A morn recycling and doing chores and then a walk at a nature reserve with the good lady - a few plant galls were identified as well as several common bugs and a batch of fungal specimens. A drive around, dinner and dropped at the venue where I sat outside for an hour and chatted with Punk Ollie. Inside for a beer and a few familiar faces were noted and their company was enjoyed. Darren Kirwan was out on bail after an incident with a Chinese hunchback - I for one know that the kiss was accidental but many say it was carried out in a state of frenzied lust - the judge will have to decide. A surprise was to see fellow DIY peddler Keith Willocks in attendance after he recently faked a leg amputation in order to cheat the benefit system. On two legs he entered and after liberally sprinkling leaflets concerning the plight of the monks of Dukinfield he indulged in some good jaw-wagging. I did notice an Idi Amin tattoo on his neck - now what's all that about? During these opening exchanges the World Cup was going on, a fact that seemed to keep a few heads away which baffled me no end. Also a couple of pull-outs to the day's proceedings were causing concern as was a lack of bass equipment after the in-house rig had blown. Patience though paid dividends, all was eventually sorted and guess what - the first band was up and delivering the discordant goods.

Plutonium took to the floor and exposed their noisy wares via a posturing and puking showcase that harked to times of unprocessed yore when substance could only arise after attitude had done its low down and dirty bit. The opening brace were donated via a mid-paced, snarl-faced exposé of raw punkage that, in many ways, appealed to the aging inner core that is saturated in spiked dabblings. The 3rd effort saw ill-temper increase, a number I missed the ruddy name of but one that was salted with varied tones that cut a swathe through the assessing palette and trembled the uvula with several flavoursome vibrations. 'Psycho' continued matters, a schizoid song taking the troubled path rather than the route of obvious ease. Mind tangents were superfluous, unexpected twistings applauded but the crowds response (what crowd I hear you say, yes the turn out was rather shite), was minimal! As the set advanced the main blight was the Frank Carson-esque jokes that came between songs and hindered fluidity - Wank Carson would be a better description methinks. The noise though was stable enough, nothing that will break any moulds or set any new standards and at times theatricality did overtake liquidity. A few songs did sound overly similar, the crew chugged to the finale, I noted France were winning the football after a 'Frogite' joke was brandished forth - I shall reserve judgement on the wisecrack and the performance for now, in parts it was fine, in others my brow furrowed - darn these initial viewings.

A beer, a mandible wag - and back to the music.

The next band are a cup of seasoned swill that wouldn't be my first musical beverage to partake of with their blatant tones and obvious influences always at the forefront and touched up with a suggestion of things turned emerald. Nevertheless the set that was posted through my ever-gaping letterbox of attention was signed, sealed and delivered with a first class kiss and landed on my assessing doormat leaving me little in the way of critique to offer. The band are a set of 4 - drums, bass, guitar and a front lass with an accordion. The zeniths attained were many, the saturation and melody noticeable and the jig-rama juiciness of such a kind as to infect several nearby onlookers. The musicians were doused in adhesion, borne from nowhere else only the well-sweated practice room. Essences of skank floated beneath the upper layers, an ease of intake was felt by yours truly and with such memorable songs such as 'Shitfaced' the unlimited prospects of this band are there for all to see. Towards the latter end several covers manifested themselves (unlike many people I know who have manifested themselves under the covers - dirty bastards) and although from bands I duly consider over-rated I thought the delivery of each ditty was bang on the mark. The DKM song is a choice classic of course and was rattled out in brilliant fashion and note must be made that here I lasted a full set, the last time I watched the Murphy's I lasted 5 songs - such is the soul of a DIY dog. Verdict - a set well done!

At this point John Baddeley of beer-swilling fame accused Steve Iles (the promoter) of murder - it fell on deaf ears but people be warned, one false move and you'll be had (and maybe bummed).

And finally The Reverends took to the evened pulpit and delivered their sonic sermon like the well-respected bastards that they are. Now down to a 3-piece (which I feel is a shame) the band still throbbed on and thoroughly thrilled the dog-ends in attendance and of course, this sobered cunt. They opened on an acute edge, moved along with striding authority with all players manipulating their weaponry without fuss. A dismantling of the walls of doubt came via this articulate unit although at one point I did drift off as 2 songs seemed to lack any real grabbing flair. 'Erberts jigged, microphones toppled, wires were bent and membranes punished - 'Take The Money And Run' was an impeccable peach and it was clear that the cortex of this cacophonic organ was beating so well that what was radiated was pure lifeblood on which the vampires of sound could duly feed. 'Give It Up Son' and 'Pick Up The Pieces' were two more chosen snips and then, having casually glanced at the clock, I noted I was 10 minutes late for my lift home.  And so...a few farewells I had to scoot – whoosh - Fungal had left the building.

I came, I was blessed with 3 good outfits, I met a few folk, had a beer or two and have now scribbled a review during a hectic day - complaints I always have many but hey, I am a grumpy git. The turn-out was poor, the line up salvaged and the few who made it seemed happy enough - many things you can control, many things you can't - the art, as ever, is in the getting up and having a fuckin' go – cheers to Steve and Brad for doing just that!

review by Fungalpunk/OMD (16 July 2018)