Based in Novi Sad this group have had a few changes in their short career but now seem settled and go about playing their roughed up, fucked up folky noise with much spirit and sub-professional instinct. Essences and influences are abundant with the mandolin creating a distinctive style in which to post this neat outfit. Rather than go for a lengthy album we get a good taster here which I feel is more rewarding rather than getting overloaded with too much too soon. This mix of folk, punk, rock 'n' roll and rockabilly is an acquired taste that many will relish and a few will say 'oooh I have heard it all before'. Yes but what haven't you heard before and does it fuckin' matter anyway as long as it’s all good stuff. I feel my temper rising and a rant on the cusp - I'll move on and concentrate on the pleasant tuneage that emits from this CD.

'Next To You' is a great public house pogoing pick me up with a vital merriment issuing forth from concentrated warmth created by unified cacophoners who recognise their own targets. A pulse is strong, the vitality within is equally bold and the application of melody filling fervour is choice as this opening jaunt tickles the dancing shoes into action and just increases the zest as the song progresses. A swilling song to reel away the hours with and a great introduction to a fine mini CD. The follow on is equally lush with a more comforting zone similar somewhat to a lovers embrace after a liquor filled blow out - rest your head my precious. The whole orchestration and attention to the most obvious of details is startlingly professional and why the fuck are bands like this not dominating the current music scene is beyond me when I see so much fucked up shallow fodder poured down the gullets of the accepting moronic masses. 'Down and Out' is nothing of the sort and is a saturated listening experience doused in folked up emerald isle joy and liquid drops with utter belief.

'Pictures From The Other Side' tumbles in before pronouncing itself and continuing in a real fiddled up style. The tones are darker but light is breathed inward with a hopeful sub-melody that sidles in behind the whispered tones of the frontman. A shaded little song that neatly perpetuates interest without any blatant advances. The alteration of delivery is slight yet obvious and these gentle gear shifts are not passing by unnoticed. A somewhat steady song that has no need to showboat. 'Ain't It My Day' glistens with melodic morning dew that give a fresh and fearless feel and raises hopes aplenty. The uphill climb from verse to chorus culminates in a celebratory feel and the flourish at the pinnacle is refreshing and perfectly delivered. Still the numerous suggestions of other similar sounds comes but this is not mere trifling toneage and deserves to be judged on its own merit - fabulous. 'Lost In Paradise' is a purely pogue-oing watershed that many will not be able to resist - particularly if they have sunk a few bevvies along the way. Swirling, splattered, staggered and twirling - the dance inducing insistence, the embracing friendliness and the cuddly feel good warmth is all there and yet another minor cracker is pulled out of the cocked and crumpled titfer.

We close with the prickly pleasure of 'Things That Keep Me Alive'. A fuckin' anthem for the lovers of the vibe and if the verses ain't enough to get you joining in the party then the chorus will just fuckin' engulf ya. The hepped and pepped up life that courses through the robust veins of this thriving eruption is admirable and there ain't any way on earth that you will not be infected by this absolute gem. Feeling down? Get this spinning and your whole frame of mind will alter for the better - class!

So a very pleasurable 6 track triumph I am more than happy to have reviewed and if that Mr Chlebik (the donor of this CD) keeps asking me to review sounds of this standard I may just shit my pants with utter elation - and what a shit it will be. Great stuff and cheers to the band and that fine requester of the assessment. Now get off you posterior and go make a purchase or two - NOW!



Yet again I am confronted with a band I know nothing about and that, albeit trickier to assess, is how I like things, Neutralised to the max, without favour and keeping my curiosity levels high. Another street punk band from Novi Sad in Serbia whom quaintly label themselves as 'too soft for Oi!, too rough for melodic punk' - now that's honest! The influences are many and some a little obvious and some taking a little more time to rise to the surface and after plenty of listens of a good few months and after reading self-scrawled text such as this:- 'The main inspiration for The Bayonets are many old UK punk & Oi! bands from end of 70's/ first years of 80's, but we are also strongly influenced by today's streetpunk scene from Europe and US. And probably, our guitar solos will remind you of some punk'n'roll bands. We don't see ourselves as a political band, although many people see us that way. We sing about various topics from everyday life (social problems, punk scene, fun, personal...). But we are not ashamed of our stance which is strongly antifascist. Our opinion is that there should be no place in punk scene for things like bigotry, conservatism, racism, xenophobia etc.' I find myself more than a little fond of this highly listenable outfit. So without further ado, a review!

Kick off comes with the charm and sagacity of 'Stay Young', a celebratory song full of gushing life and youthful zest. The emotion sought is captured and the injection of a football chant style chorus, the essential life-giving brass, the chest out belief and overall feel good essence makes this a fresh start with all units buzzing with activity. 'So Many Times' commences on taut guitar, spreads its wings and rattles out a song loaded with lyrics I can truly relate to and respect. Put down, abused and pissed on for not towing the line of normality the test of faith is hard but we can get through with a little help from encouraging zests such as this. Swift, non-too toxic and with a well-groomed overlay the band nail it nicely and we move on with little fuss into the acid tongued, bass driven cruise of 'Mr Know It All'. Sanguine, somewhat more simplified in wordage but a decent listen nonetheless with crisp guitars, tidy sticks and the usual controlled gobbage all making up for a cobble-stoned listen with a little extra 'ooomph' in the shabby back pocket.

'5 Minuta' begins the next hat-trick via a stuttered uncertainty that unwinds into a busy scuttle finalised with a whizzed up 4 string preparation. I am not sure about the mad ramble that follows which is interjected by a clearing bout of composure which soon builds towards a culminating sub-chorus. More angry than what has preceded and a style not overly suited to a band that thrives better with melodica at the top of the priority list. Having given due criticism the song does get better with each rotation and needs it's place here so as to showcase the variety of the band so I best shut up before I really slip in the self-created shit - a 'not bad' and nothing more! 'Try To Recall' ups the stakes with a more progressive sound yet still maintains the surge. 'Whoa hoas' and 'Oi Oi's' blow out the cobwebs and are easily joined in with and this feisty fuck flings its chordage far and wide with the initial relish the band unapologetically expel forth. Deeper textured than the previous effort and a little more organised and the thumbs are turned upward. The switch off more funkier moments tease at some strange new option the band could easily slip into but alas they don't which may be a good thing or a bad thing - who knows, who cares - good song. 'Moments Of Life' is a superb lesson in simplicity where the only requests are of a good noise and a good beer and all else can go to fuckin' toss. Great delivery and with the glass certainly full to brimming with an activity in the acoustic arena more than rewarding and pleasing this musical nuts ears no end. Noise and beer are glorious things and to be paid homage to and glorified in such a way as this will do for me - love it!

So just before the halfway stage and despite a few clichés thrown our way, a few predictable moments and many familiar flavours to feed upon I find myself once more in the midst of a bloody good CD. Call me stupid, call me wayward but never say I ain't enthusiastic and the eternal underfed underdog.


'Thirst For Power' is the central track and one that waves goodbye and says hello with a great thirst and driving energy. Slapping around, aiming for the finishing line from the off - the whipping given is resounding and we are all the better for it. The shortish and yet the tallest song of the lot - it comes, kicks hard and leaves without fuss - how can I argue? 'Never Forget' is a homage to the fallen who went forward into battle to earn our liberty and keep things unprejudiced and moving into a brighter future (at least they tried). The brass is once more thrust into the mix, the urgency less so and the general attempt to be emotive and thankful. Fair enough I'd say and perhaps not the most impacting song this one needs to be on the disc. The 4-stringed sword stands out here and entwines and combines with dexterous artistry and gets mention because it bloody well deserves to. Restrained and rhythmic and doing what it sets out to do and on we fly into the pursing strength of 'Plakati'. Care is had, sudden explosions given and then a rumbling riot of controlled fury overtakes all before a speeded sub-skank carries us onwards into a more primitive hint at a chorus. Switching off, rasping a tune and then hurtling to the climax with big heave ho's - good one indeed!

4 left and 'Sound Of The Streets' takes us down the homestretch with reliability and rhythm at the max. Open, honest, a bit stuttered in parts and one with the usual production - not my fave but not a cold fart either. 'My Life, My Destiny', 'Rebel Forever' and 'Our Fight' close down proceedings with all efforts cloaked in rebellion, fighting against procedure and gratifying the punk soul. The disgruntlement is rife, the stubborn will to not be dictated too and the chance for us, the listener, to take part are all there and I advise you don't reject this lot without paying good heed.

That's it and in all fairness 'what a nice CD'. It isn't always necessary to tear ones lungs out or strain a gonad trying to shout your point across. The Bayonets prove this fact and hit us with many a good note along this 13 track offering. Certainly worth a ponder and maybe a bit of yer hard earned cash!



Scrapyard skulduggery that seems to relish being on the cusp of a dangerous dismantling process as well as keeping things utterly Do It Yourself. Delivered in inglorious black and white, pitched forth without powder puff pretence and injected with gristly, sweated colourisation the high contrast of harsh and lurid tones is what gives the whole shebang ‘life’ and so assists the Frankensteinian fuck up in getting a stranglehold on your wayward attention. Initial listens were given whilst examining the spores and inner wotsits of numerous fungi and even though I was absorbed in the myco-murk the songs were duly absorbed and considered. More concentrated time given and eventually a stage was reached where I felt confident to tap out a review - well almost - let's hope I bear some resemblance to an understanding of proceedings - it ain't without trying!

'Nine Ladies' is crummy from the off and the matted melodies, unwashed sonic scrotum and general pimpled posterior of sound is what gives energy and interest and if this isn't really your thing then I am sure the band will offer no apology. The rage that culminates in a big riffing explosive sub-chorus outburst further enhances a strong episode of unadulterated fury. The band caught my eye 'live' and here is opening evidence as to why! A ranting within escalates the sensation of something unhinged and for me, if marbles are dropping from the torn bag of tuneage, it can sometimes be a bloody good thing - just like here! 'Lay Low' is a song that stinks! Yes folks ‘stinks’ of unrelenting vitriol and noxious gobby gases that fume us out and separate the wanky wheat from the charmed chaff! You can almost taste the snotted sneer, indulge in the probing smear, partake of the aurally unclear - dirty, dirty punkage with a bowling sensation that comes at ya again and again..and again...and again etc. Beneath the foul sheets much focused fret work is had and the more you scratch the more you uncover. Sweet and sour work - yummy!

'Ten Men' begins with slightly cooled bass before the splatter comes and unrelenting drive against the he-men out there who are ruled by boner rather than brains. All the machismo bullshit is given a dousing via a serious tirade that rocks it hard and deliberate. Energetic and captivating and chucking us unceremoniously into the cracking effort called 'Superstar'. A searing moment of savagery that blisters and burns the balls of the faint of heart. Bitch and bastard cross channels, guitars scummify, drums splash and roll with crazy intent and the frightening breathless spite is a fantastic treat. The billowing belief leaves one reeling and Evil Eye, by hook, crook, skill or luck do their thing and do it to my utter delight! 'No Mans Land 1' crawls on worm eaten limbs and is the least effective pustule on the infested circle of dinnage - it troops along with a military rhythm which doesn't really get my boat rocking but I can see how it contrasts and emboldens all around it but is just not my bag. The grimy approach is always best delivered with speed and is a tough nut to crack when pace is eased. To cement the argument further 'No Mans Land 2' proves the point and with a free flowing all action style I make this another sturdy cutlet of crumbling rot that expels spores potent enough to create outside interest in the many who are willing to partake of many flavours! Breath inwards, enjoy the outgrowths.

'The Jackal' prowls about before whining in and creeping with stealth before increasing the desire for aural flesh. Perhaps the song that most needs an extra polish in the production room but still comes forth as a malevolent predator liable to convince rather than leave one undecided. The input of the players is what gets this one the nod and of course, the saturating riffage. 'Shackles Of Perdition' is the most basic punk episode of the lot and is a fair urgent slog with disgruntlement yet again high on the manky menu. Steering along on a seemingly one way track to the final explosion once more the breathless injection, the holistic clatter and angry man virus are what attract my punky passion. There are better songs on this disc but there is always room for something more simplified such as this latter effort - on we roll.

'God Bless The D. S. S' is usual scuzz with nice punctuated moments that fracture but add to the character. Listen carefully to the melee - there are many acoustic fists and feet flying and I reckon this band could be sorely under-rated if one doesn't give each and every song due attention. A song smelling of extra class and during the chorus snips the strings flutter with ecstasy, the drums clash and splash with vitality, the bass pushes on all components as well as fills in the smallest of sonic spaces - all concrete stuff if you ask me and the band should be applauded on their general noise making. 'Eye Of Sauron' robotically plods with stated procedure and is the opposing style I was expecting sooner than now. It is a sticky number that seems caught up in its own spun web and never really escapes to stretch its wings and create a stir within the noisy air. If I was picking a duff moment on the whole CD this would be the one and despite contrasting with all around it (which is essential) I find this one not really tickling my tuneful todge - by heck it had to happen I suppose.

2 left and 2 swirling essentials that spit with accuracy and nail two components of society with apology. 'Freeloader' is once more back to the nasty ways and grabs throat and shakes hard but 'Shitbag' is my utter favourite with all Evil Eyes gloried colours of decadence swilled and thrilled and foamed over in a gory splash of abandon. Relaxed, potent, rammed to the rafters with varied rhythm and slowly rising in rage and thermal cacophony so as to singe the hairs in ya ears and beyond - great way to finish.

It's dirty, it's under-produced, it is primarily furious - it is punk rock grubbage as we know it. Loaded with nutritious energy giving life, served up without pretence and gorged upon by ravenous pigs like my foul self who just have a desire for all things out of the steam-filled kitchen where hygiene is a side-thought and tuneful taste is a must. Get your salivary glands ready and prepare to drool if you like acute flavours that may make you grimace in part but will have you 'yum-yumming' in the main. Go glutton and let's await the next dish from this crew and see how they can vary things and so maintain ones interest at the listening table - it won't be easy with this customer but up to now I am more than satisfied.



A long, long compilation this that tests my very substance and in truth leaves me floundering. It is too much and seems like a slog to get through but, and the essential but that every compilation needs, there are some fuckin' sincerely sound moments that float my ever searching boat as well as a few that almost sink it. Such is the nature of these things and having released a few myself over the years I know only too well that no-one who picks up a copy will love the entire contents – it would be delusional to even contemplate although I am sure some comps come pretty close. As is the norm now I am not reviewing each and every track but merely suggesting at what to expect and offering insight into the best bits on offer - seems fair don't ya think. This one, as said is a lengthy affair, and released on the ever reliable label Sunny Bastards Records. Here goes nothing...

From the initial outbursts several tunes make an impact with the opening assault called 'Verseucht' by a band known as Idiots. Plenty of immediate gusto and pummelling riffage is aided by a wholesome and rewarding production that makes one sit up and instantaneously take note. A skanky snip hints at forthcoming variations, the final rattling surge mighty and despite tilting the balance at past 4 minutes this is a concrete beginning. More muscle is injected into the thread of the CD via Toxpack, Gumbles and the ever-reliable Gimp Fist but in bare honesty the pinnacle thus far, and of the whole CD is delivered by The Hotknives via a tune christened 'Humpty's Wall', a sincere moment of utter magnificence and one that harks back, stays current and just combines the yore and now with choice expertise. The sound of the street is encapsulated and knocks us off our feet without using big-slamming riffs and high volumes of beefy gobbage. No - this subtle cutie keeps tickling along with a consistent honesty and teases out utter appreciation rather than squeezes with force. The vocals are beautiful, the minimalistic approach perfect and this is just an all round corker folks - how can the album ever regain these heady heights?

We move on with tentative hope...

The hope is rewarded immediately with The Pisstons producing a jaunty shindig entitled 'I'm Throwing Up'. A good swig and jig end of party affair where toxin levels are high, tired heads need reinvigorating and one last dance is required. Happy in a dire situation with a good tempo and all round feelgood vibe had. Throughout the next few tracks we encounter a few good football-esque chant-alongs, a bit of hardcore brutality that kicks arse, a snippet that seems to offer a glimpse into sub-alternative early 80's meanderings and some usual fare that keeps variety levels high and interest keen. The next port of call that really does enchant is the sinister spaciousness and brass injected 'Fruher War Alles Lauter' by the somewhat enigmatic Bad Nenndorf Boys. Well composed, each part is kept within its boundaries and just does enough to make this a listen this gives glimpse of a band with exciting potential. A lot going on (more in fact than one realises) and yes - a decent cut and something to check out.

Over halfway through and despite the fact I never have time to play this long distance runner in one go I am still very much interested. So 9 to go and what unfolds is this!

'We Suck You Dry' is like a message from the punk scene where so many bleed one to the extreme and give sweet FA back despite all their shit-heaped talk. The Rampires give us an odd song I don't know if I like or not as it dabbles with something psychobilly but just has wayward tastes that don't seem to sit to well within the mix...but I could be wrong. Just without a commitment one way or another forces me down the same route whereas 'Nobody Is Perfect' by Platzverweis intrigues a little more although once more a total full on generic route is avoided. Light edge stuff that has the odd uneven edge but is still highly palatable for those outside of the sphere. Lost Boyz Army add more class with the highly efficient undulation 'Proletenpoesie'. Carefully constructed with attention to many pleasing layers this one hits the grade and despite not being an utter smash and grab affair it does persuade with gentler strength and blatant insight. I swiftly flow forward...

The final 6 offer much to contemplate with many a good moment. My personal highs include the barrel-chested sanguinity of 'Hier Bei Uns' by the tidy troopers Emscherkurve 77. Vocally attracting, chugging and with much patience this one contains good artistry and worthy input by all players and yet again we have a crew refusing to be drawn into a knuckle-dusting riot - see it can work! Lazy Bastards increase impetus with 'His Ruin' and whilst being a neat song nothing new rises from this ever-swelling sound until Projekt Mensch deliver the haunted and pseudo-80's synthoid hybrid called 'Dreh Dich Nicht Um'. A veritable curiosity in this shop of general clout and very much a crucial inclusion. Good on ya oh Sun-kissed bastards!

The last 3 are introduced with the skidded slap around 'Kopf Hoch' by Halbstarke Jungs, plenty of testy moments indeed whereas 'Nie Wieder' by Operation Semtex is somewhat joyous and combines a lust for life with raw gobbage just nicely and takes us into the last blast with gusto. 'Problem Child' close proceedings via 'Schreie Hinter Glas', a metalised poseur number that cocks it up, rocks it up and attempts to tear spandex in vital AC/DC fashion. What an odd way to finish - but not a rotten rave at all. All the trimmings of a long haired headbang fest are there and even though my swinging bag ain't fully tickled I can't complain.

So a long haul, a review not as intense as per (my new style you idling shits) and an end opinion of 'fair enough'. Look even if a compilation CD is full of crud I particularly don't care for the fact is someone has had the desire to put one of these efforts together so as to push the noises of a variety of units. That my septic fat ass is what music is about! If streetpunk and OI is your thing then get this, if you have a few spare quid and looking for some new curios then the advice is the same. 22 tracks is no piss-take and I have certainly found a few new minstrels to chase up.



So what a surprise we have here! The Stopouts are back and seemingly firing on many cylinders. A band that left me with a sweet taste after they played for me in Bradford quite a few years ago now and one I was keen to catch up with once they started chomping at the bit again. Luckily for me they got back in touch and offered me this album to review which I leapt at and immediately span to buggery. My over-enthusiasm and anticipation were destined to fall flat on their face - or were they? The band described themselves as 'Tight 'n' punchy political UK ska-punk... with a horn' which draws similarities with a pugnacious transvestite I once knew known as Barry (falsehood). One thing is for sure whether you believe the statement or not - The Stopouts are a fine band and this is my take on their latest material.

'Bank Robbers' tub-thumps, horns it up and gets straight at you with big-winning hunger that blossoms into a steady groove of smoked skankology. Chugging and cutting, the essence is one of new found relish and the band are setting forth where they left off with a delicious episode of advanced generic noise making. The most apparent aspect of this latest delivery is the progress made by the band in the production department and this one reeks of a fine maturity that one is totally delighted by. A switch off and atmospherics heighten the experience and we 'whoa hey ho' to the final strum out - now that's a bit 'o' class. 'Break The Wall' snakes inwards and then nails intent before shuffling into the main midst’s of the song and a rant against misspent cash and the idiocy of war. Politicised skarring takes place and with a juxtaposition between verse and chorus enhanced by productive insight the band unfurl another cool stroke of sonic specialisation. 'CEOS And Dealers' is loaded with questions, tests the purchasers morals and keeps it on a keenly strummed knife edge that maintains a decent tension throughout. When release the crew erupt in a complimentary sub-chorus and so uphold our interest. Turns and twists are taken but not without care and so rather than become a flashy technical bout of nonsensical showmanship this effort still remains a well constructed 'toon' that has plenty to ponder. I come away after many listens liking it and all I can suggest is you also take time to savour the flavour. 'The Morning After' as expected, follows, and is an easier pill to swallow first time around due to its less threatening structure and slippery slidy liquidity. A delicately put tirade against the 'dick'tators who rule the roost with disregard for morality and the pissed off populace. The vibe swings and raps it out with a sincere precociousness that shows this lot have made enormous progress and are ready to lash it out in the 'live' pit real soon. Everything combines well and the articulation and overall character of the song exudes a winning edge - loving it man, loving it.

A voice, a haunting from the past - Mr Jones is requested to keep up and the dub that is dedicated to him drifts along with loaded bass, scarred guitar, slow-dustbin lid stick work and radio-frequency tuning. It cuts the CD in half and paves a nice way for the excellent beat of 'Alternative Communication' and the delectable beauty of 'Pretty Girls' Two classic snippets that float my skanky/reggae boat and fill the sails with pure musical joy. The former song chills and heftily strums for attention in equal measure with a perfect contrast of potency had. The song has strength, demanding forthright noteage and just a superb end production whereas the chasing effort is more slinky, more caressing but equally irresistible. This latter song may be the new zenith of many peaks with a high emphasis on creating a granite atmosphere filled with emotion and acoustic effect. A minor masterstroke powdered with the dirt and grime of the street but refusing to stay clogged and polluted for long. A sublime attack on the justice system next with some nailing moments to drink deeply of and a now expected exactness and professionalism that has me aching to see these dudes in action very soon. From the shattered glass guitar work, the smooth vocal delivery, comforting brassage, manipulated bass and scuffling drums to the overall tight as fuck construction that overloads with precision - phew and 'Crusades' leaves us with just two to go.

'Bully With A Pen' is a frisky jolly that undulates with fervour and indulges our pleasure and asks us in a cute way to take note and dance. The 'press'ure increases against the biro bastards who cultivate crops of the most diseased kind. The music once more rolls forth with sharp accuracy and the short running time of this one accentuates but still it falls into the shadow of the closing battle cry of 'This Is Our Future'. A wonderful wake up call where the Zombies of Disinterest are targeted and questions are asked. Apathy will not be tolerated and as the fabric on which we stand is billowed by the bold tuneage we either fall by the wayside or follow along to this Pied Piper rhythm. Loads of energy, oodles of intent and lashings of lyrical nouse and toned up tinkerings - it is the only way.

So many come and attempt skankage and fall short, quite a few make the same effort and do quite nicely thank you but some stride to the fore take the two-tone bull by the balls, add other sub-flavours, shake up and ride and tame like a true generic jockey. The Stopouts impressed ages ago and got a gig before they had an abrupt lay off. I am even more impressed and would love them on a Fungal show and insist they stick around and show people just what they are made of - great CD indeed by a potentially great band - the punters, the idle-headed, the luck of the draw will decide but my verdict is positive all the way!



Is this episode of assorted sonica a sub-Oi attempt or is it purely street-based and just testing varied boundaries - it does make one think. One way or another the band construct a good level of intrigue within the listeners lugs and how the review will fair is anyone's guess at this precarious moment. Some tunes are instantaneously attractive, others hide behind a mask of ambiguity and cause me to reach for the replay button over and over - oh these bastard minstrels. What I know of the band neither helps me tap out a judgement as my knowledge is utterly void therefore I go in with arse bared and from an utter neutral standpoint - it isn't a bad thing! Oh fuck it - dilly, dally, dilly, dally - plunge...

The phone rings, a lunatic responds, the first hint at noise is subdued and we go to an opening instrumental called 'Baskenland Wird Gewinnen (Intro)' a well paced piece that strums along with no rushed intent and very deliberate riff-making looking for that all out win factor. The bass punctuates in the background, things gradually get tightened up and after a few switches in style and nearly 4 minutes of noise we are thrown into the first song proper known as 'Nuestra Dia Illegra'. Pulsing and with hint at some Division of Joy the intro has me wondering what will come next. A pause and then some street urchin, terrace chanting very much as is traditional with this type of soundage. All compartments are clear and the vibe will undoubtedly please the more obvious members of the 'Oi' polloi and I find myself walking away from this with a fair opinion. Radioed ravings, and a steady rhythm unfolds and in we wander to the sturdy construct entitled 'Gasteiz 3-3-1976'. No need to speed along despite the sirens and this one combines a strong rhythm as well as unified shouts from the mob and splashed/crashed stickwork. Individually nothing exciting and original is had but as a combination I must admit this is a good old strong-arm plod that hits my sonic hotspots. Increasing my levels of favour is the opening skankiness of 'Violencia Proletaria' with my opening gripe being that the band don't hold onto the thread throughout the entire length of the song - such a waste. Bass brings anything resembling two-toneage to an end and we travel along on a usual vibe that does the job at hand and showcases the major aspects of the band thus far - powerful (but subtly so), organised, with a tendency to not mix up the clout and shout and with a desire not to get messed up. The variation in pace is decent and once more we have a fair old track on our hands.

I pause at this point and seek out some more info on these buggers! I come up with very little.

'Leningrado' begins with an anthem and turns into an atmospheric trawl with the build to the gobwork unhurried and unflustered. Unifying, of an embracing essence the song is determined and although not straight down the throat it does seem to be quite proud of its own statements and speed factor. This and the chasing 'Recuerdos Del Pasado' are instantly recognisable and of the same inkling and make for a decent couple. Without harsh edges, blended so as to be easily digested and causing little listening offence. The final 2 donations to our ever willing lugs are the chanted glory 'Gora Euskal Herria' and the rewarding 'R. A. S. H.'. The former is more of the same whereas the latter is the longest track and really gets into the groove and has a fair modicum of inner spirit. And still the fuckers refuse to nail the accelerator to the floor...stubborn swines. The final track is my favourite of the last flung 4 and seems to have a good swing, a more satisfying overspill and with a few more choice touches. Many may disagree!

So a CD that doesn't hit the zenith promised but finds footing on an acceptable level and neither rises nor sinks - just one consistent offering. Over the distance here the style works but for a follow-up effort or a more lengthy journey then more variety would be essential so as to maintain a keen interest. Well that's my take anyway.



2 bands, one hardcore, one equally so but in a more crafty way - both having left solid impressions with me in the past. Rash Decision I have still to catch up with in the 'Live' shithole, 2 Sick Monkeys I know only too well and have given them several gigs over the last few years. It don't seem too long ago when this crew were setting out on a quest to nail 1000 gigs and now they are well past the 500 level and still thundering on. Rash Decision are still relatively new on the block but have made a fair statement and seem to be clocking up the miles and giggage and I do need to get my arse in gear and collar a show soon - hey ho - can't do everything! So the CD - would it be a case of too much of the same, would it be a billowing blow to rip my socks off or would it just be one of those duff farts that leave a sort of unsatisfied squelchy feeling. Either way - truth, passion, good fair effort and consideration will be ploughed in - the only way to do it!

The first spillage from the RD cock of cacophony is instantly brutal and fuzzes up with frightening fury and condensed intensity. The vibe is rib-rattling, the tumbling tension fully operative and 'Philthy's Mattress' holds enough sonic spunkage and all round flea-infested rage to make for an intriguing episode of hardcore nausea. 'Captain' Tom' continues the heady impetus with a bass driven beat screamed and scrawled over with a mania many will get off to (and so they should). The mix makes the momentum overwhelm and the band thrive as a consequence. The fact that the crew of these diabolical grenades are not prepared to become self-indulgent and sonically sequinned cultivates favour from the Fungal fiend and so I find myself enjoying this nasty racket to the max. Its two riotous songs filled with hectic rhythms and that is just how I like my hardcore - a dish best served with freshly skinned bollocks - yummy. The slack reins barely held onto thus far are let loose in the third instalment via a mayhem that only just maintains direction. I worry that the band are drifting off course but am soon corrected by a blistering wind-up to the last blast with 'Staines' just deserving the nod. Filled with bitter annoyance, overloaded with discordant mania the drums break through and help us breath as we are nailed to the floor by a pistonised pound that rises, ejaculates and leaves - the brutality fascinates. 'Learning Things About The World (Part 2)' is a 14 second thrust and is equally hurtful as it is brief. A shock knock-down over in a flash - you may appreciate the blinding light or it may just pass you by - it ain't nothing original (what is) but is does good damage!

As Rash Decision refuse to piss about so do I and we thrash onward with the rage against the status quo known as 'Metro'. Heads set, steely grit adopted and the main bulk of the song is a mighty gallop only broken by a pre-ending riff up. Strong stuff indeed and paving the way for the great outpouring entitled 'Bring Out Your Dead'. An instant preparation, a raw bellow of 'Heads Down, Shoulders Up' and we are propelled into a great snippet of contrasting H/C fervour. Clashing, considering, opposing, moving rusted gears and culminating in one last roar - this is how it should be done folks. 'Seagull' is an equally stand-out assault that tickles my soiled senses and has me aching to smash things up and destroy something orderly and structured. The taunting drums rolls, the puncturing string strums, the immediate oppression of the vocals and the deliciously exciting instrumental breaks that heighten the building frenzy. Sometimes this type of racket-making just passes me by but when, and only when, it is played with such exact application then I am well up for it. Mesmerising and the added pile-driving hunger only makes for one helluva din dream. Rash Decision say ‘fuck you’ with 'Temporary Worker (Clause 4.1), a song that is another effort that just squeaks by on the grading scale. This and the scary third track are on the cusp of disaster and it is with bloodied dirt-filled fingernails they hang on. Nowt wrong with a bit of danger and yes 'Everything matters'. Blow yer fuckin' brains out!

The door slams shut, one band exits another enters - the passion levels will not be abated...

'Sayonara' paradoxically says hello and we bid the 2 Sick Monkey's welcome. This first expulsion is a farewell to a friend and is delivered in true puking primate style with...a new cleaner look that doesn't lose the full on filth the band are renowned for but does in fact raise my eyebrows and has me considering could this be some of the best defecation ever to be flung by these eternal shit-flinging chimps. This opener is a lovely rhythmic cut that does what needs be and comes straight from the hearts. Like a troubled tramp spruced up I am liking this new look and am well taken by this great sing-a-long burst. Can it last? Well the ravings of the todge/twat fiddling tale uphold my previous thought and once again we having another clearer, more disciplined onslaught that brings out the best of a fuckin' fine band. The fury from the throat isn't lost and even though the production is more hygienic the Monkey Boys still expose themselves as a DIY, hard-grinding unit with an inner rawness I personally adore. Great second number and into the terse super punkage of 'Had Enough'. The statement is simple, the passion not so easy to grasp and something that could be so basic is given a special injection of belief and life and passed forward as an utterly convincing clout. 'Blurrr (Parts 1 and 2)' is primarily an instrumental and showcases the talent of the band - two players sticking and strumming with relish and rupturing the ring-piece of the uninspired fuckers who can only go through procedure and knock out tuneage more regular. The rumble, the obvious attention to the noise, the sheer love of the melody the band plough inwards - yes, yes, yes - ooops - I think I've had an accident!

Wretched strums, a brief outburst - the title stated - 'Number 1 Retard' is over in 13 seconds - longer than the attention span of a goldfish - that's some punkers scuppered then! 'Bullshitter' is a swift clout around the lugs with a good bone-jarring disagreement taking place alongside an electrified drive that will not be quelled until the players darn well say so. Not a bad rumble to be honest and easily joined in with although the 'Intermission' is more to my liking and is an instrumental that provides assorted styles, tempo's and intricate skills of the duo. Interrupted with machine-gun bursts, staccato in general essence the break is welcome and into the delicious stutter spurt of 'I Don't Wanna Be Me'. Only 28 seconds and full of thirsty desire - it may be brief but it gets the job done and we segue into 'No Brakes' with all attention at the max. More orthodox and constructed around a good steady vibe the twinned vibrating machine that pleases so fuckin' often once again titivates the ring of rhythm and creates a solid level of pleasure. Gruff, raw, seemingly more improvised the dudes are testing themselves and coming up smelling of Monkey Musk's with colours combined and given a good splatter with Pollockonian abandon but still grasping a Kandinskian order - a fine number. 'Migraine' is a tactile tune one can reach out and suffer with. Like the complaint this song needles the sense and throbs along with perpetual annoyance which should make for a real dreary listen. Enter a sado-masochistic approach! The song rises above the depths and forces pain into a troubled pleasure that captures everything sought for - and some. It won't be the top of the playlist for sure but as a sensitive curio it is worth a dabble now and again - provided the band prescribe a more uplifting remedy. No sooner than requested then the juicy instrumental 'S. A. D. - Spontaneous Amoebic Dysentery' squirts forth from the sonic sphincter and wonderfully douses us all in a liquid shower of well-timed sonic shit. Envision the joy of the players as they donate this mini-deluge of noise over the heads of the expectant - fuckin' lovely moment to be savoured!

'Last Orders' and 'I Love Booze' are typical fare from this piss-pot scene and with the new improved overlay and usual brilliance the double ended musical dildo vibrates our noise-drenched nether regions with two satisfying rattlers. The first is sharp and sniping and I feel for the poor cunt at the brunt of the venom ha, ha. Well deserved I bet! The second effort is crazed tribute to the tipple with a wonderful encouraging pulse liable to make the easily persuaded to indulge in some mistimed alcoholism - why the hell not? 2 crackers rounding off...well a cracker I suppose - bang, boom, bang!

Both bands do things well, both need more attention - I do hope you pay heed to my scribblings and chase em' down, get the product and bloody well enjoy. If not - well it is truly your loss and what a twat ye be. Oook, Oook doubters!



A local band to me whom I have dealt with in the distant past before we twisted off and went our separate ways. Over the years the formula has changed but now settled to become something the crew are more settled with playing and more appropriate to their influences. Speed, sub-text, idiocy (to a certain crowd) and if I am honest - bare assed artistry at a decent level. After listening to this motley collection several times I was convinced that nothing new this way came but am also convinced that this is vying for the bands most effective stuff to date (however sussed it may be). The crew seem to be enjoying their style and that is what it should always be about as well as holding a threat to veer off and vandalise all that people expect. I reckon the latter point isn't met but that is a personal punked opinion and not one many agree with (bastards). Anyway this one is a fair heave ho and I'll do my bit to push, prickle and praise the CD as well as assess, undo and arse about with.

The thunderbolt that initially shoots up the acoustic jacksie is coined 'Another Way', a fast fuck rattler that harps on about how co-operation will help society grow and beat the ruling elite. Idealistic of course and when the ones at the bottom can't pull together you know we are fucked...but you still gotta dream. The racket that accompanies the wordage is swift, to the point and played at a tight tempo. Without audible lyrics all message is lost but who cares anyway - what a shame! The racket is solid though and welcomes us in hurtful style. 'Ready Steady Bastard' is bog standard lyricology but forget that - the furious pummelling aggression and somewhat epileptic retard affect is all-consuming and it is this lunatic suffering that gives appeal. With all batteries liable to blow it is good to see arses put on the line, thrashed to buggery and come out with a blistering eruption as thus. I should say 'oh fuck' but I say 'thank fuck' - I be always up for acoustic agony!

'Cold Turkey' opens its account with deeply wobbled wires that kick up a groove the rest of the band must join in with if their balls are truly big enough and, may I say, pendulous enough. One expects a change, something less nut-crunching but after a sobered bout of rhythm making the assault of the second slam-dunk is at ya - like an attack from a whizzed up octopus wearing steel boxing gloves this one is all over you with no escape - you come away sore but thankful (a bit like an altar boy after an encounter with a blood-thirsty, bum-hungry bishop) - nasty! 'Look At me...I'm A Fuckin' Tiger' is a song about opinions - enter OMD! Opinions are what should make the world go around be they right, wrong, misinformed or based on favour - you should have the sense to suss em' and enough belief in yourself to ride em and take what you need from em'. Like em' or not they will still come so suck on it and live with it. My opinion on this song is of a good blast out that is sub-snottiness, sweetly petulant, unsettled and disturbed. The most orthodox tear up and that is very much needed at this stage. Smoke that kipper people!

Breather time, all is well at this stage!

The best of the lot comes next with 'Red Top Bullshit' a scathing bust up against the textual twattage we all get overloaded with. Tits, lies, crosswords, right wing bigotry, celebrity shagshit and biased drivel the band deal with it via a thumping song that tears up the sonic pages, farts loudly and blows the bits away. ROPM at their best and one of their finest moments to date - why not indeed and I'll certainly argue the point!

'An Aggressive Lecture' travels hard and mixes two manic males within a swirl of foaming riffology. Anti-prejudice splatteroids hit various marks on the already shit-stained walls of our punked soul and we are bowled at fast and hard with hardly any room to manoeuvre. 'Beer For Breakfast' is equally violent with more focus and hits higher levels of appreciation from this aural observer. A good message to all those with a devilish thirst is only numbed by the final statement of 'Not every day or you'll die' - darn killjoys. It is a good thrasher and clubs the senses well. 'Hobby Horse' raves against the financial scandals but leaves me a little cold. I needed something more at this stage and so may you - never overdose on too much of the same. If the song came earlier it would have perhaps been looked upon in a fairer light then again..! A song that plays it a little too safe and comes across as a bit of a 'skip' moment. I'm still a little puzzled why I don't like this one but I reckon its because it sounds like too much I hear everywhere that lacks a competitive edge - a strange moment! 'A shit-filled transistor sound next welcomes us into the sweet riot known as 'Is This Cool'. Back on the right track for me with a good vibe vandalising our immediate vicinity and shaking us into vigorous action. Unified hollers add excitement, a pre-finale sub-terrace rant reaches a new zenith where tightness gets painful (oooh me nadgers) and I find myself ready for some action after this - smash the networks fuckers!

The nailgun comes out and we rapid-fire through the next one which is slaved with the name of 'Captain Gin Vs The Victory Gin'. An assaulting song that just doesn't quite deliver the dusting over it threatens. It ain't through want of trying though - the swift running time saves an execution whereas the terse tune that is 'Fuck The Sea' needs no such salvation as it is supreme idiocy regarding one disturbed mans grudges against a liquid beast he just can't gets to grip with. A grand moment of infected insanity with surely Matt Woods is the guilty goon responsible for such cretinism. I like this one very much indeed and although a defender of the 'liquid green' I'll give this a thumbs up due to its mighty desire and fractured thinking - ill man ill!

4 left and as quick as buggery I shall be. 'Things I Have Learned In My Life So Far' (most people are fake by any chance) is a belt out regarding moving ones arse (no bad thing). A lot of talkers should pay heed here and the walkers should just enjoy. 'Clint Eastwood, The Man With No Name' is fun for the band and those that like to be beaten over the head with a repetitive vibe that will not let up. The fact that the last line hails 'Any Which Way But Loose' makes a mockery of these dudes cinematic credentials and leaves me with a sour taste ha, ha - not at all - usual fare, usual frivolity. 'Surfing Past The Stoat' upends the boat and spills into the sonic sea numerous inebriates who like to dabble with the drink. I for one condone drunken idiocy (as you all should know) as well as keen to peddle riotous numbers - it will do for me. '15 Million Merits' is a fine way to finish and is etched with a doom tinted warning, billows with big tit toneage and hits a point close to my heart - that society is shit and heading headlong into oblivion. This is all fine and dandy but when the bugs and beauty of nature get hammered my back gets turned upwards. A strong wind blows and is very much needed as my patience was wearing thin.

So 15 tracks which are primarily of one style which of course shows consistency and how much the band are into 'their thing'. It trespasses on hardcore, it maintains rhythm, it brings nothing new to the overfilled table of racketology packs a punch, it never lets up and it glows with intensity many would struggle to maintain. It won't stand out from the pack as the pack is..well packed but this is a crew having a go and getting off their arse and doing things how they want. The scene isn't about agreeing or disagreeing but respecting those that are trying - sometimes though that isn't enough. Fuck it, fuck you and have a peek at this - you could do worse, you could do better but you could do nothing and that would be the biggest crime of all!



New school skank, restless tweaking and twitching here with many a good drift adopted, abandoned, picked back up and duly thrown about and fiddled with. Darn these rhythmic rapscallions who can't keep acoustically still! Hailing from South Wales these dudes have played with some impressive bands and put many a mile on the clock and after several listens it is obvious those influences are definitely etched within the noise here. The band though have a few years experience under their belts too and this debut album is surely their attempt (chance) to make a mark within their chosen sub-generic pool as well as (hopefully) beyond. It's a tough scene out there (whichever one you reside in) and all I can do is my humble bit and praise, criticise, ponder in equal measure. This is ye olde Fungal take on matters at hand!

The 'Intro' is just such a thing and slowly ascends into a brassed up blow out that doesn't hang about. It segues into the first song proper known as 'Keep Smiling', an effort that aches to split its own seams with spittle-soaked vocal urgency and rasping sub-raucous rhythm. The aroma is new-skool skankage with a little bit more on top and the band immediately show articulation and sanguinity by refusing to bail out early (which could be a good or bad thing dependant of personal opinion) and by opting to indulge in many flavours that test the unit as a whole. This track and the fast following 'Opening My Eyes' are pinnacles of a sound CD that shows unlimited promise for future jaunts. This latter track ups the ante and swings itself into glorious gear with a spacious opening verse, a triumphant edge and an all round satisfied feeling. Numerous scuttles, hot pulsations, hungered overtones shine through with knowledgeable attention to construction most obvious. 2 fine songs to jig to - what better way to start.

'Double Vodka And Regret' persuades, deals with pissology, switches momentum from regular riffs to high puncturing beats. The initial drift seems slightly out of focus and I get the feeling the band fail to truly nail this number as well as the pursuing 'Forge And Hammer'. The ambiguity of direction leaves one just a little bewildered as all ingredients are sound and savoury but just not blended as needed. I can't fault the effort and talent it is just a question of the end concoction that just misses my searching taste buds. I'll be in the minority here with this opinion - such is the reviewers curse (eternal wankers it seems we are destined to be and ever-growing pachyderms). 2 songs I can take but rather leave - bugger!

'Drunken Dramatics And Cult Classics' is buoyant, more effective as a result and seems to know where it is going and what it wants to achieve. The lead from verse to chorus is clearer and the impetus more orthodox although in parts the crew take it easy and flatline out a beat too level for my lugs. I like the overall essence though and it seems a somewhat comforting song that doesn't need to grab throat and shake like fuck. An odd thing this music assessing. 'Broken Believers' swaggers in with full-bloodied confidence and yet restrains itself from becoming carried away. Corroded and gritted the murky opening salvo seeks and destroys previous thoughts that the band would maintain the hygienic approach. More brassage invades, a stable rhythm adopted, minor skirmishes add interest and overall we have a ditty that prods and pokes at a chance of becoming so much more. Not bad, oozing potential - keep watching the acoustic airspace. 'Ride It Out' cuts out, switches off, takes a snooze. A blanked moment that offers recovery time and sub-reggaes along on doped heels that create little in the way of atmosphere. Misplaced, too long, faux pas epitomised - hey ho at least the attempt shows the band won't rest on their laurels.

'Pretty Shitty City' cuts straight in and picks up a bouncy baton of vibrology and runs with it. A finer example of the good points of this band and jumping in on merry toes before opening out the folds of the cacophonic blanket and making for a fairly smooth listen. The vocals are still raw, the guitars testing, the sticks higgledy piggledy and thus we get much to mull over and much to please the various mental desires. It seems a short song which always bodes well. 'Black Cat' bites and grumbles before power-punching loose and then travelling hard along a usual route that still has much to investigate. The band keep on their toes and move around the sound room with nimble craftiness and place sonic slaps in ideal places so as to reverberate to the max. Enough shit is kicked up to avoid making this a thoroughly bleached and blanched affair and that mucky aspect is what gives the final identifying character - it will do for me.

The closure is called 'Maybe Next Time', a finale that staggers about and just needed that extra 'wham' factor to sign off in super strong style. It isn't a bad song but just outweighed in many departments by the sinew of previous ditties. Let me bail out early and give this a rating of 'average'.

So a CD that packs much to consider and sets out a stall on which to build. I think Detached are worth keeping an eye on and even though I feel they are far from the finished article I reckon they have one hell of a humdinging album in em'. This is OK but there is something special in there and yet again Fungal demands. A mix of short and long efforts with definite skank and definite hardcore intertwined alongside mellower moments will be the key and I have no doubt this crew can nail it. So far though not bad - have a ponder please - it helps all round.



Another fuckin' compilation - bah, bollocks, bumwap! These are ain't easy things to review tha' knows - why trouble me this way ha, ha. 20 tracks chosen by the peddlers at Punk and Disorderly Radio and Punk Britannia Radio and reeking of the underdog noise that is so often pissed up a wall and rarely ever sniffed. A load of fucks in the scene talk as though they are underdog impresarios and waffle their own bollocks off so as to keep their options open, maintain a kudos they have long since lost touch with and also to look fuckin' trendy when the situation requires. I see through all this crapulence and no longer worry who is hiding behind what mask or what game they are trying to play at the expense of others attempts. What I do know however (so far at least) is that the people responsible for compiling this cacophonic montage have their hearts in the right places and are doing it (so it seems) for the right reasons (ever the sceptic these days). So without further tossology let's get this one dealt with and if you don't believe 100% stop reading now and get the fuck out from where you don't belong!

The first batch of 4 are very exciting indeed with a mix of sounds from across the sonic landscape that will meet the desires of the many. Jesus And His Judgemental Father have the hard task of opening and do so with the rock chick offering 'Rock Star'. Sexualised, organised, none-too forceful this one eases the listener in albeit on an unexpected path. Well-produced and laid over with smoky satin vocals that thrive amidst the delicately put corrosion of the instruments. Acid Drop spill inward next with the anthemic (and perhaps a little corned) 'Kids Of The Rebellion'. Very, very Americanised and just as good as the stuff that comes from across the pond this isn't exactly gutter puke but it is very good, advanced noise nonetheless and beats me as to why this lot aren't getting bigger notice than they do. A clever and clichéd song rolled into one but played quite beautifully. The Senton Bombs pursue and are a band with their rock and roll asses on fire. I like the band, I like the album from which this gem is taken - fiery stuff full of dripping relish and one of the best tracks of the lot - no need to add anymore at all! The Vile bring up the rear of this opening quadrology and hit us hard with the thrashing noisy surge named as 'Busted Again'. Nailbomb harshness, all areas scratched deep, this is a swift racket that alters the tone of the CD nicely. The production perhaps doesn't compliment as it should but this one is worthy of its place on the CD!

Next 4 and the fantastic Black Light Mutants invade and injure with the classic 'Complimanix'. Harsh nuclear horror that inspires and perfectly blends ill-temper, frustration, cutting sonica and electro-hate - wonderful stuff and on par with the aforementioned Bombs track albeit in its own unique way. Flat Back Four dish up their new technical tuneage that is far better in the 'live' pit than on CD. This lot do what they do so well but that doesn't always mean I am in agreement with the output. Even so this is a fair effort that is well-played and produced and indicates a strong active unit - it just so happens I can take or leave it - bah! The Bullet Kings are yet another band who have been under the Fungal Radar and pleased on many a fucked up occasion. 'Arab Spring' is indicative of the bands sound and style (a little too much so) and is typical fare from a feisty band. Not their greatest song, not their worst - just one of those. Not much else to add really - ooh that's two hate mails I'll be getting! The Drastics close the second batch and do so with the DIY lowbrow racket 'Checkin' Out Society' a number that appeals to my primitive passions and one that does the job that needs be done and pulls no pretentious punches. A good voice for the scum that has sunk to the bottom - nice pummelling grind!

Sky Rocket Jack pour in some anorak noodleship with a confession of 'I Like Trains'. Dickheads on the go with a tune one should shunt away but one which you can't help but get on track with and chug along to. Sub-skankage, jerky (or jerk off), utterly merry and very enjoyable for all the innocent reasons. Nowt wrong with some twattology in punk and when done in such a pure way it makes for a good episode of light relief. The Olive Branch inform us 'That's The Way The Cookie Crumble' via a funky ska-attack that has much fluster and bluster and plucked up zest. The underlying essence is laidback and so a minor contradiction is had and despite the final finish of the song not being as utterly needed the variety aspect is sweet. Tempo and standard is immediately increased as 'band of the moment' Dirtbox Disco knock out a regular riffed up piece of quality with all clarity and rock and roll touches at the fore and making 'Radio, Radio' highly fuckin' listenable and equally enjoyable. Hostages For Smack tumble in next with their unexpected sound, this one going by the name of 'Tonight'. Hurtling without concern the mix offered is toxic, somewhat nasty but..appealing. I always feel I could find numerous faults with this band but then don't have the non-punky pretension to back up the arguments. It is unwashed, it is crude, but within the weave much transpires and I like it.

And then comes...The brassed up and obvious 'What Gives You The Right' by Counting Coins. Very much of the skankoid procedure that boldly blows its own horn and mixes in scuttles, scuffles and episodes of rapped verbology. Undulating with intensifying action and the pushing bass - it holds its own folks. Choking Susan gives us a taste of the 'Aqua Queen' with the bitchy gobbage in fine form, the strings and sticks copulating hard and the overall gist non too serious. You know what you get here! Juno impress with the clear and clean cut tumult known as 'The Progress'. A new band for these here lugs and one that prods! Combining some tight musicianship, aromas of snap, crackle and pop, US professionalism and good organisation this may not be the gutter punk that I frequently seek but it is a darn good listening piece. New school with etchings of old! Will Tun and the Wasters' wind down this next gathering of four with the spacious sub-acoustic gem 'Skank For Me'. Aching of Do The Doggian influences such a Drewvis and Blake this is a solid delight that entices the dancer within and maintains a good shoe-shuffling joy that will get many a crowd moving. Kevin Flowerdew - listen up - a signing for sure! This song at such a late stage breathes in some fresher air and shakes up the back end of a still standing CD.

We close with the final, but still fantastic, four with The Fuckwits spreading their own brand of 'Panic And Paranoia'. Clashy, rumbling, triumphant, vibrant - the noise travels a rocky road and flourishes with superb success in many parts and this is a choice cut to take us down that home stretch. SR Radio joyously 'Party At Andersons' and escalate upwards with modern mixing of sounds that gives so many glimpses of things new and things somewhat old. It is a sweet blend and avoids frilled fuckology which usually saves the arse of these current day composites. There is a deep seated vibe that wins appreciation and we crack on to the penultimate statement of 'Nothing New' by The Splash. Cheesed at first, harmonised, upping the ante and metamorphing into a cluttered effort that takes a little adjusting too. Not the greatest track on the CD but still offering something to investigate. Many tangents are thrown in and I am intrigued as to if this is the bands normal style or they separate more sharply and have greater success - I'll be checking them out for sure. We close the door to the CD with an old fave crew of mine, namely Social Schism and their tempestuous 'Price Of Liberty And Life'. You get your warning, some hard-sweated bass and then a super fast tumult of fizzing energy that has some wild male releases countered by some seething she hate. The cacophony is 100mph and this new fresher sounding SS machine is nifty enough indeed.

The CD is a snippet of the glut of good noise out there for you, the curious, to seek out. There is no reason why you shouldn't be onto this and then checking out the bands 'live' other than faking your support for the Underdog (which I see going on everyday). Now wake up, smell the stench of something done so as to keep things rolling - be it uphill or downhill - blah. Consume!
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