THE HALF NAKED SHRUNKEN HEADS - LET'S BUILD A BOY

A debut EP from a UK crew on the Metal Postcards label.  What the fuck is it, who are they, why do I indulge in these things?  I reckon there are connections, I am laden with suspicions but hey, we gotta go in fresh, vibrant and with an unblemished neutrality.  Here are four tracks, here are four examples of Fungalised pondering - I hope all fair, transparent and very real.

We start off with the title track 'Let's Build A Boy'.  A slow blue-light warning comes, the sonic angularity takes time out and comes in spurts whilst the vocal contributions weave along and almost talk their way to the fore of the soundscape with all manners of melodica switched to lo-fi and lethargic.  There is a slight relished anticipation within the spillage but you have to do some work to pick it up.  A very twisted piece that may have in-built creative ambition but can we trust the builder with the end result?  Considerations from strange recesses of the mind and a song lacking in the crucial snag factor.  A misshapen hunchback of noise I reckon.

Beneath the upper and middling layers of resonance comes a suffocated sprawl-scrawl that struggles to build up any semblance of impetus and thus leaves the listener (well, this one at least) utterly deflated.  With a bit of pep in the tank and some extra ping and pop sonic sensation there is a foundation here on which to build.  'Karen Lee' is an idle layer of glutinous cream that only the extremely gluttonous will get fat on - this is definitely not for me.

'Take Me Away' is a soothed disco sub-sound with a whispering plea emitted by a feminine delicacy who refuses to get overly emotive.  Fractured porcelain touches, shuffling astro edges and a roaming bassism all add to a feeling of general waywardness and what could be a subliminal deception.  I feel as though the creators are up to no good here and creating mind melts that may pervade deeper than we realise.  Another cranium crippler done in the most sinister way possible.

'Subspace Johnny Ace' is the best track of the lot, it has a good drive and a certain rust-bucket edginess.  The vocals have apealing clarity, the tempo is efficient, the words wise and offering up another warning.  I suspect this one would work best in the 'live' arena, especially if escorted by dazzle razzle lighting and strobing to fit the intergalactic requirements.  There are no real pulsar blasts of infra-red explosiveness but the song does what it does in a decent, semi-abstract style. Whoosh - watch out for the asteroid belts folks.

So, four manifestations from Recess X, with no compromise to the dictating orthodox and no seeking to please others over self.  I feel like I have dealt with an 'unfinished article' in many respects but, having had various insights into kindred cacophonies this may be the end result.  Not my chosen material but I am happy I have dipped in and experienced what goes on outside many circles.  Please - don't become too insulated, never be afraid to tonally trespass where others fear to tread.

DROPPING LIKE FLIES - 5TH GENERATION PROPAGANDA MACHINE

A very articulate band who are based in the recessed realms of Wales and who pour forth an eclectic cum hectic cavalcade of cacophonic passion that may just tread on a few toes and of course, delight those of a tonally intrepid nature.  We live in times though when socialising, posing and wanking off each other's popularity ego seem to override actually taking note of noise and striving to throw a spanner in many works.  Comfort zones kill, apathy speeds up the process, overlooking angles is a disgrace.  Anyway, I throw caution to the wind, chuck in my attention and knock out the following assessing text.

Explosion Alpha - 'The King's Shilling' - a screwing guitar, a rise in the heat with a shuffle scuffle and then a deep breathe exhalation, stick rattles and we are away.  Fast, vicious and intense with liquidity within the molten molestation very much a key factor.  Multifaceted switches and surges amid tribal chants and rantings make this an off-kilter lesson in the seethingly unorthodox.  The message - fuck the wars and the profits and spit back against this ongoing vile crime where the select keep on gaining.  Within the weave is a mellowed moment to consider all, and then we head to the finale with all muscles flexed, the route meandering but all the while... absorbing.  A very healthy and kicking start with hefty levels of piquing excitement.

'Look At The Zoos' deals with subject matter that is close to my heart.  Animals always seem to get a duff deal in this world, the wild ones more so.  Here the zoos and circuses become the centre of the spittle spraying as well as the welfare of animals in general.  A tub thump, some grunts and compressed wire wanks and then a scream increase the tempo and in we go.  Darkened recesses are opened, a sinister atmosphere is threaded through the eye of your attentive needle - the intensity comes in waves, the band are in no rush to slap home their point and we get many heave-ho's thrown at us from various tangential nooks and crannies.  A growing song that has a swelling stature you may just be consumed by and one that may just force you to think a little harder (it ain't a fuckin' crime tha' knows). 'Midnight' is a filthy mauler liable to molest your nether realms of decency and bring about a climax of sheer unease.  The contrast of pace, the eccentricity of the arrangement, the whole capricious feel make for a schizoid bout of untrustworthiness that sees a potential copulation of strange forces and dubious decadents.  A very strong piece that showcases a band with great thermal energy and a poetically astute creativity that transcends the expected 'crash, bang, wallop and sometimes caveman' arenas of spiky obviousness.  The result of the fiendish intercourse is the freakish birthing of a concrete song with appreciable longevity.

'5 Second Edit' comes, the declining realm due to TV overdosing continues, this song starts with heavy tub tumblings, a metallic guitar wank and some AC/DC style throat screeches.  A chant and sub sing-along opening burst ensues, a great wealth of muscularity is exposed as the throat of sonic stress is torn asunder.  Some insane ranting, unhinged warblings molest matters, we continue with the heavy rock string show with extra wallop and ill-temper added to keep one guessing.  A multifarious mush of momentum that gathers its own speed and sucks one in (not 'off' unless you are very lucky of course - ooh heck).

'Throw That Needle Away' is a superb blast of unstoppable turbine-powered wind whipping.  A veritable anti-drug mad dash that flashes by and leaves one beaten, battered but utterly resolute.  A superb speed surge with an intolerance exposed and a fervid zest to crack on and defy the drag of the dope.  A great delivery with a manic momentum that really does rise high and keep the whole CD's momentum rushing - surely the only rush you need folks!  'Nostalgia For Ignorance' is a desperate yearning for times when the head was laden with naivete, awash with innocent magic and not slam-dunked with the constant barrage of soul destroying shittery.  From the opening flourish this one is fuckin' having it and, as a result, - so am I!  There is a heartfelt quest and a searching need that works within the hammering weave whilst all the while matters are perfectly balanced, lucid and with many a neat touch.  This is a well-oiled machine lubed in parts many others may not even consider (unless they have a lot of time on their hands).  From the opening flourish this is a one mighty mover and  in its own special way, is tattooed with a distinct sadness - crafty work indeed.

There is a very forthright 'fuck off' tattooed deep within the sinewy flesh of the next number.  'Look Him In The Face And Say His Name' has a superfluity of passion, defiance and knowledgeable ringcraft that sees the thriving pug jab, hook, uppercut and ultimately 'kaboom'.  There are many layers to the foaming intentions with all perfectly functioning and brawling for centre stage without ever overpowering their nearby kicking and thumping neighbour.  The flaming incandescence of the overall assault is effective and very draining.  This is noise to abandon oneself too and to really fuckin' appreciate.  The tick boxes are trashed, we move on without generic snags and hindrances - crackin' stuff and ideal for hitting the bag with (no, not your elderly neighbour ha, ha).  From another powerful behemoth we plunge into the tenderly texturized intricacies and open-hearted 'Beautiful Lies'.  The content deals with lost love and pain, has a carefulness and timidity to the opening throes before a blossoming comes and inner emotions are revealed.  The skins are trampled, sighs are heaved out and all matters are off the leash.  Like the effect of a primeval scream, the stress is relieved and after a swift rant the whole scenario is given stunning extra life via a quite beautiful chorus cut.  Contrast comes, paces is varied, rich and ornate moments are delivered with great relish and again we see a 'thinking band' thrive and oversplash the fruit of their fecund loins.  I find this one a highly satisfying banger with added culture - nice.

'We Are Not For Sale' spiral twists, screws to the core and chants.  A personal song that deals with the goings-on in the life of a trying soul - it is good to share.  A sub-rappy mish-mash with meat on the bone walloped here and there and heavy duty musicianship to keep you alive and kicking.  One of those moments when time is needed to fully grasp the gist and a song that doesn't initially grab the gonads of the eavesdropper and squeeze out pure pips of praise.  Evolution of the nodding erection takes place, a seepage of appreciation cums, the tremble-tastic suggestion is of a grower - I am wondering if I will need a bigger pair of shorts come this time next revolution - there is certainly promise and arousal here.

We fuck off, sign the dotted line and slam the door with 'Magpies'.  An escapade that deals with vile abuse, the commanding and demanding slave drivers who use and abuse the innocent young un's and set up failings for life.  A really lush and fruity escapade that bounces in like a jive-assed gold nugget hunter with his chestnuts on fire.  The jig soon becomes serious and we morph into a slam-dunk style with good rhythm shown.  This is very talented music that doesn't sit still, rest on its laurels and take the easy route.  There is a controlled chaos borne from a 'head full of tangents' approach that soaks up the attention like a blood thirsty tampon never to be sodden.  Head transfixing master works done by heads cultivated, cultured and I suspect, a tiny bit clutter-bucketed.  Smashing!

You know what, I like this lot.  Fuckin' friendly people with a fiery musical approach coming at ya from all angles.  The last time they played for me many folks gasbagged at the bar rather than give the band a chance.  The few that watched were impressed, next time I will chase up every ass and get them paying full attention to the racket - it is only fair that they get a look at something quite fuckin' exciting.  Tha' gotta be persuasive at times tha' knows - by crikey it is tiring but thank fuck for worthy music makers and their art!

AUSTIN T - GOING OUT EP

Nah then man, as ya may know I like to mix and match the vibes that I showcase and of course, vary those that bounce off the lug drums when I am in solitude.  Music is one of the spices of my life and I am not one to stick to a single flavour.  Austin T have played a couple of my DIY sonic scab showcases and have entertained me no end.  The earthy blues, the sliding string work, the smooth streetwise gobbage and the energy, laden harmonica highs as well as the general back rhythm all had me aurally agog so when the chance came to review some toons, I duly accepted.  A 5 track EP was sent forth, I invested my time and rocked along to some sweat-free dude beats with plenty of snazzy know-how - here are the Fungalised thoughts that tap-tapped from the end of my 'Bell Ringers'.

'Shot To Ribbons' is a cool cruiser done with a delightful ease that captures some real sun-baked throwback blues that I for one am right in line with.  The delicacy of the oral gifts is a surprise, the smooth, unassuming application of the strings and skins is ideal and the reclined feel to the perfectly positioned gob organ is precise and highly effective.  There is an insightful tattooing of tone here that displays a unit who know their style and certainly know how to deliver it.  The tempo and temperature is balanced and sweetly middling and what we end up with is an appetising slice of sublime sonica that doesn't over face the eavesdropper.  'Going Out' follows, a song with a similar style but with a bit more forcefulness in part and a trifling touch of increase in the beat.  Ultimately, the snippet is an uncomplicated episode of sound that sees the band take no risks and not force any issue.  This one sits slightly in the shadow of its predecessor but it is a minor tickler that keeps matters intriguing and the flow moving. Subtle artistry with understanding shadings!

'Why You Talkin' To Me'  pootles in, a quick count, the harmonies of the gob come, the first verse is slightly relaxed before the chorus is quick, effective and chomping.   A terse number that has a good edge to it and a 'don't fuck' acidity that gives the song further gumption.  The contrast between the approach keeps up the danger levels and gives a certain 'untrustworthy' aspect.  I suspect if one was pushed to name and shame a number as the most punky (whatever that is) then this would be it.  A neat and 'at it' inclusion.  The following number is a real gem, a Man in Black moment with a slow and considered approach delivered with such insightful erudition and exactitude so as to sweep the listener of their feet.  A slow break with minor threatenings that are more effective due to the almost cold and calculating oral spillages.  The whole meandering motion of the song is delicious and complements all other tracks in no uncertain style.  The influences are obvious, nothing outrageous erupts but this is a well-crafted moment with plenty of traditional touches - a cracking job and the definite pick of the pops.

Cough, splutter - wot no spit?  A controlled opening sequence takes us into the closing track, a number that is played out under the appellation of 'Just Around Midnight'.  A grooving mover with a distinct drive.  A sinister accent helps matters and offers a slightly new angle to CD.  The approach is still perspiration free and remains under the full control of the cacophonists, cacophonists may I add who certainly know their stuff.  Almost akin in slant to a certain 'Lemonade' advert I reckon but on a more serious note, this is a real shuffle-inducer played with erudite insight into a subgenre sorely neglected in these apparently eclectic times.  All round good stuff and the bass is given good room to breathe here too - shady man, shady.

Well, what a cracking 5 tracker this is - away from the spiky realm, outside that which I expected and all parcelled and packaged with great unassuming texture, a fine thermality and a variation of theme that has me waiting in great anticipation for the next offering.  I have the crew booked again, I am tickled purple by the fact, I hope they do the business as usual and a few more folk switch on to the vibe - tis' all round wholesome and entertaining stuff!

NEON CRABS - MAKE THINGS BETTER

A coupling of forces, a strange manifestation from folk who have interfered with my discordant decadence and further bent it into shapes both intrusive and vulgar - I suppose it needed doing.  If you are up to speed with my online scribbling you will know where things are coming from here.  If you are dragging your lackadaisical ass and need further insight, go and do some acoustic investigations and let me do what I do.  Come on, we have to be fair tha' knows.

'Make Things Better' has a scurfy move and groove infection inflection that goes some way to producing an appreciable semi-erection.  The bass is the driving force, it has focus and a seeming pre-destined date with the final full stop that it appears very much in need of making.  The metallic scratch and sniff six-strung wire work is real, unaffected and reactive whilst the skins know their place and roll out necessary regularity.  The oral tones are more than familiar and do a great deal in helping create a veritable angularised post-punk product.  Nice!  We fall into the second cutlet of tonality with 'Goth It' - a shimmery meander dream sequence with all areas wallowing in the shallows and in no rush to get from point A to point B. The tones that emanate from the headphones and drip into my lug caverns are mighty familiar and so I am attracted (I do wonder if others will feel the same).  This is slow going and mood-laden with the thoughtful oral abstractions off-the-cuff and seemingly without preparation.  A middling movement and certainly not every day listening but, it has its own brand of intrigue.

'Space Vibes' is indeed just that, intergalactic gently fantastic temperate warp weaving that summons visions of escapist oddballs jiving and jacking whilst the asteroid belts continue to turn til time doth duly expire.  There is a great and obvious B52-ian edge here, a distinct off-the-wall, outside the radar effect that keeps the noise trundling with tangents and a certain freshness.  Get your spacesuit on, hop on board SS Capricious and enjoy the trip outside the stratosphere of normality.  The oral donator has a good relish here, I think we should all adopt the same inclination although I think we best leave the 'Robot Dolls' to those who have specific needs - the last thing I need to do is short-fuse my conkers.

'Age Of Annihilation' is a sober and quite bittersweet sounding song with a stark disbelief at the world around us and the idiot goings on that the human junk can only keep on creating.  The tepid brew swirls with a confounding disillusionment with the questions eternal and seemingly without answer.  I find this one a real conundrum with its content clashing with the soothing bubble-bath tones - I am happy to lounge within the foam and consider - I think this ain't a bad way to be.  A mellow meander that does what it does well - ooh aye!

Next and 'Some Random Country' jingles and jangles and has a good electrical spark.  There is a paradoxical connected disconnection between components with the bass the cementing factor.  A multi-legged frog of racket-making with the next jangle jump liable to end up anywhere.  There is a subtle sci-fi, 'another world' sensation and a general oddness that seems to wind itself up.  Music once again to thrown in the mix of more sedate and routine fare - it all helps the end meal taste spicier.

The last brace, 'Hard Times' is a rising reptile of rhythm,, waking from a slumber and slowly predating the decency of ones senses.  There is a darkened glint in the eye of this stalking cacophonic creature - dare you step too close and risk the denouement?  There is an unstoppable quality to the doom laden advancements with an almost drooling abandonment of hope.  Something impending and unavoidable is set in stone, the future is written and maybe these players are mere vessels to pass on the outcome - not a bad do for those of a pessimistic bent!  Lastly and 'J Spaceman's Blues' is a fair finish but with sable details regarding substance abuse and the inescapable circle of decline one is destined to end up in.  The druggy companions seem to help each other but instead contribute to the unforgiving drag.  The approach here is matter of fact, a lick is found, a mode used and stuck to and we begin, progress and finally tumble away on an interesting footing.  

And another CD review done, another dabbling in the arts of the abnormal it would seem and I reckon, during my investigation, I have been entertained, kept on my toes and come across something a little different for ya.  The turntable of twisted tonality from the vaults of DIY dabbling must be a vehicle on which to emanate all sorts of vibrating invasions - here is something for you to have a think about and maybe include in your play lists.

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!