutrient and feeds the end structure making for an explosive display with the sticks tidily tumbling, strings vibrating with virulence and the vocals adding the much needed gravel so as to keep things edgy. 'Psychosomatic' is far from mentally unstable and sets about its target with focus. Bass trembles inwards, a tendril thrusts out, the pulse of the drums injects life, more ensnaring vines reach out and then comes the strangulation of the noise. Regular in pattern, taking no risks and straight ahead punk rock growth - this subtle song has the odd touch to thrill here and there but fails to raise utter inspiration and comes forth as an understated shrub in an hedgerow and fruit bearing greenery. A drone in of what is seemingly bee like, a tribal tub thump, a cautious bass line before a Clash-esque heart rhythm wins favour. The repetitive flavour is what wins the day and no matter how much one tries to shear away at the upper layers the song keeps on growing and so overwhelms. Again many neat touches, good drive and solid musicianship help one forget the previous sub-ear/eyesore and so get us back into the general Homebrewed groove. When the band rely more on basic boisterousness the effect is all the more thrilling a point very much proven later on in this CD.

'Crash And Burn' has me thinking The Kingcrows all the way and if anyone is aware of this fine glammy whammy punk band they will know what I mean at this point. Slightly orchestrated, oh so spacious and with a melody that breathes, rushes, breathes and rushes once more. The acoustical photosynthetic process within the flesh of this song is flourishing with the cacophonic chloroplasts easily catching the sunlit attention of the listener. As a result much energy is released via sonic stomata which are wide and open and happy to give you a good supply of the zest. 'Fatal Flaw' jumps on the back of the aforementioned song and produces more nourishing fruit that satiates the appetite for brutal clever noise. Stamping in and building up in equal proportion the eager drum sequence promises a busy one and that is what is planted. A billowing wind blows the foliage around and with only a little respite you'll not get your breath back before being windswept into the classic that is 'King For A Day'. The towering tree in the garden with a lofted approach capturing the carefree essence of the doleite who has one day living like the Lord of the Manor and thirteen days scraping around looking forward to the next ‘big’ one. Been there and done that and although not the ideal way to live (or survive that is) it doesn’t do anyone any harm to adopt this lifestyle for a while. Bass begins, the drums bop around with authority, the swagger of the opening riff is fuckin' marvellous. Add to this the gob that joins in is perfect, the wordage of an experienced loafer - the chorus that follows the magnificent verseage superb - this is a fuckin' 'out of work' anthem full of defiance and 'you won't have me' cockiness. The album reaches the skies here and it won't only be the most high flying punk rock birds that will roost here and swing those branches hard - class for sure!

'No Crimes' may struggle to follow the previous pearl but Homebrew play a cute one and rather than reach for another great height they come back down to earth and offer you something more woven. The lattice work is built by steady tympanic twigs and solid 4 wire wobbles and so the guitar wielding vocalist need only train the growth the way he wishes it to go. Less impact doesn’t make for a lesser song and you need to take time considering this before pouring out a judgement from your over enthusiastic watering can of criticism. Think about it! The finale is a self congratulating and self boasting signature tune (and why the hell not) entitled 'The Mighty 'Brew' a sanguine song as bold as a blood red poppy and filled with as much pride. No apologies, fully justifiable wordage backing up their 15 years on the road and a darn good tune to boot - have that one, sit back, put down thy spade and just enjoy the racket.

So Homebrew continue and I for one am glad that they do. It ain't fun being an Underdog band and takes some doing to dig in so deep. This noise has many a fine moment and a few that will have you debating but Homebrew are trying to grow in different ways, spread their seeds and pollinate others into believing this noise matters - my opinion - of course it fuckin' does and bands like this are the backbone of a very relevant scene - don't try to keep us down and get tuned in NOW!

THE LEMONAIDS - SUMMER CRUSH

Slushy, mushy pop punk here and a million miles away from many other sub-generic sounds you can hear in the punk sphere. What is punk anymore is all so vague and neither here nor there so I just take the music as it comes, try to stay objective, neutral and duly assess. From all nooks and crannies of noise I am asked to peer forth though I do like a bit of peephole time to peruse the poppage niche and usually come away quite satiated. The Lemonaids play this 6 tracker squeaky clean and with an orthodox overtone of youthful wretchedness do create a listening experience to just...enjoy. No deep delving is needed, no quest to seek out hidden sub-text...just a chance to chill and cruise to the melody...and much welcome it is!

'Summer Crush (On You)' aims at the skittles of resistance and is bowled with an accuracy liable to cause a strike when most unexpected. A swift hurl this one spins around on a sugar-coated surface that is polished well in the production room and so meets the set criteria for the lush pool of poppage. The mix is appealing, the tones without threat and the numerous influences that have contributed to make this sound are more than a little obvious with the buggle-gummed surfs up edge giving further clues. A good opener followed by the equally saccharined 'Surf's Up (But I'm Still Feeling Down)'. A slightly more fluffed up pillow of sound this one the theme wraps around itself and doesn't break free. The groove is forever on the move with a good melody found and assisted by some cool melancholic overtones that seem never able to find a positive frame of mind. The music delivered is very much 'easy as you go' spillage and doesn't need too much reading into it. Let the flow go and just skip around to some highly digestible tunes without any hidden agenda - makes a nice change don't ya think?

'(We Can't) Party At The Beach' grinds along with a sound rhythm and relies on a more rock and rolled aspect to generate intrigue. The run is mid-paced, the vibe typical and not creating anything new under the gloried sun but, at this stage, does that really matter? The band are obviously well versed in their selected pool, the production pirates have done an exact job and the interspersed drum splash sequences add to the songs ambience. You could indeed close your eyes and feel the sand beneath you feet, the breeze in your hair and the disappointment of the misery laden vocalist - bah! There's always one isn't there? 'I Wanna Go To The Kempen' is a plush number full of sickly sweet inflection and generously honey laden just for safe measure. Yearning and earning this one once more arouses the mellow erogenous zones of the popsicle licking vibester and with a tight orchestration, a foam and sand feeling again we have a winner. The best song of the lot is the pre-autumnal twilight regret of 'Summertime’s Up'. The sensation that the sun has set, the fun is over for another year and the aching orange sky is filled with painful tenderness is all etched deep within this nifty number and anyone looking for youthful, emotive, soppy arsed sentiments will be in their element here. I gotta admit this band hit their own nails with great accuracy.

The closure is the crafty pill christened '(The Best Part Of) Breakin' Up' which looks forward to a falling out just to make it all up again with some smoochy moochy love. Skipping along, with balls bouncing that are barely out of puberty and with spotted happy go lucky butt cheeks enjoying the melody. I love the ambience once more and have just got join in and bop to the beat of this fizzy little unit.

So a swift overview of a sextet of songs that are just pick up and play pieces that will definitely not offend anyone unless they are addled with over crustation of thrashed up titillation. A target this year is to check out The Lemonaids and jolly well enjoy the pleasantries - seems a certainty I feel - go forth and get this ready for when the summer is here - great driving music and a little bit more!