HEADSTICKS - THE BEST THING ON TV

It seems like an age since I reviewed anything by this angsty folked off band and I was gagging at the bit to get my lugs wrapped around the latest listening matter. Of course many will receive and jack off a review in double quick time whereas I like to ponder, toss around the palette and then put digit tip to keyboard.  The band have set high standards, I am a pernickety bugger at times (with the best of intentions tha' knows) and the coming together of two forces produce the following outcome.

Track the first and as the musical cup doth overfloweth I sip gently at first before becoming insatiably desirous to get loaded on an opening tune that more than quenches the thirst.  Thumpings with certainty, a tumble clatter approach and the first verse envelopes our attention with the recognisable passion-tones of the frontman further adding to the snag-factor.  Trouble in the cranium is the state of play, it seems this life and its confounded unpredictable tombola of fortune is all too much and as the song progresses the music combines a schizoid madness whilst holding on to the reins of organisation.  The band do what they do with a very convincing affect and get the best out of the production values which accentuate the end result.  A very steady and pleasing start with 'wallop' both subtle and developing.

'Keyboard Warriors' are an increasing force in a digital realm that gives a platform for those who are discontented and aroused by putting others down.  Everyone knows best, all talk some pretty hot shit whilst doing sweet fuck all for the betterment of the bigger picture. This is a delicious tune that points the finger, rises in angst and frustration and pounds away with a very gratifying effect.  The band have a healthy gush of gumption shining through a very articulate song of many nuances.  Sub-skankiness nips in, twilight secretiveness creeps from recesses untouched and free-flowing naturalness spills in rewarding gushes as the band reacts and appears to musically ad lib. We end up with a cultivated and cultured snippet of sniping nastiness – oh aye!

Lightened tones of cables caressed is a Headstickian texture that brings unabridged reward to this eavesdropping appreciator.  The delicate tones are what first turn my aural receptors to the bands outpourings, the early days where the band where producing many classics that still work wonders for this ragged soul.  'On Top Of The World' is a beautiful trinket of treasured tonality that says so much in its own poetical and unassuming style.  Questions asked, answers hinted at, all the while a relaxed sense of an inescapable situation is proffered.  The worry of the final fall is always there, the emotive angle, the triumphant partnership of the cacophonist and the crooners is a glorious example of being in cahoots – I reckon there has been hat-trick scored! 

Crisp guitars, a tub-thump thunder pound, a whistle and in we go, 'God Song' is the number under the searchlight.  The opening verse is regular, has all the meritorious points that the band do so ruddy well.  There is no over extension of the ability here, the band are staying within their own safe and tidy realms but... this is no duff thing because there is clout here, lyrical content to ponder more deeply, and a scenario that should, if you have any gumption and life energy, get you doing something for the greater good.  Again the productive mix is par excellence, the verbals of high quality and like I say, the content erudite and thought provoking. 'Ashes' has a very retro band feel, it takes me back to the crews early creations when things flowed with earnestness, folk-tattooed tenderness and subliminal power - things still go on with the same value and one-hundred percent passion - thank fuckin' goodness.  More questions are posed, off-shore textures pervade, the liquidity of the movement is appealing and within the twitch of an attentive ear this one is done and dusted and can be utterly trusted.  The sub-title track comes '(Don't Spoil) The Apocalypse' is a fiery titan that strides forth with a forceful reality and a fact-filled disgust.  The wank-headed bog-eyed beaten are walking to Hell with heads screwed on backwards and eyes turned only to the self-congratulating prize the fuckers will have you believe is a signature of success.  Really?  Yes - and what is coming will create rivers of shit and great proclamations of 'not my fault' personal conmanship.  This is a song borne from consideration of the planets plight and that of the human gunk - it has a bitter sting that will fall on ears clogged by wank-cheese - this is a shame.  Please folks, admire this beauty but get off your arse and do for the greater good rather than your own gain.  A cracking piece of work.

Another trio with 'There's No One Left' a gossamer touched melodic dirge with a docu-style infection pervading a song that deals with emotions, mental struggles and a somewhat disappearing world.  Doleful, bleak and perhaps overly morose, this is a funereal stroll through increasingly shadowed thoroughfares where hopelessness seems to dictate.  It can be a daunting prospect to deliver a song such as this but the band remain undeterred and send forth a self-assured song that knows just what it wants to be - it is also a great contrasting composition that helps the CD thrive.  The rumble rolls and nagging repeat snarl of 'Each And Every Day' self-escalates from a situation where an inner tortuous turmoil is perpetuated by the madness in the world where the lunatics continuously contribute to the shambles.  The frustration rising is like a simmering volcano one is standing too close to - the incandescent heat sears, one is trapped and as the layers of epidermal resistance peel away the pain is exacerbated and the options to escape are running out.  We are frying, we are dying, instead we should be fuckin' DIY'ing and resisting the flows.  I like this song (another one) - it gives me an added hoof in the rear.  The last of the latest trio is 'Dark Waters', an ascending number with yet more turmoil exposed.  Anguish emerges from seemingly stable realms in a movement that is steady, soulful and quietly absorbing.  I find this one a creation that is easy to fall in line with and one to embrace without straining any part of the aural gubbins.  Delicacies and drives force their way into chambers resonating and once more the band lullaby, lilt and passionately plea - who are we to resist and indeed, pick holes in the end product.  This is all rather marvellous.

The closing trinity of tone and chilled vibes with an underlying sinisterism come via 'St George's Infirmary'.   A look at a pigpen in disarray, a crumbling thinking mush losing, whilst all the while prejudice and hate are increasing, morals declining.  Can we give people freedom when they can't handle it?  Textures are rippled, emotive contours unfold, a mocking of the so called 'great green land' comes, I smell great slabs of gammon sizzling. Once more the intricacies are intimate, warming and cranially piquing - can we please listen, enjoy and move on to a better place?  'I Keep You Alive' has a highly relished sub-whispered opening verse with a releasing chorus that eases the obviously tortured soul.  Anguished torment overspills in a vibrant and free-flowing manoeuvre that keeps the senses still intrigued even at such an advanced stage.  Another accomplished track with good vibe and levels of, may it be said, pizzazz.  The bass here is very effective but when isn't it and the drums still showcase excelled life whilst the guitar work is eternally spot on the mark.  I could add that the vocalists thrives but the bugger may just get carried away tha' knows.

Finally we shut down with a funky, reggae, jazzy composite that lets natural juices splatter the canvas in something akin to the artwork of Jack the Dripper, aka JP.  The situation I know and remember well, a couple of folk mentioned are held in high regard (RIP Stu my mate) and of course 'the hostest with the mostest' - who the fuck could that well be?  That young chap Mr Tranter is responsible for an attack on a believer of greens and goodness and of course, low-end awkwardness.  The chap at the bottom end and dwelling in many dirty dingles is nailed, who on earth could it be - crikey?  The song is a joyous composite and really off-the-cuff cultivating that I really do appreciate.  I hope the intent is done with kindness and jesting good will, I reckon it is but if ever I need to call upon the judicial system I reckon this lot would have no chance of avoiding jail ha, ha.  A fine finish, cheers chaps, tis’ quite lovely.

So, Headsticks were on the cusp of a critical kicking if they didn't come up to scratch here.  It would have been done with kindness and good intent but they are at a dangerous stage when the foot could be taken off the gas and a cruise-mode taken with an album released just for the Hell of it.  This is what many bands do, it really isn't good enough.  Thankfully Headsticks have nailed another beauty, they are really pushing themselves along and I for one am fuckin' chuffed about it. 

GHOULIES - SHAFTED BY ALGORITHM

I came across the sonic splattery from this lot through the e-mail service when a nudge came from the realm of Bandcamp via the messaging system (it is all a wired up wank world tha' knows).  I have reviewed a few releases by this lot and have liked what I have heard so far, and this is more of the same and deserved of my attention.  The band play fast and so I shall do my review in the same vein.  One has to be consistent and go with a flow that is magnetic and ensnaring.

Manic wire wanks and fuzz fucks explode to the flea-riddled fore as 'Shafted' scores out a groove that really does resonate with all the sensors I have set for level 'quirked'.  There is a crackpot quest going on here with ramped up poppery mushed up to fuck and delivered with great pace that leaves one in a whirl-blue of confusion.  Somehow the tonal qualities and the overspill of youthful madness attracts and even though the main gist is lost, the electric magnetism is inescapable.  'Four Decisions Every Minute' follows the set style, plunges, pings and snap-popples with equal mania whilst the players do remarkably well to stay in unified wank and file and jizz out a real jerk juice-fest that I am happy to partake of.  This may sound sexual, but my thoughts are all above board, honest! Again the pace and the whizzed up funfair application make for a delicious outburst that is over and done with in 1 minute 22 seconds.

Impish elves jump forth form lunar caverns and serenade me next with 'Low I.Q.' bomb-popping the senses.  A cruising pickpocket pilferer that pings around, seizures and then steals away ones resistance without one even knowing it.  The head is left reeling and the pockets of tonal consideration empty - ooh the bastards.  'Towel King' jollifies with jauntiness whilst the zest of the zipping is nervous, happening and fidget-fucked.  This is a real difficult flea to net, a shape-shifting creature that won't sit still and let me fully grasp.  Come the end the pluck fuckers seem quite happy with themselves - I remain in a land of undecided.

'TRC' has more routine rhythm ravaging with the pace and the happy-pill keys all making for a swift space-age serenade that jacks out a positive response.  The bass is ablaze, the closure is akin to a retro minimal pixel computer game - this is no bad thing.  As I consider the latter point more I do think this lot are borne from such a digital age where a timewarp progression into a brain-wanked future occurred and the band returned to what was then... enthused.  The blend is intriguing and spasmodically animated - pop my pixels baby!

The pace is hectic, so my review follows suit - the next four are dealt with in one concussive blow - here ya go:- 'Self Help' ponders the situation with many pulsings before the louts are off the leash and making merry with a fairly regular piece of flourishing oddball outpouring.  The ingredients that make the band thrive are all there, I happily jig and swing into the fruity and yet soberly entitled 'Diggin Your Grave' - a real happening piece of insane tomfoolery with some delicious driving that really does switch on untapped sensors.  'Black Tarp' is a musical frenzy that needs no added lyrics, it is a surging swift of aerial acrobatics where a slipstream of multi-coloured dazzle is left for us to admire.  A veritable unstoppable force that must certainly be used as an 'intro' to all the bands sets.  Get the lights flashing, the heads down and get matters gushing in dayglo sci-fi style - yes!  The last of the quick quartet and fast tumble action, wayward squeaking’s and the expected ramrodding’s make 'Shut The Lid' another energy sapping/cranial zapping looper.  Crazed, dazed, unfazed - the band hammer away with fuck-free joy de vivre - should we really complain! The mindlessness of the rattle-gun mayhem is a beautiful thing to behold but as I may have previously said - if ya nerves are bad stay well clear or get dosed up!

The race to the end full stop where silence takes precedence.  

'Irrelevance' has a smoother feel and a more controlled accent - are the band mellowing?  The overall thrust though is still from the intergalactic realms where the aliens are no doubt pulsar popping and firing off their ray-guns to this great futuristic vibe.  Choppy guitars, a jerky feel, radio-fied tunings and a spark-plug spirit the song does what it does and at this stage I am sure you know where I am at.  'Constant Hurt' has a planed out intro, the plan and procedure is par for the warped course and I personally would like a little more. This is a little too flat-line in parts and in others is really offering nothing new and thus leaves me a little cold.  A strange little affair with not much happening. 'Magnetic Scum' has a beautiful throwback intro and a bouncy feel through and so leaves the listener skipping.  An animated piece with plenty of acidity - this is a fair finale that leaves me popping rather than dropping - phew.

Ok, let me be as honest as ever here - the CD is fine and dandy and upholds all the good facets of the band and their nuanced spillages but, I reckon a change of tack is needed and a shift in formula and approach crucial.  It will do the players good, keep folk on their toes and may just come up with a new winning recipe.  Ardent fans may well debate this but I am a DIY reviewer who wants to support, offer up earthy critique and maybe push bands onto better things - for now though, this is a jolly package for sure and one that has kept me entertained.

HAGAR THE WOMB - HAGITATE

Old school noise with pertinent relevance still shining bright.  From the Facebook page of the band I take these words 'Razor-fuzzy, female-fuelled punk band: Part of the U.K. Anarcho-Punk scene from 1981-1987. Reformed in 2011. Current status: Alive n' Kickin!- I hope this highlights as to what I am dealing with here, all delivered on the Grow Your Own Records label and keeping the racket rolling.  I have 6 tracks to tackle in the midst of a messy and busy musical period - what's new?  Here I let my honesty roll forth again, it is the only way I know!

'Visible Women' opens with mysterious tones that blend the old and the new and something spectral.  The opening vocals are delicious, they are fresh and breezy and with a touch of authority - an authority that comes to the fore with the questioning and forthright chorus that works a treat.  The focus of the song is getting seen, in this day and age I am bewildered that the question needs even asking but there ya go - such is the idiocy of this bent human mush.  The song continues with the same modus operandi, a few twangs, subtle touches and a good fluent beat makes for something highly pleasurable and pertinent with anarcho hues never far away.  A femme foray with something for all to think about - especially the macho he-men and thick-brick blokes who are ruled by nob, muscles and trying to be hard - the silly gits.

'Portrait' maintains the free and breezy application with a self-investigation being made whilst the music trundles forth on well blended tones and may one add, a shadowing of angst and inner anxiety.  The overall flow strays from that which one would deem orthodox with a certain trepidation created as well as an uncertainty as where things will progress.  At times matters seem almost ad hoc, reactionary, off the cuff - this leaves the listener with work to do which is no bad thing.  Like a slow creeping vine, this one reaches out, eventually find a foothold (or indeed a lughold) and slowly embraces the eavesdropper and wins some favour.  Not an instant hit, but a reliable snippet within the weave.

The best song thus far (I think) is the bouncing joy that is 'Hated'.  A very uncomplicated start - a repeat beat jump and joy before a development of strums and more repetition and then an echo with 'la, la' inclusions.  It all sounds quite simple and, in many ways it is, but it fuckin' works and I can see the dancefloors buckling with a fuck-free oceanic bonse-undulation that will see people throw off all hate, shirk peoples grudges and just indulge in a merry jig with good intent.  Nifty - I do need to work out where the 'hate' is aimed at though.

More throwback vibes with zesty gumption come via 'Showing Off' - a song that yearns for a release, a new thrust of life and perhaps a carcass that will obey and hold up.  A raucous and lively jamboree of juiced up lavishness with 'boredom' avoided and joy de vivre embraced.  There is a tonic of youth splashed through this unstoppable star-jump of sound that may just get the Old Age Punkers pulling a muscle or twanging a tendon (and why not indeed).  I like music with uplifting defiance - here with have a fine snippet to get the arse twitching!

2 left, 'Gaslighter' is the penultimate track - it chops, states, clanks and tweak twangs.  The manipulators are many, some are real cute and some are part of the mass mess that they go under guises of interest groups or even traditionalists.  The whole fuckin' world is falling apart because people are backed into one way of thinking, doubting self and being afraid to defy the dictators.  Fuck em' - this awkward and wound up song kicks back against the bullshit and stands mighty firm with a wealth of irritated noise that culminates in a final collapse of breathless energy.  It does take a lot of effort fighting off the pressurising know-it-all fuckwits - play loud, have a pogo, stand strong and think for yourself.

And to the finale, 'Perfect Life' - you know, the universal con that so many are sucked into and sucked off by - all playing happy crappy showcase posers and ticking the regulated boxes and staying within the confines of the laid down regulations.  The opening sequence is in no rush, a moody segment of sound, primarily bass driven and with a pulsing underscore that adds a certain bleakness to the overall acoustic imagery.  The vocals come, are sweetly snarled and contain a despising edge that rises all too briefly and leaves one laden with a great wealth of inner resistance.  The minimalism below the upper gobwork compliments and contrasts, inner riffery pleases and the overall drawn out escapade somehow wins applause.  I do like my music short, sharp and up the jacksie with great spirit but, I can stray outside my own box of preference tha' knows.

Aye lad, not a bad do with plenty of gumption shown.  In the midst of an ever-expanding and ever-divided musical arena it seems bands with great talent have just gotta crack on and see where they end up.  This will keep the band in good stead within the loops in which they circle and, I hope, further beyond!

THE RED BASTARDS - SELF-TITLED

A band from the middle of Wales, a band with some good tuneage and looking to get out there! Well what can one do?  I got a message and a link to a 12 track CD, I liked what I heard, the band were put on my 'bands to get a gig for' list and I reviewed the CD - here is what I wrote (well, tapped in on some soul-sucking device). I hope my honesty shines through, I hope I encourage a few of you to delve deeper and maybe - get the band out of that Welsh realm where the deviants lurk with tools in hand and bumming on the mind (well, so I hear).

'Give Me No Shit' is a delicious spiky-topped bout of free-flowing matter-of-fact noisy goodness - it gives you a choice, like it or fuck off.  The fuzzy guitars are steeped in good melody, the vocal style is very approachable and bounces along with the under-rhythm thus creating a unified liquidity that is laden with fuck-you defiance.  A good to honest sing-a-long romper that has a sound bite and buzz factor, a very straightforward manner and a clarity that enhances all areas and makes this an instantaneous winner.  No deep layers, no posing and ponsing, just uninhibited outpouring from cobblestone walking buggers who are what they are.

'Kids On Glue' is a real tribute to the old school punk bastards who have memories tainted by bouts of Evo-huffing and slurping cheap beer and duly tumbling down in a useless but happy heap.  There is a nostalgic feel combined with a darker edge to the tonal shadings which makes for a meaty sounding number that perhaps doesn't suit the content.  I think a more chirpy celebration of wasteful times would be more apt but, this one has a good clobber factor and of course brings visions of times when heads were addled and a care in the world was nowhere to be found.  The band play it tight, whip up to a good finale and in truth, it ticks all the usual boxes.  'Fatima’s Nightmare' jumps in with good regular riffery.  A situation arises, created by cunts playing a game.  The players spout off, remind us of a time when a trick was played and many fell for it.  The drums pound and roll, the guitars cut to the core, the gob man lets his frustration flow freely without having any answers.  There is no hidden agenda here, no profound complexities to try and decipher and certainly no trickery like we all witnessed during a seriously mocking time.  Have a listen to the upbeat vibes that deal with a downbeat period and ask yourself 'have I progressed, as society progressed' - you may be shocked as you pogo to this solid song, I am as disgruntled as ever.

From here we fall into the realms of horror with 'Eternal Hole' wandering to the fore on sanguine yet sinister tones.  The vocals begin, a hunger gnaws at a creeping deviants soul, cannibalism is encountered as a flesh-eating fiend of the sable setting goes about his vile business.  The gothic touches are captured, the garish and ghoulish are combined into one diseased track that will please those who like an easy tune to fall in line with and who have a love of zombie horror and the like.  It is a solid switch in style and perfectly executed.  'No Tomorrow' upholds the terror tonality with a more direct approach and more pep in the pace.  Strum, stutter, repeat and in we go.  Orthodox versage comes, a scenario set of a man shunned, a man who will not be denied.  This song has a good lick, enfolds ones attention with a certain ease whilst exposing a song with a very nasty edge.  This is a concrete offering without going overboard,  the threat issued, the rising rage and the calm and collected control all add to the overall weight of a number that at first, seems a harmless harmony, that is until one looks and listens with a little more thought - ooh its beautifully unsettling. 

Talking of unsettling, the character at the nub of the next noise session is perhaps the greatest discomforting deviant of them all.  The bleached-blonde orifice invader is put under the spotlight as 'Jimmy The Beast' enters the fray and reminds us of the crimes committed by a maniac with an insatiable appetite for all things warped.  Kids, cripples, corpses and who knows what, Uncle Jimmy wanted it all (and got it) and even though this song nudges to the fore visions disturbing, it is a sing-a-long snippet that will have many a pissed up goon joining in with.  I do like this one but by heck, let us hope another bastard like this keeps well clear of my privates. 

One of my fave tracks is the sharp and biting assault known as 'And The Band The Played On'.  Some fucker has upset someone and is now paying the price via this vicious attack that is escorted by sanguine skankiness and a delightful jig inducing bounce vibe.  A joyous and quite triumphant back kick against it sees, ahem, a slack prick.  The upbeat swing that duly contrasts and compliments the poisonous gob spills is a joy and I rate this as the pick of the putrid pops for sure.

Into the back 5 - 'Never Give Up' swaggers in with confidence high.  A Saturday night beckons, plans are made, recklessness is had.  Booze, drugs, idiocy and the payback via the twanging carcass are all thrown forth with many out there drawn in and I am sure with a tale of their own to tell too.  A mid-paced wanderer this, steady as she goes with no real highs, no detrimental lows, just a stabilising piece that I can take or leave.  'Lockdown' rises on rolling drums and a wire-whinge before ploughing forth with a disgust at a situation created by cunts without a clue.  The time when the masses jumped in line and were made to suffer over the world’s great exaggeration is nailed here.  I was of course out and about every day, the rules didn't make sense and so this sing-a-long tune reminds me of another time that I didn't play ball.  Some may hate this - especially the shackled, jabbed and gagged, it is an easy tune to enjoy and the content still has relevance - we must not forget how we were duped, done over and dictated to and how... so fuckin' many swallowed it whole. Aaaggghhh!

We hit another pinnacle next with the approachable and well-constructed minor diamond that is 'Holes In Our Pocket'.  A sober start tricks us into thinking that we may be getting a rather tame number but what comes is a lusciously flowing treat with a fluency and ascending command that works well and showcases some musicians who know their stuff and who certainly know how to construct a good tune.  A very earthy donation, a man-in-the-street anthemised kick-back, and one with some real harmonious touches that are sure quality and destined to get the onlookers singing as one and remembering we are in this together.  

The penultimate track, a vicious anti-religion piece that holds nothing back and lets the fuckers have it.  'Flesh And Blood' snarls, whoa hoas, chugs with purpose and has a bleak undercurrent that really batters the senses and adds a whole new aspect to the CD.  The band keep matters tight (I would expect nothing less), add twilight cable touches and a metronomical purpose that will not be muted and muffled.  When the band let matters extend themselves and the leash is relaxed further success is found in a very weighty and somewhat accomplished track.  We close with the fun and fuck-free self-proclaiming jump up and join in jolly known as (surprise, surprise) 'The Red Bastards'.  This is no great profundity, it is a mere jape that plays out mighty well and which I am sure will close any 'live' set in fuckin' fine style.  For a CD of such an enjoyable standard this is a great finalising moment on which to sign off.

So, The Red Bastards are on the Fungal hit list, I like this stuff, it has all the hallmarks of earthy honest punkism done without any subtext or cretinous designs.  Proper good music for the unassuming bloke who just want to bop, have his conscience pricked and who maybe need a kick up the arse.  My buttocks are proffered - hoof away chaps.

THE BORED AND IGNORED - SHAGGED AND SHATTERED

The first gig this lot played was mere days before I penned this review - they came, they opened a Fungalised fiasco and they left me pleased as punch with their eccentric and somewhat avant-garde hardcorian spillage that had many meritorious aspects to ponder.  It was a right grand racket, their new CD was on sale but I was generously donated one and so offered to review - it is about reciprocating the effort tha' knows.  And so, as I pootled and pottered I tuned in, eventually summoning enough grey-gunk based thoughts to cultivate something akin to an assessment, it goes like this:-

We go straight in, a real cacophonic fuck-glory splat-twat with rambunctious jazz-spazz rhythm and raw-assed screamoid vocals that set the rotating circle alight and make sure 'Streetwalker' does what it does with unapologetic urgency and fervour.  The pride in the oldest profession is brazenly spat forth into the mugs of the doubters, there is much going on here and all happening with some superb off-the-cuff angularity that may leave some a little cold and yet having others itching as though they have been crippled with the persistent nibble of the scarlet breasted thrush.  Inflamed and bleeding, this is the first open wound in a real septic penta-pogo upchuck.  'Pills 'N' Ill's follows, shuffling in with slow twisted intent and many dubious twinges.  The gob snot snarls and bubbles whilst the skins shuffle.  Matters rise in temper most foul but a control is had.  The bass provides a regular foundation of a firmness very much needed so the wires can be wanked and the drums lightly fluttered.  This is a somewhat orthodox happening with an untrustworthy edge and a reckless accent that keeps the danger lurking.  A rant session pushes the larynx to extremes unknown before a final full-stop is added and we are left... screwed, shafted and sweetly amused.

The sleaze and nifty shifty noise continues with 'School Of Cock' spilling sonic  seeds here and there via a NY glam slam of yesteryear porn.  All areas seem to be doing their own thing whilst reacting to the central core of the situation thus making for more eagerly ejaculated jazzism that the recess dwelling miscreants and debauchees will drink deeply of.  Like crawling creatures resting in timid nooks and crannies, the prongs of the songs will poke them out and give them the confidence to strut and parade - this is no bad thing folks.  I like the suggestion of abstraction, the undiluted force of nature and the fact that perhaps, we have something more intrinsically punk going on here than a lot of the conveyor belt stuff that gets belted out to wider acclaim.  We must embrace the format of 'outside the circle'.  So far so good I reckon!

'Happy Harry' has some very exciting post-punk guitar work, it is a sizzling treat that radiates a frenzied urgency and overall damning mania.  The bass does well to hold its own control with collapsing in a shit-heap of abandon lunacy.  The skin work is hectic and the slapping of the skins and cymbals is rabid violence without regret.  The tonsils are torn to ribbons yet again, the overall playing out is of a ramshackle rogering done with perspired recklessness and unbridled passion that just about hangs on to something akin to decency.  Take a deep breath before you listen in here and put your conkers in a safety bag - it is wonderfully rough stuff.

We piss right off into the slag-crappy silence with 'What They Deserve' - a twinge, a momentary pause, and a clobber cacophony before many questions are asked. The overspill of verbals comes with a galloping incessancy, the crackpot edge of the music is surely fodder for the purist punks of a certain niche who still recognise style must be combined with substance whilst no stress is placed on being neat, tidy and hygienic.  The band still throw forth a very competent song with all parts bared and well-aired amidst a tempestuous turmoil that tears the lugs a new orifice.  Madness I tell ye, madness.

As my tonal tendrils stretch and reach into areas others fear to tread I am always liable to come up with something different - it is a veritable pleasure trip on which I ride and as many shake heads, frown and stay within their safety zones, I bombard myself with all sorts of joys and discover great excitement.  This lot thrilled me 'live' - they have done just fine here and I reckon something similar with a slow brooding track in the middle would suffice again.  Tha' gotta keep all areas stretched (including foreskins may I add).

THE P45s - OH NO IT'S THE P45s

I think this band has manifested itself on stage in more ways than I care to mention.  In fact, the last time I saw them I nearly manifested myself but that was due to a curry and sherry chaser rather than the sexual presence of the band.  Now they are a 2-piece, the sound is still scrummy and their last Fungalised outing ticked all the boxed and left me slightly chuffed in the chump.  A few faves were missing, that was my only gripe (as well as the fact that one of the 254 stone regulars forgot to interfere with me) and I went home happy that things continue.  This 4-tracker is worthy of my time, my thoughts are honest, off the cuff and perhaps not for those muso's who seem to know better.

'You Don't Know Dave' rumbles in with a grubby accent that is molested by players looking to keep things real, reactive and rhythmic.  Simplistic poppoid hammerjack running with a garaged inflection embraces all the positive elements of the murky DIY realm.  Verses are gruffed out, the choruses are kept magnetic, without complication and at an high-speed delivery. The overall edge is of lunatic fringe wanking off with a passion for the end ejaculation always present.  The band certainly whip themselves up into a good rub-off frenzy without going over the top and causing blisters of aggravation.  A manic and yet controlled opener that does the job with crummy nobs on - ooh. And who the fuck 's 'Dave'?

'Secret Nuclear Bunker' is a revealing moment that lets us into a little known fact that some bastards out there are ready and prepared for when the 'big bang twang' comes and the masses fry and die whilst the chosen few (self-chosen that is) are all tucked up and cosy in their protective hide-out.  The noise is raw without being crude, the composition relatively simple and the joy-factor high.  Easy music for sonic simpletons to bop along with, content for the cranium to consider and to perhaps inspire one to get digging and creating their own anti-apocalypse den.  Nothing too deep goes on here, steady noise for those who like things lacking idiot intricacies and who are already fond of a good noise-making unit.

'Jurassic Jeff' sounds like a right noodle, a dabbler in prehistoric poop at a zoo for the zanily zoned-out.  A very dirty opening string scuffle is soon blown apart by some beefy skin belts and a slight clearing of the air.  The verse is basic as is the chorus, it is a mere tale done in bog-brush basic terms about a bloke absorbed in his own shite.  Senseless, easily snagged and a song that is what it is - off the cuff nonsensical crappery spilled from the creative anuses of folks with perhaps too much time on their hands.  This will never be a smash hit, it won't change the world, it is throwaway noise made for the love of it - any complaints - see the band!

'Democracy Manifest' pays homage to that famed Youtube star Charles Dozsa, who came to the fore of the webbing after being arrested following the delights of, and I quote, 'a succulent Chinese meal'.  The footage of the part-time actor shows a fine hammed up display of disgruntlement at his wrongful arrest. It is really a work of characterised art.  Here the band take the multitude of famed words, throw them forth via a wonderful happy jaunt that I for one think is a real pick-me-up tonic in this sniping, shit-laden and shabby world.  The video of the man now sadly passed raises a smile and this song does the same - what more can you ask for?  In fact, I am so taken I am making this my choice for Song of the Month on my website - I hope that is praise aplenty.

Not a bad do tha' knows, - no sub-text, no devious plans to hit the top of the hit parade, no ideas about becoming the next big sub-generic thing!  There is a fun-element shining bright, a blatant delight taken in just making music here - sometimes this is all that we need!

DAVID DELINQUENT - SCARED TO SPEND

The cable bending dabbler from Dundee is back with a four track acoustic nibble that dishes forth a quartet of songs about, and I quote 'Four songs about loss, life, being skint, hating your job and the unlikelihood of my generation being able to retire' - fuckin' hell, where's me happy pills.  I was requested to listen and assess, I took my time over several lug leaning sessions (and mood swings) and came up with the following Fungalised analysis.

'Scared To Spend' opens - this is a terse opener with a textual fabric that instantly warms the cockles.  A smooth running movement looking at the daily struggle where the coins are juggled and poverty lurks in the shadows.  There is a very subtle suggestion of sub-Frederikson dabbling here with inflections and undulations all dragging my lugs to the tones of the said artiste.  This should in no way deflect from the Double D's talent and application and this is a very rewarding song that is a tidy package all done in a 1 minute 31 seconds (perfect timing if you ask me).  If the formula is winning why labour the point and ultimately dilute.  A more than pleasing start.  'Sharp Dressed Clown' neatly drops into second position and upholds the quality and general unplugged flow with a  sharp and acidic overspill that really does well to control the emotional content.  There seems to be a real beef here with a fucking over done by a player and user who comes, takes, goes and leaves the damage behind.  People are a dangerous breed, here an attempt is made to make the best of things with no progress had.  A bare honesty, an open hearted delivery and a very relaxed outpouring that is lucid, subtly tuneful and complete.  The final tickle is an ideal finish to a well-composed song. 

The zenith of the quartet comes via the highly snagging 'Get Old, Get Dead' - a superb piece of frustrated disillusionment with the whole systematic shebang that drains the soul.  This is pure busker-do stress relieving warbling that many will be able to relate to and feel a certain  amount of understanding at a situation seemingly... inescapable.  I see many stuck in a wheel of wanking pointlessness and with options limited and time pissed up against a wall with the only aim being just to get by.  The balance of life is always a bastard to achieve, what I like here is, despite the struggle, the plucker adds hope via some positive touches and by letting folks know they are not alone.  A quite succinct, pertinent and well-played number.  One of the best acoustic ditties I have heard in a while.

We close with the more solemn and considerate sobering of 'Time'.  A moment that is tattooed with sadness and realisation, a gentle reminder that the clock ticks on, we have little control and are all ultimately, slaves to the timepiece.  Rose Tinted Eyes provides backing vocals in a tune this is serene but gently troubled, persistently pondering and with an acceptance that the time to crack on is… now.  Innocence is banished and the tones belong to the realm created, this is a touching snippet that again has that relatable edge and unobtrusive gentleness of sound that is so easy to embrace - it rounds off a quite complete 4 tracker that I would like to see repeated.

Yes - perfectly timed, neatly produced and played with a natural emotion that wins through.  The running times are kept short which is a winning element not to be underestimated, I think this is the best plucker's stuff to date that will hopefully open new avenues.  I am awaiting the next release and hoping he follows a similar format with only subtle switches to the serenades to keep himself tested and the luggite intrigued.

SIR ROBERT ORANGE PEEL - BANGERS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PUNK 4 THE HOMELESS COMPILATION - VOLUME 8

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

RANT - RISE OF THE IDIOTS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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