A Nottingham singer/strummer backed by his crew of The Monstrous Dead and what we have here is a folky indie-fied hotch potch of cool hazy sonica that relies on persuasive notes and enticing essences rather than rupturing chords and bulldozing insistences. It keeps me on my eclectic toes despite it not being the predictable racket found on the Fungalised turntable, which incidentally, is no bad thing! A new approach here, dealing with bunches of three until the multiplication process runs out - needs must, the back log continues to grow, full attention is still given but a tighter train of text is had.

The first fistful and 'Oh These Endless Fears' breaks the silence and gently pulses before honey roast vocals take a countrified hint and blend with crisp, sub-commune 60's chilliness. The result is a mid-paced sway of US style acoustica that has an appealing naturalness and approachability. 'The Girl, Spread Legged, The Canvas' is a sexualised jaunt that snakes itself around your musical inner thigh and reaches up and teases the scrotal senses. A silky stroke comes via a sub-chorus, a bout of slight uncertainty is had via the cool instrumental - it all contributes to an enchanting number. Definitely a mood piece though so get those erogenous zones ready (and no that ain't somewhere just outside of Vietnam). 'Circles' closes the opening trio and has more upbeat melody and rhythmic push. For me the song is ruined because I can't shake off a similarity between this and that bilge release called 'Achey Breaky Heart' ha, ha. I hate that style of sound and all its corned clichés and uncomfortable undercurrent. This one shivers me timbers for all the wrong reasons and Mr Cyrus is the only person I know who may get aroused by this - just not my fodder people.

Next three and the doleful cruise of 'Friends' is simply a comforting tune that feather floats down into a settled position of self satisfied sanguinity. Nothing to rip you a new arsehole here but there doesn't have to be. Being primarily a fidgety, unsettled sod who likes to release tension this one took some adjusting to - I know a few who will chill to this. 'On Working On The Chain Gang' is languid, switched off, serene and barely touched. For me the approach is too tepid throughout until the thermals are blown harder via a closing sub-chorus section that revitalises the senses. The tonsils are stretched, the success levels ascend, the interest grows - such is the stance of a listener on the outside - take note all ye wary wannabe purchasers. 'You lot, You're all Different' trickles with delicacy, wonders, wises up but flatly refuses to get itself into a passionate state - nicely played and lyrically sharp but again lacking the ball grab I desired.

'Devil's Drop' begins with almost Muddied Waters, sprightly bounces, shakes up the acoustic charm and then snatches at the attention. The new style is welcome, it displays potential in pastures new, it keeps me alert. Bluesy, retro in some respects, neatly sizzled by harmonised components - interesting. 'Bad Girls' is saloon bar sanguinity with a stoned accent and low slung cockiness. Attired in acoustic leather, slightly perspired and with a raunchy suggestion this is slow fuck thermality to writhe to - enjoy. 'Up In The Air' seems borne from a Christian circle where smiles are uncertain, warmth is sinister and the shoulders around the arm is less than a little comforting (paranoia and experience are an awful combination at times). A few drawled twinges in the gobbage, a real overly comfy float and I am rather restless here - a no, no for sure from this Fungalised fidget.

Last 2 and 'That Door' is slow roasted sizzle sonica that festers within its own musical mire and simply crawls along. A few lifts of the noisy noggin to cause a stir fail to raise my hopes of a crash, bang, wallop episode and I move on with my tail between my legs. 'M.a. t. r. i. m. o. n. y.' is a cheeky jaunt with tongue somewhat in cheek and the country air blown feel throughout works. It is played neatly, runs like liquid prose and is of course, in keeping with the CD and reflective of the artistes’ intent.

So an offering that leaves me somewhat cold, despite the fine playing, attentive production levels, odd few numbers that intrigue and easy as you go slant. I can't find fault and I can't really slate this as a bag of poor man's shite but I still don't like it in the main. The best advice I can offer is to see what ya think yourself and feedback - I'll take some persuading to play this again though!


Slutch - what the fuck is going on?  A fine band with some absolute classic songs led by a frontman who, may it be said, is a twat but a likeable twat nonetheless and a real fuckin' talent.  The band have appeared and disappeared in equal measure over the last few years and I know not what will happen next.  The fact is though we seem to have the most settled offering to date with several regular faces from the pissbowl circuit up and ready to roll.  Between them the players bring an absolute avalanche of nouse to the table so why shouldn't I expect much?  Well - 1 twat would be fine but here we have 4 - anything could happen.  Seriously though - 4 top chaps whom, if encouraged and given room to express themselves, should fuckin' nail it.  So here are the first three songs for Fungal to assess - Slutchtastic! 
Strum, machine gun, strum, machine gun - riffage - the title track 'Smack Cab'  slaps ya mug and wakes up your neurones of noise with a simple ‘chant and state’ racket that is loaded with melody and honest ensnaring poppoid chords.  Barnes at the fore adds his flavoured utterances and gives the song a clarity as well as an approachability.  The inner break scuzzes its own discordant duds but the rhythm throughout is maintained and we have quite a sweet listen on our hands.  Easy as ye go sir.  Soft starlight twinkles and erotic urges begin 'Train Wreck' before the six-strung serpent is encouraged to express itself a little more.  A great sound indeed and pursued by a more scant verse section that is remarkably effective despite its nakedness.  The bass rumbles, the drums tiptoe and the chorus cut comes - we are encouraged by an enthusiastic 'Come on', and then the delightful sextet of wires are wobbled to ecstatic levels.  The songs title belies the fact that this is a smart number that stays on line and any thought of a derailment is totally unjustifiable - a crackin' ditty.
Upsurge in the output and 'Tramp Generation' thunders swiftly with all players working hard to keep the pace and maintain a strict tightness - they do just that.  Again another smart song with numerous touches recognisably Slutchy and all the while the inter-fucking between those two nebulous sonic shits known as pop and punk carries on.  Not much to add - it's simply effective and needs little kicking from me.
So here we go again, Slutch re-emerge, hit the sonic hotspots and have much to build on - will they fly forth, or fuck off back under a stone?  I hope its the former - the scene needs bands like this.  Think on chaps and please send your QC to...



Colorado OI in the meanest and grittiest style with 2 bands offering a brace of songs each for the shaven headed to drool over. I don't mind a bit of good old Oi, it all adds to the sonic spice box and I am expecting here some brawn laden tracks without apology. In we go and let us examine the racket. Take note, I have played these tracks more than my usual 5 to 7 spins, there is just something that leaves me with little to say (which is no bad thing).

99 Bottles first and 'Lost My Way', a traditional burst of regular booted riffage that keeps to a set theme and upholds the honesty of the sub-genre. No fancy unnecessaries just a solid intro, grimaced gobbage, interspersed unified hollers, the odd 'fuck you' and of course an easy rhythm to join in with and stomp. It is a somewhat safe opening gambit but granite hard and utterly reliable. 'Skinhead Violence' is an ideal partner for the previous song and this time a greater intensity of tone and higher level of weight to the intent is had. Similar in construct to its predecessor with robust bass, pounding drums and well manipulated guitar that is kept on a firm leash. The song works, has a good chant of 'skinhead' to encourage the bald jigging buggers and I move on with no complaints.

Total Annihilation puke up 'The Glory It Once Was', a mid paced rasped up bout of dinnage that starts with several power blows and displays throughout a palpitating stick rhythm, a strummed and flicked guitar, a snarled and screwed up vocal style and a super bass weave that quite nearly dominates. A middle break is brief, the relentless push for home rewarding and again we have efficient, ethical, unflustered Oi to enjoy. The crew’s second offering entitled 'You Never Were' is the longest track of the lot and may it be said, my favourite. Again the players nail it, work with a greater intensity and thrive within a racket that is buzzing, alive and thoroughly saturated. No let up from start to finish except for a shadowglass guitar sequence that is perfectly timed and keeps the impetus flowing.

That's it - 4 tracks, no complaints, as solid as a rock and without pointless tassels of tone and wayward wanderings that many add just for the ego driven hell of it - take note - don't. Sometimes the most direct style is best - point proven here!



Sometimes, seeing a band and capturing their flavour can knock you for six and send you on a new direction within the sonic landscape. 13 Krauss witnessed the might of The Real McKenzies, duly dropped their routine spikes and added bags with pipes and thus improved their whole punching power and general. The noise is growing, the tracks here are of a certain ilk but it is more than apparent that this Celtic folk punk sextet from Zaragoza are really enjoying what they do. Somehow the buggers pick up on the Fungal reviews, request one and so...get one. Here it is, in usual unswayed, sincere and hard fought terms.

'XIII' blows coolly in with suspicious impish caution. I remain alert, just as well, the soundscape is torn via a rupturing sonic wind that begins a foot stomping charge that forces you along into what is a joyous opening whirl. The textures expected are all there, interwoven with knowledgeable digits and much care - terse and tantalising - what wonderful journey have we set ourselves in for? The title track 'Seguir En Pie' crackles and sparks with happening effervescence before catapulting forward into a slightly roughened tumult of agreeable tuneage. This music, when thoroughly captured, is surely one of the more intoxicating sonic beverages to partake of. One sip, two sip, three skip, four - jig yer bollocks off. Excellent stuff with predictable, yet exciting trimmings, aplenty.

'Oscura Realidad' is a slamdunking bout of serious strength that is the most physical number of the lot. Persuasive, more determined and with a blossoming bout of unified gobs this track is a gem and add to the end mix a most concrete bass drive and a keyed out break that is overly pregnant with passion and texture and for me, this is a new echelon of acoustic exactitude attained. 'Mejor Postor' tumbles, injects itself with the obviously abundant supply of sonic serum the band have to hand and thus galvanises itself into a steady swing of wonderful rhythm and easy listening power. A galore of snagging essences are ours to get entrapped by, an avalanche of cacophonic caresses are given so as to drift along with, a superfluity of sanguinity is kiss blown our way with warmth and good spirit aplenty. Feel good music with a sharper edge than some of the cheesed up bilge out there and, very much in keeping with the sub-generic demands - fan-bloody-tastic!

3 swifter assessments (as I do now and again) with 'Volveremos' a drifting bout of tranquil isle thoughtfulness where open water is rippled with heartfelt application and acoustic gulls soar amid silver lined clouds laden with hope. One to just drift with and make up your own sonic scenes to. 'Little Timmy' reacquaints us with zipping impetus and lively inflection and gives us a rewarding bout of tuneage with all the expected deliciousness the band have to offer. To close this quick trick trio of appraisals is a ditty called 'Insane', an odd little outpouring that has a sub-barn dance feel and yokelised lunacy. Fidgety, plucky, beer soaked it seems - this one has me initially scratching me noggin before getting into the more consuming drifts.

So 2 left, 'Camino A Seguir' confidently marches along with a military drum insistence and sweetly emotive vocal style. The mode here is insistently nudging and climbs into the rhythmic receptors and refuses to be shook free until one hops into line and moves to the beat of the song. It is regular, well trimmed and does just enough to be applaudable. A quite tidy affair in fact. We shut down with 'Atlandtida', a closing offering that goes for it with gusto and convincing relish thus grasping the finest elements of the band and delivering them in the most rewarding style. Flamenco-ed at first, then rising higher on eager tones fanned by spirited bellows the players are utterly in control of. The entire gushing is a prime example of all that has past and full stops a statement by a band very much at ease within their own groove. Powerful, melodic, easily enjoyed - what 3 better ingredients are there?

Well, again I delve into the Celtic rock sub-pit and yet again I come away smiling. Tis true that this kind of noise is very restricted in what it can achieve as regards diversity and I would like to see bands jump in and really try some alternate styles whilst staying true to the genres ethics. I shall not complain here though, 13 Krauss do a splendid job and over the course of this CD have kept me thoroughly enthralled. Next time of course my requests will be different but I have no doubt this is an outfit who can meet them no matter what their angularity. Check it out!


Catchy. It is a shit word really and so fuckin' routine but it is one we all use now and again and in fact best sums up Nervous Twitch - catchy indeed. I have put these Leeds oddities on a couple of shows so far and reviewed one CD - by heck I am enthralled. The last viewing was superb and when I was handed this CD to review I, foolishly some would say, expected much. Was I to be disappointed? It does happen quite regularly and I have my fingers, toes and in fact, nadgers crossed that this 4 tracker will come up trumps, if not...well honesty must prevail. On we go...

We commence with the sinister bass line of 'This Modern World'. Strings creep in and prepare the way for a slinky dinky vibe punctuated by synthoid twinges and regular drums taps. The vocal style that comes is lucid, clear and perfectly apt for the mode set and the overall enchanting drift works splendidly well before reaching a superb crescendo via a sub-garage, sub-retro chorus that brings into play many fine elements from a varied backdrop of sonica. The middle break appeals and the closure comes all too soon but leaves one gagging for more. Excellent indeed. 'Baby 'I'm Bored' is more deliberate in rhythm, more robust in stature and stomps forward with mid-paced melody backed by utter conviction in the sound created. The swing in the rhythm is spot on, the fuzzed guitar an ideal escort for the hollowed out and somewhat transparently heartfelt vocals and this is another delicious cut of underfed acoustica created by the hands of artistes in the generic know. The offering ascends in stature as it progresses and numerous string touches add that finishing gloss. 2 songs and for me two absolute stunners filled with lowbrow contagion that cannot be cured.

Taking a back seat the lass at the fore leaves this one to her male counterpart and adds her gobbage only as a backing touch. This scuttled up swifter track known as 'You Ask Me Why' is contrast to the more premeditated flow of the previous two tracks and as a result, itself and the aforementioned beauties, all get enhanced. From the eager twinge of the guitar, through the busy lo-fi incessance of the verse and via the basic but effective chorus, this one works and is a choice ingredient to the whole mix, albeit a trifle unexpected. Quick and to the point (which is essential) this unwashed little ditty attracts and doesn't waste your time with any tuned tomfoolery. We close with 'Stuck In The Mud' a booty shuffling instrumental that will have the dance floors full and the psychedelic lights swirling overhead. A furrowed brow edge is had, a surfy feel injected, a 60's strut maintained as well as the usual undercooked essence blowing through. A marvellous effort and again keeping the running time nice and trim.

Well I knew Nervous Twitch were good but here they have grasped at their potential and proven themselves to be a real quality outfit on CD. 'Live' they are an innocent delight and are on of those cacophonic commodities you can enjoy without any sub-text. Natural, melodic, worthwhile and thoroughly enjoyable - get into the groove people and get this disc spinning.



The Long Tall Texans - boy these seem to have been around for ages. Always in the background, wheedling away, delivering the goods but not getting full on recognition - hey, they ain't alone. The output is soaked with rockabilly/psychobilly toneage and contains many punked attributes as well as an overabundance of sub-generic, may it be said, clichés? This is meant as no slur as the band do have their own identifiable vibe going on despite having numerous trimmings towards the obvious. They have a good 'sod-busting' fan base, work consistently and have a lengthy discography to be proud of but what of the here and now, the latest spillage from the bands sonic serpent, how will that fair under the Fungal scope? Only one way to find out and with a more direct, more suggestive style of review (with the same old 100% honesty of course) I hope I can go someway of giving you a fair taste of what is on offer.

The initial impressions to be shoved up my assessing passage of dis/appreciation are smoked with a 60's westernised certainty with the opening instrumental 'Taxi' a galloping horse that has its head down and is happy to snort along into the thrust of the CD proper. This opening salvo is delightful and the reinforcing follow up of 'Girlfriend', a rolled in groove up that has a sinister suspicion of fanny to fanny delights, is a perfect follow on with all areas sweetly produced and with just that oh so bone tickling darker edge. The metallic guitars are slightly cursed, glisten with sub-insidiousness and are enthused by the lively bass and bins thus creating a fine end mush. The lucid vocals set a standard to be met throughout and I race forth all eager and juiced up.

Throughout the next fistful of delights I find some real intricate tuneage driven by heavy impetus and professional sharpness that has been cultivated by years of serious commitment to the noise. The main appeal that needs obviously re-emphasising is the mid-paced melody that is just so darn ensnaring and so wonderfully clear. No fuzzed filth, no noxious notes wandering off the leash - hygienic, brylcreemed, cologne splashed cleanliness - I should spit, I applaud instead and recognise this most rewarding facet. 'Sex, Beer and Psychobilly' is the next notable track that embraces the finer features mentioned and with its easy sing-a-long crawl this will undoubtedly become something of a signature tune. I like the chasing 'Terry', and its narrative style that throws something new into the mix and shows the band to be thinking on their beetle-crushing feet.

Further into the CD we come across other gems with stand outs being the self -loathing stompiness of 'I Hate Myself', a song soaked in jealous tones and wretched honesty, the forthright twinkled-toed viciousness of 'What Part Of Fuck Off Don't You Understand' and the sweet embrace of 'I Fell In Love With A Zombie'. The two tracks that close proceedings are known as 'I Used To Feel Funny' and 'Feels Like Ice', the former is a creepy cool graveyard crawl that deals with lycanthropic tendencies in fine style whereas the latter is a swing and surge episode of counterpunching noise that mixes the approach whilst maintaining the impeccable production values. You will do well to find fault!

And that is that, high class spooky sonica from a band well versed in their trade. They don't need compliments from old humble Fungal here but hey, I was never one to keep me yap shut. Good band, good CD, good enough for ya - shut it and spin!



One man, his output and outlook and a 4 track teaser to salivate over - or do I exaggerate? The guy who grooms us with his tuneful weapon used to be at the helm of a quality band known as The Dead Class and anyone who witnessed this crew will know the credentials here are surely fine and dandy. We know there is a lot of restless rhythm to burst free, is this the way to exorcise the demons of noise or has our fiddler twanged his strings in the wrong place? Here we shall hopefully reveal a little of the answer - boing!

'Uncle Betty' is unsettling artistry borne from an angular victim of cacophony who likes to masturbate tangents and explore obscure recesses where disturbed rhythms await a kicking. We creep in with sinister tones, that duly pose questions to a cross-dressing deviant who lives more than one life. A mystery is set but we all know what goes on in the hours of darkness. A skip in the step, the double existence is exposed further, our player rises to the reveal, a spooky slant is thrown in that almost makes this a full on mockery. The weave though is quite marvellous and this intriguing ditty has many favourable touches and as mentioned, that unsettling edge. The mix is splendid and compliments the style set - a lovely start and the video that floats on-line is worth a watch too. 'No Reward' palpitates and seems unsure at first at to which direction to take. Creoleian touches, a suggestion that something calypsotic or skanked may develop - what we get instead is a stutterfest of nervousness that never truly finds its feet. An agitated number you wait to fully develop - it never does and leaves one a little short as regards end emotion. It ain't bad, it just feels a little unfinished - perhaps I miss the point. What the song does though is segue into the wonderful bouncing skapumpa of 'L. O. L.', a real chipper number that hotlegs it to the fore of the sonic stage and jigs its jacksie off with delightful temperament. Imagine a cockerel with its gonads on fire - the resulting dance will be similar to how you will feel whilst listening to this - watch yer giblets, they may just prolapse - cock-a doodle-do!

We close with 'Chalk 'n' Cheese', a pleasing cut of poppage that revels in an emotional self-made pit and duly emanates a feel good factor that is highly believable and utterly charming. Far from orthodox but containing regular trimmings, albeit in a mixed up fashion with added vigour, this is a montage of controlled mayhem that somehow manifests itself as a very listenable tune. It reflects the skill behind the sonic structure - you have been warned.

Villy Raze has talent, the talent just needs to be harnessed and, obviously, stretched. This is a crackin' CD that shows considerable promise although I do feel the artist in question will over dabble at times and make the odd cock up along the way but, I reckon more often than not, we will get some absolute stunning numbers coming our way. There is an intriguing underlying edge here, one that you don't often encounter, and this acute precipice will either make or break the future - my money is on the former. Check this talent out, take it outside of the circle you find yourself in and just have fun - a very solid effort.



A group I have dabbled with since their early pubescent days (in a none Saville-ian way of course - now then, now then) and have revealed a crew who are very slack on the output front to say the least. Frontman Scott though makes no apologies for this and has told me in the past the band is merely a bit of fun and an excuse to play some noise and meet some fellow artistes and share a few beers (emphasis on the beers it would appear). I have no gripes with that and like the bands approach, attitude and output and when having dealt with them have found no problems whatsoever. This is a 3 tracker (well you weren't expecting anything more were you) and comes after the usual patchy gigging this lot do. It has been a while, it had better be good, without any further fannying these louts from the North West of England get sonically scrutinised (and my pants remain zipped up throughout).

'Border Parasite' is an old fave of mine and one I would be wary of the band dabbling with. My fears are unfounded. What Glue Ear do, is take one of their best songs, maintain the inner core and then strip away the outer flesh and re-adorn with extra muscle, more defined structure and sinewy strength. The result is a really fuckin' pleasing effort that thrives with more power and more musical liquidity that comes only with experience, sanguinity and a willingness to push. The whole cacophony is consuming and as it is one of my more favoured Glue Ear tracks it goes without saying it is now, for me anyway, the best of the lot. The inner break is neat and in keeping with the flow, the general zest exciting - nice one lads.

'False Intentions' is a more intensive grind with the focus clear and the band seemingly more wound up in both inflection and spirit. Power surges arise within the hard fought push and the band continue to advance in stature with numerous switches and intercuts that show progression and learning. The song winds up its own coil and releases it over and over again with a new found lease of life that is enhanced via the production room. The gobbage and lyrical content are more than a little apt and overall my respect is given - why not?

Repetitive slaps, a brief careen off course, back on track and spraying gravelled toneage with regularity - here come the vicious anti-chav lyrics delivered in machine-like fashion and with utter hate throughout. A real screwing number that drills into your head, whizzes up the cerebral gunk and then smashes the skull wide open and creates an ensuing mess. Quick, well drilled, to the fuckin' point - 'Choke' on it!

Glue Ear may move at the pace of a slug on Vallium but move they do and, as always, the direction is forward. This is by far and away the bands best work to date and if they can follow this up with another sharp dressed three tracker some concrete foundations will be there on which to build. I suspect the crew will potter along at their own pace though and as long as they stay honest, likeable and true to their own hearts I won't argue. Big smiles this end - do it yer own way!



Now, if you keep up with the reviews on this website you will know by now that I rate this fluffy poppoid outfit very highly and deem some of their earlier work quite fuckin' classical. They have a charm that runs through the story telling songs that they do so wonderfully well and on more than one occasion have had me absolutely gushing over their produce. This hotch potch of artistes knows its stuff, refuses to go down the 3 chord wank off route and tries mightily hard to produce something...different. Of course that 'difference' will fly past many heads that are screwed on so tightly their vision is ultimately restricted but, nonetheless, on the band plough doing their 'thing' which is what I would recommend to anyone striving for sonic freedom. So only 3 tracks this time (on flexi disc - how wobbly), will the tastebuds be tickled or will things fall short and leave me wanting a whole lot more - the review reveals all.

'' opens its orifice and grumbles and gripes with heavy vibes that duly con us into thinking a heavy sludge of sound is going to wash us off our feet. Wrong! No sooner has the weightily wobbled gist hit us than in comes the smoothly fluffed vocals so prevalent within the weave of the CG constructions. The opposing elements combine with liquidity and run along on an embracing melody that has many recognisable idiosyncrasies fans of this crew will recognise. The style is convincing without any overbearing tones and the theme of the song is well dealt with as those date hungry devils will confirm (I presume). I have most probably said this before but I will say it again without fear of repetition - Colin's Godson have an artistry all of their own and have so many resources to call upon that excitement is rekindled over and over again and one really is always expectant of unusual twists and turns as well as quality easy listening music - again I am not disappointed here. 'Jim Gellatly's TV Dream' is another fluffed cruise, this time telling a tale of the Scottish Radio Presenter who does the business as regards the overlooked. Vocally tender, musically delicate, rhythmically careful - the keys delight, the bass injects a small dose of oomphage - this is a terse tinkle to tiptoe waltz to- very sweet.

The closure of the three is named 'Lovestrung', a sonic sponge saturated with the warmest of waters and applied to your receptive acoustic skin with delicacy at the optimum. The flavour has me best making comparisons to an elongated cadence built on marshmallow lilts that have also been stretched out in a snug repose of relaxed comfortableness. A real cushy nest of well woven noise - settle in, incubate your interest, watch enjoyment hatch.

I like Colin's Godson, can you tell? I care not for restrictive genres, I hold no sway with box ticking procedure - if a band does something well and tickles my dome of discordance in the process then I shall not complain. Lovely stuff this and all I ask is that the band keep going, don't rest on their laurels, keep seeking out new themes to keep them stretched and to just keep the faith. CG I salute thee!


Stephen Robert Rook Thompson dabbles, dribbles, drives his point home via a hotch potch of acoustic angularity. He comes forth on troubled heels, travels angular avenues and cares not for any set boundaries.  I am always up for listening to these awkward peddlers of racket – what do we get here them?

First two spillages and 'Possessed (live) - Limbo Mix' and 'Slegna Love Affair' are two monstrous montages of inner demon exorcism that undoubtedly drops into the category of sub-music which, as one can imagine, makes for a very disturbing listen indeed. Both tracks combine their sludgy weight and come in at a 20 minute 58 second listening experience. The intent is to spread the sonic gloop every which way possible and to infect the silent soundscape with invasive infection that is always liable to displease. I find both tracks haunting, heavy, blindingly dense and sincerely discomforting - is this personal therapy, is this a soul under fire striving for a way out - it does arouse sable thoughts. I move on before the maelstrom drags me down too far.

'Working Class Pharaoh' is detached drifting that despises the working regime and all the rules and regulations that come with it. There is a likeable float to this one with a cool spite interwoven between the delicate tones. Again this is disturbing but in a way as to be almost dangerous - a kind of grooming malevolence slips through and slowly rises up against the set procedure. 'Bloody Revolutions' is a cover of the Crass classic and done in shimmering ghostly style with the vocals elfin-like and dripping with poisonous intent. Musically it is minimal with a fat bass line the dictator. The song, as an end construct, will be difficult to digest for anyone who is not familiar with the original but for those who are well versed in the anarcho-punks spew then a grasp on where this is coming from (and going to) should be had. 'The Meating' is a ramble through grey landscapes where the masses fall into line, compete and duly rot with routine. Stated and heavily sedated with yet more disgruntled affect, the only gripe I find with this one is the running time - way too long. I like the shadowed singing, almost self-mocking, a contrast that suggests a schizophrenic horror within a spiralling mind filled with many pre-erupted pustules!

'One Soul God Sucker' doesn't even make an attempt at anything musical and is a saw mill buzz escorted by a machined repetition - insane persistence, a full fuck off to rhythm - a pure annoyance. 'Matrem Tuam Pedicavi' is fucked sound textured experimentation with the whole affair a segment of Hellish suffering and best played loud, in a swirling room of coloured lights with several acid tabs racing through your tortured system. Octopus faced beasts emerge, swallow your soul and squeeze blood from every orifice - it is done with abhorrent sexualisation and a deep seated disgust is puked over your bedroom slippers of safety. 'Alice Through The Ampule Glass' is more wordage amid a melting pot of head zaps, fuzz snaps, wire flaps - this is a diseased number sliding calloused sonic hands over your disgusted skin - not for the faint hearted. 'Arable Grazing For Parabolic Sheep', clinks and clangs, bends the fields of decency, fractures the substrate and beckons for the demons of the earth to mutter their incantations. The flow is treacle-like, thick, glutinous, unstoppable - once the tin of tuned intent is tipped - I run for cover!

2 left and 'Existential Lightbulb Joke' crawls with mechanised horror, glances a few sub genres but keeps within its own warped circle.  A primitive ripple bubbles up grinding terror tones, the vocals fight for air and come at you as each oxygen pocket rises and explodes.  The fight continues but a final abandonment seems to come, a finishing ‘fuck it’ – hey ho.  ‘Without Sin’ is a sub-narrative, a spoken word almost with bare toned touches and the odd invasive hum of nervousness.  I like this one and feel our artist should spend extra time on this more orthodox style whilst still including those uncomfortable oddments of angst.  A nice closure for sure.

So we have a right old mix here, a veritable ragbag of experimentation done in purist DIY terms.  In parts I struggle, in others I am dragged along and submit to the deluge of tonality – it was always destined to be that way.  For me the best advice I can give is to chug on, keep outside the norm, never fear the more routine though – mix, match, smash and snatch.
Page 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,
11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,
21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30,
31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40
41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50
51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60
61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70
71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80
81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90
91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100