FUNGALPUNK - CD REVIEWS Page 1
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RUMBRAVE - VOLUME 1 A recent Welsh Wankers Invasion saw me come across many usual faces in different guises and a couple of bands that I hadn't seen before. One of these was Rumbrave, a band I had heard the name of but one that had not registered on the Fungal sensors. They came, they played, they buggered off and left me... fuckin' mightily impressed. Wow and I mean wow! It was a treat and I was also given a 4 track EP to savour which I said I would review (hence the textual ticklings here). I have taken my time due to being overly stretched and not willing to rush out any old codswallop. Here are the thoughts of honesty, integrity and Fungally threaded intention.
Nah then, I was unsure as to how good matters would be as regards this CD due to the fact the band were so fuckin' good in the flesh. I can't just make up false praise and I have to be honest at all times but by heck, the opening number here is a complete gem. 'Johnny's Shoes' rolls in on great emotive waves of sublime texture before cutting back and delivering a bass driven first verse that has a steady slap escort and solid vocals. The six strung assistance comes, the song burns bright with a unique take on an accident and the blame that is casually thrown around. There is something fascinating about taking something that appears inconsequential but when dissected reveals the failings of this human gunk. The flow increases in the joy factor with the chorus cuts utterly mesmeric, the punchy tuneage a fine partner of cacophonic crimes and the overall mix perfectly blended. The more I play the more invested and intrigued I become - what a moment!
'Forty Minutes' is of equal outstanding stature and deals with a call on the phone that left deeps scars and inescapable trauma. The feeling behind the whole affair is tangible, the zeal poured in from all players and the vocal desire to release untold turmoil are all played out in a frighteningly effective manner. The 'whoa hoas' help lighten the palette, the life given is something to behold and the unity between the players something to certainly put them in good stead with anyone willing to listen. A strip down, an acoustic haunting invades and leads us by the hand into the final oblivion - a quite stunning track.
'Nowhere Town' is a tale of a man tied to the bottle and who refuse to change his ways. We have all indulged, some though just seem to be lost causes and end up playing with fire and their very existence - it is all very sad. The drilling wire work, the repeat tap and the feisty words could even be seen as a celebration of the piss-up but do not misread the message - take care folks. This is a real stomping chomper that will devour your senses and have you absorbed with its distinct punky spunky edge and yet again, the watertight delivery. A holler to 'just fuckin' do it' gets us thrown into some flamboyant guitarmanship and racing headlong further into the song. Another less saturated respite and we hammer along, hopeless, doom laden and in a state that is what it is. Another complete and satisfying explosion from a band of top notch merit.
The closure is the neatly constructed and very gothic acoustic arrangement of 'Forty Minutes'. A rehash of that which has been and that which still haunts. This final snippet shows that the band are coming in from different angles, willing to avoid the trappings of any strangling sub-scene and are quite adept at producing full-frontal subtleties. The resonating hurt, the crushing tenderness of content and application all work. The inner desperation to release the ravaging ravens that peck at the soul and see them fly away once and for all are all donated forth with great care, conviction and classic DIY honesty. Marvellous.
Well, I was worried that this CD would let me down, that it wouldn't match up to the belief borne from the virginal viewing I had recently partaken of. How wrong I was! This is one of the best EP's I have reviewed for a long time and it makes me quite ruddy happy to say so. I am fucked, aging and burnt out in many ways but... the delight at the DIY depths is unsurpassable and people at this level, making music of such a standard without thought of coin, kudos and some kind of silly status, fuckin' matters. Thank you chaps. We go on... FOREVER and guys, keep these 4 track Volumes going - it will be a winning recipe for sure.
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UMBILICAL NOOSE - A DARKER KIND OF HEART Another strange and scatter fuck splat of sound via a band of mystery and self-expression. Volume 1 was devoured, digested, dealt with and dumped down from the assessing anus onto the great worldwide wankspread. Does it all make any difference? Are we so divided and absorbed in our own flimsy niches to be really making any impact? It is a warped world but for me, if folk are doing things humbly and with good reason and not looking for coin, kudos and a pat on the back, therein beauty is found.
'Escaping' begins with heavy pulses, a scuttling underscore and a slow and steady rise before nervous scratches are issued and the spoken words come. A multitude of scars are carved deep within a soul that is still recovering from early years trauma. A sad and soul searching encounter played out with respectable honesty and unashamed admissions. Bare boned and a demon beating deliverance with a cold and sober steadiness - this is a perverse intro into a very truthful essay of tonal clarity. 'Darkness' is a soft texture of sound with a blatant exposure of fear, reality and nervousness. Despite the soft core of the sonica and the slow and sanguine motif the words that come invade and disrupt and are borne from a soul struggling, looking for answers and getting nowhere. The contrasting juxtaposition of emotions and arrangements should not work but, the fact remains it does. One can almost feel the head wank dogs run for cover as some semblance of sanity is achieved via a quite neat snippet.
'Echoes' is fine artistry with all realms barely touched and placed on the attentive canvas with gentleness and poetical consideration. A youthful arising of multifaceted fears and trepidations that leads to a long term suffering from which there is no escape - all the while a control, a sedate care and a straitjacketed frustration seem to be the main ingredients all vying for attention but working in gratifying cahoots - a very sincere and winning inclusion. 'Stuck' begins with a real jive joy and a cock-sure strut that takes me to fresh assed ghettos where the dubious roam. The song is a million miles away from this realm though where we get a lonely neglect confessed and an addiction exposed. Honest and direct and done in just under 63 seconds - this is always a good way to keep folks interested - short, to the point and fluent - with added depths. Nice!
'S. A. D.' is a twisted song with the content dealing with the downer delivered by the dreary but the opening sequence rather disco-fied and upbeat. A nastiness and snarling frustration comes as the electro-agitation increases. The clashing trashing of cerebral confoundedness all makes for a cruelty within the weave that does indeed work. Fucked off and feeling low and the rains fall and the dark clouds grow - it is all a test of the mettle, thank goodness we have the powers of creativity. A printing sequence, the data rolls and a self-deprecating admission comes. 'Commodity' has a funk bass, a computerised orchestration and a cold and unmoved vocal style. A carcass crushed, is there any comeback? From the last vestiges of tumultuous life comes flickerings uncanny and unsettling. A grim piece that is almost flatlined. This is one that fails to raise any erection of positivity but it is all part of the overall emotive plea.
'I Cried' resonates, it brings to the fore all the faces and fuckers who tried their best to suffocate the soul, to regiment the individual and to blanket any sign of uniqueness. The opening soundbite works, the flow that comes is almost shackled and overwhelmed only just releasing itself via a very moribund snippet. This and the ensuing 'Forsaken' are a draining duo with a distinct negativity taking the reins and not allowing for any respite or glimpse of hope. I am touched but not to the point of being enthused - it is all distinctly moribund and the tones just lack an upbeat pop factor that would provide a needed contrast and ray of possible sunshine.
Next and retro digital escalations/de-escalations, subtle pumpings and inner beats with whispery vocals explaining the situation of 'Lost The Heart'. This is a song that oozes frustration whilst seeking a place to find positivity and a response. It seems as though a brick wall has been hit and there is no chance of progression. The popping and sub-disco duality all help this penultimate track get by. The closure comes via another quest, this time pasted down under the tag of 'Inner Peace'. A slow gloopy piece that provokes thought and has us wondering if we ourselves are doing OK? Are we repressing things, are we victims of scars not yet healed? The black clouds loom heavy and this is a short and sable cutlet that signs us off into a silence that seems more and more ominous. The intention is not to defraud or piss about with pseudo-happy-clappy codswallop - what you see is what you get - bare bollocked honesty.
Well, Volume 2 is done and I have 1 to go. Is this music, is this something else? There should be no questions as regards the emotion and the DIY aspects and if you can't use the audio platform to expose torment and suffering whilst being yourself then we are all truly fucked. This isn't fun-time frivolity trying to win fans and it certainly isn't tick-box produce to boost sales - make of it what you will but do not deny the ethos and the depth of the content.
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BARD COMPANY - 21st BULLSHIT DETECTOR Thinking man’s music borne from proud hearts and humble souls. There is no fuckin' about here, Northern folk with good intent and fed up with many areas of life being ruined by greed, the seeking of power and the selfishness that seems to be all pervasive. A cry for quality, a good deal for all and a brighter future - it is really that simple. The players know their noise and ply their trade with poetical prowess and a very approachable manner. I received this CD via an email message, I had a listen and was instantly smitten. Cultured, refined and fuckin' real, I purchased a copy and wanked out the following words.
We begin with '21st Century Bullshit Detector' - and what a marvellous start it is! Rampant, pertinent, fluent and ruddy needed in these times of tossbag tricksters and huff and puff shysters. The flow is grabbing, the articulation of the message exact and done with a mix of acidity, rhythm and poetical goodness. There is a real punked edge as well as a great disgruntlement that sets the stage for a CD I am now expecting to be something special. This is an outstanding start and has me nominating this for 'Song of the Month' on my website - I hope that rubberstamps my feelings on this beauty.
A few quick thumps, a nice 'clashy' lick and into the wholesome and welcoming 'Born In The North, Die In The North'. This is a song of the streets, a gentler song when compared to the first but with as much wallop and impact. The chorus is a sing-a-long joy, the dulcet tones of the recognisable frontman a honest pleasure and the words matter and are delivered with hearts beating with defiance and pride. The music has many flavours of influenced hues and the overall arrangement is one of those songs you can't find fault with. This can be sung anywhere and in these divided times - so it fuckin' well should be.
The slow beauty of 'The Dirty Empire' unwinds and comes across as a great impacting piece that shows a solid disgust at the flag-flying idiocy that is growing all around us. Fuck all flags, fuck all divisions and fuck all the bastards looking to feel better at the expense of someone else - that is all I can add. I admire this composition for many reasons, I like the coolness of the approach when dealing with subject matter that is enough to blow the top of your noggin off. Yes, the failing continues and a few good folk are bemused - my advice, play this gem loud and think about your stance. 'Leviathan' follows, has a considered approach and has a lengthy word spill of erudite care that assesses the state of play in a world falling apart at the seams and becoming a fully-fledged New World Order. The sadness in the tones, the almost hopeless acceptance and the thoughtful prose are all posted through the cranial letterbox with a matter-of-fact manner that somehow disarms. Have we really slipped so far into the doldrums? Are we really so gullible and stupid? Democracy is dead, the few fight for any semblance of space and shackle-free living - the verbals unfold and I think we have a song that will always be apposite and will grow in flavour like any considered vintage.
'What Have We Become' almost sums up the whole feeling of this CD - a real disillusioned and disgruntled piece awash with disbelief? A smooth rise, a quest for a better place and an arrangement that is as simple as needed and with a layered goodness that comes into its own when the chorus caresses and helps to reinforce some glimpse of salvation. The message is also simple - just stay strong folks. A very unidealistic song with both feet on the turf and relaying its point with a prosaic practicality - the band do it well. The dark and sombre moribund tones of 'Back To The Factory' are a tribute to a band and a frontman who need no introduction. A joyless episode in some ways, victim to discordant divisions in others but a moment in time that has left a lasting impact and legacy. This sober and bleak episode is homage to a unique creative force that came, went and hopefully... made a fuckin' difference. The orchestration and obvious emanations are all spot on and make for an unexpected and yet absorbing listen - tidy!
We travel further into the depths of a marvellous creation with 'Router 66' - a smooth and swaying design that is perfectly lain down and with a subtle emotive force that takes hold of the senses, leads them to places abandoned and now desolate and with a life-laden past buried and just a memory. There is an oceanic persuasiveness that comes in slow winning waves that really causes one to stagger back and take stock. The more one listens the more one notes the unity of the players, the harmonising wonder and the overall winning beauty of a song well done. Boom! From here we have a folky sing-a-long that praises the Wigan Diggers/True Levellers founder Gerard Winstanley. Winstanley was a defier of the destructors and the cash-seeking cretins and duly strove to keep the land pure and unblemished. This is a fine green-tattooed piece with historical depth that shows the progress we think we are making is nothing more than regression. The fat cat fuckheads are blinkered and limited in intelligence, self comes first but their words are weaved to tell a different tale. I am warmed by this gem, my hope that there are some free-thinking selfless souls out there is reborn, we all must join in and just do a little bit more. Thanks to the crew for reminding me of our priorities and the stubborn bugger who did his bit! 'Diggers Of The World Unite' for sure!
Stubborn and heavy tones come as 'Deliver Us From Evil' unfolds as a rebellious prayer that deals with a scandal that once again sees big wigs profit, the vulnerable get hammered and justice shy away from its responsibility. A sharp acidic splash with a real vicious snarl of disgust that is kept in check thus avoiding the formulated foul-mouthed rant that would rather negate the prowess and passion of the piece. It is a feisty beast for sure and adds a nice daub of clashing colour to matters. Lighter tones unfold with the more cultured and matter-of-fact essences that make up the jingle that is 'Jubilee'. A realists appraisal of a ludicrous situation were people get conned, swallow the shit whilst those detached live it up and dwell in blinkered bliss (or 'piss' if you are more observant). The rot continues, some are struggling and the streets are laden with cracked celebrations whilst the u-bend beckons. Somehow, despite the content, the ditty has an upbeat musical score that hops and skips along as escort to the rather flabbergasted and disgusted word weaver - it makes for another intriguing listen.
3 to go and I crack the whip against my own assessing arse with the hope of keeping you intrigued. 'The Punch And Judy Show' is a fine rolling account of another farce, a tale of a flimsy facade that gives the appearance of all being well and good but duly hiding a horror act that is all too prevalent. Honest and insightful and very fluent with a superb clarity that allows us to become involved. As we head to the final stretch we need to quality to be maintained and that is the case here. 'Got Each Other' says what it is and rolls along with a warmth, a positivity and a real comforting comradeship. Look, there is little to add here, as a man who appreciates the beautiful simplicities of life this is a sure-fire winning number all the way, delivered by good folk who are off their rears, doing and trying to remind people of the important things in life. No matter where you are or how low you get remember folks, there are some good folk out there willing to help, natter and just nudge ye along. Stay focused, stay true to yourself, be good, keep trying and never be afraid to reach out. Play this loud when you are low, it will pick you up no end.
We finalise with a complete juxtaposition to the previous track. 'Countdown' is a rapid-fire urgency that assaults the senses with a sober reality and open-eyed take on this world that is on the brink. A good old fashioned punky thrust with straight-ahead verses, a repeatoid rhythm and a chunky chorus that slaps home. The CD started on a booming note and signs off on an equally effective number. Well-played, perfectly balanced, gruff and with some solid skids and shuffles - all observant of a hell-hole created by a human mush who should know better (and still fuckin' don't).
My thoughts are of a great CD dished out by erudite folk who think, consider and most importantly 'do'. I am very thrilled by this, it is angry, poetical, insightful and laden with great frustration. The composition of each track radiates nouse and the overall blend is ideal methinks - my titfer is tilted in acknowledgement of a fuckin' reet grand do!
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THE GAKK - AN UNKNOWN SUBSTANCE ON A PRISTINE SURFACE From Dundalk in Ireland comes a band who are happy to fly under the 'punk' banner and who have an energy and style very much suited to their chosen sonic pit. Prior to the review I had a nosey on their website, read the great appraising text and then switched off the airwaves, went and did something else and came back sober, unaffected and ready to roll out the honesty and hopefully, worthy words.
The start comes, 'Conflict' slowly creeps under your attentive radar, sets a stage and then... pounces. A clear and coruscated opening verse comes with decent snarl factor and a healthy thrusting before we segue into the chorus and see the song take on a new level. Matters move with good energy and a thirst to get the job done in good time. Plenty of action, a waterproof structure and the drums twat-hammering with a sound authority. The liquidity of the song makes this and all is well during this first sonic slap in the mush. I find 'Saturday' a better number - I like the hectic approach, the driving urgency and the overall salivation levels that sees the task completed in 1 minute 38 seconds dead. Again the animation is high, the vocals stand forth above a good pounding of all areas. The unity shines through, the old school influences obvious and the general thoroughness of the application all makes for a short, sharp shiner.
'Save Your Army' flows forth, once again it tops the pops thus far and as the curve slowly ascends upwards I am more and more taken by the presence of the band and the noise they make. The semi-snarling verses make this an intriguing listen, the chopped up strings and the regular structure all hold our attention with the chorus cuts are brief but easily joined in with. Cabled flamboyance, good skin slaps and a fine end mix make this perhaps the most obvious and uncomplicated track thus far but it is still a good number to rouse the rabble and the rebel. 'Too Far Gone' ploughs in with routine tones before cutting a swathe with a sharp delivery and a segue into a segment that has many similarities to other vibes but still has enough clout to make an impact. A very polished number with a fluency that gets the luggite instantly involved. This may be the best song of the lot thus far because it leaves me with little to elaborate upon and dissect. There is something joyous in a simple formula - here we have a fine example.
'Wake Your Shadow' is a great inclusion and shatters a few boundaries whilst nailing colours to a mast and no doubt upsetting a few folk. There are many who want to shout you down, shut your trap and censor you whilst they gather in their hunting packs and congratulate each other on being oh so fuckin' right! There is something glorious and celebratory here and remember with free speech all can remain clear and we will know who is who and what is what! Forcing people into corners will only create further problems and increase the hate-soaked divisions - crikey! This skanked up arse-kicker is beautifully done and adds angles and accents to a CD that gets better with each rotation. A real fruity joy this with a sound ethos and a great bouncing belief - yes!
The next trio begins with 'Waiting For The Rain' - a song that thumps in, bass grumbles and then finds its flow. The relish in the rhythm, the lucidity of all components and the crisp and rather correct orchestration give the song the finishing polish and make this another gushing snippet with many meritorious aspects. If the volume is whacked up to level 'max' then the overall brilliance of this number comes further to the fore and the quality of this CD is further appreciated. The key, once more, is the rapidity combined with the control, the melody and the snagging hooks plus, as said, the quality of the mix - tis all quite grand stuff. 'Jackanory' tiptoes in, skids and careens and may I add, gets all flamboyant before grooving on down and adopting a mean old grind. A stable song with just regular noise nourishment fed ones way. All we need do is open wide and swallow the sonica. Nothing outrageous strikes home here, I find this a middling a number (personal thoughts tha' knows) but by heck it is pertinent, well-scripted and has good welly - I am a rather fussy old fucker though. 'What About Now' is a concrete cacophony without going overboard. Mid-paced, carefully created and with subtle shifts and shape-changes whilst holding onto decent riffery and cable manipulation. The steadying sticks and the now familiar throat work make this another easily digestible snippet that leaves me little to add - tidy work chaps.
And then... we were at the last stage of proceedings with 'The Way It Is' bringing down the final curtain in a comfortable and quality laden manner. The opening riffs remind me of an AC/DC accent before a cultured pseudo-reggae movement comes and helps round off a CD in a matter-of-fact style with the overall standard kept high and keeping one on the edge of the seat. The bass knits the verses together and when we rise to the chorus we have an interspersed title shout out that will get the punters hollering. Impetus rises, many questions in life are posed, there are very few answers and as we sign out here we accept that The Gakk are a no-nonsense band producing some fuckin' good noise.
Yes – how much good noise is out there? How are we so fuckin’ blessed by an elastic scene with some much fine vibrating excitement to tickle out nethers of noise? This is choice stuff in an ocean of brilliance – how the fuck it rises above and gets worthy note is beyond me, I hope my passionate scribblings helps.
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UMBILICAL NOOSE - SELF DOUBT AND INNER TORMENT I know Punk 4 The Homeless, the buggers behind it and the great work they do. Perpetual tinkers of tonality, cacophonic chameleons forever changing hues and textures but remaining consistently true inside. Here is an offering, I know fuck all as to who is fully involved and what they are aiming at but, it is off kilter and way out of sync with many more 'acceptable' forms of punkery - fuckin' hell, can you believe that I said that ? I bound in, looking down the barrel at a void of unearthly sounds and experimentation - yes!
'Umbilical Noose' begins - a counselling couch episode of turmoil and trouble. The opening statements set the stage, a mundane melodrama played out with stark openness and an applaudable frankness. The modus operandi is regulated and systematic with a vocal style poetical and sub-digitally delivered. A suffering seems inescapable, the repeat fascination comes and goes and is over in good time. Echoes of torment and a myriad of unsettling periods all arise as this tidy tincture of torment is dripped onto our awaiting palettes. 'Beat Me' captures the vibes of the cranial gunk when the mood slips, past blemishes are born again and the head dips under the pressures of life and those who just want to beat you down. Even in the places folk deem as offering salvation, the fuckers wait, play their games and cast stones against those who don't fit in. In the midst of this lunatic bagatelle many slip through and get the shit end of the stick. I feel a spirit upset, dealt a shit deal and not accepted for being a non-conformist - this second slice of sound is a perfect accompaniment to the opening sequence and I am absorbed.
Misfiring crank wank, sub-belches and machinations of mystery bring us into the midst of 'Scratch The Surface'. A discombobulating affair that showcases an episode of experimentation with questions asked and a situation made. A fine inner tinkle gives the sonic sequence life and creates a motif that is ideal for the short running time. A contrivance of simplistic distinctions that finalises with a solar stress build up and then an abrupt catapult into the black of the abyss. 'Eternal Doom' is an 'under the door' creeper with a downcast accent and a finality all of its own. Pessimistic and moribund with an array of end-of-life flickerings this tortured tonal testicle dangles from the underpants of security and is in danger of emanating more than a foul reek. One of those for the profligate pervert, the debauchee of the dead end and the decadent of the dead-end. I like it, perhaps revealing something I would care not to admit. Consider Lovecraftian horrors on acid with a digital disease invading all areas.
The double fistful continues with the next brace opened by the grim gothic unease of 'Despair'. Tumblings and tranquilities intertwine in a cable-copulation where sparks come, smotherings follow and we repeat. An unsettled moment I fail to fall in complete line with and one that just feels a muling of two disparate dabblings. A strange one. 'I Will Not Hide' rises on exotic tones, comes forward as a sparsely attired 80's romanticism with cold essences woven through a twisted metal montage that has great character. Something takes me back to a time of naiveté and raw-assed advances that made for a colour-filled spectrum of futurised dreaming. Yes - a neat number this with a juxtaposition of emotions.
2 more and 'You Fucking Cunt' pounds away whilst delivering the vicious verbals and expelling any inner hate-demons and nigglers of the soul. A very deliberate and nasty piece that will not rest until the spleen is vented. Perhaps the most immediately impacting piece with a person abused and used and now kicking back and plunging deep a readily sharpened discordant dagger - a poisonous slap-down. 'Age Of Innocence' follows with searching choppings and unsure feelings made by explorative antennae striving to find a niche where the vibes can thrive. Flutterings and throbbing’s, a time when things were less complicated and more secure has gone, the eyes look back, the heart yearns, an injury is sustained, one that runs deep and still has the ability to cause further scarring. A stark and feverous piece, perhaps reflective of the tormented creator?
The final coupling is had, the humper is 'Breathe In, Breathe Out' - an anxiety inducing snippet of concentrated jig-inducing mania with damning and draining incessancy had whilst the foots are tapping all the way to nowhere. If the nerves are frayed and one is on the cusp this does have the potential to push one over the edge but, in some strange way, it also offers comfort and a realisation that one is not alone in this idiot lottery we call 'life'. Closure comes via 'Eye Of The Beholder' - an observational piece of, what I presume to be, a person who is an enigma, a problem and a loss. A cool and calculating piece this with a regulated rhythm as per, and the usual essences and aromas that have served the CD well. I think it rounds matters off quite nicely.
As part of a tonal triptych this is segment one dealt with and delivered your way? Are you curious, corrupted or too digitally numbed to find out more? I think stuff like this is relevant and pure, I move on to part 2.
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THE UNDERDOG - BACK IN THE DOGHOUSE From the Busker-Do that is Dean R comes some purist DIY spillage that is laden with sugar, spice and all manner of cacophonic condiments. Some angles may upset, others may soothe but this is from a man who plays it on the street (perhaps the most purist form of DIY akin to the birds singing in the trees), we get what we get and all is done with a lo-fi quality and an under-scrubbed rawness. The pompous may turn up their noses, the gutterpunks wallowing in reality may just well love it. 'Wankers' opens, a vicious piece with fangs bared that are happy to dig deep into the jacksies of the doubters and downshouters. A cool rusty edged guitar lick, some steady sticks and a tidy underlay comes with the verses easily joined in with and the title drawl a sign of the times and the folk that just want to piss on the chips of those doing something. Their ethos is a deep-rooted problem - 'I'm a wanker doing nothing, they are doing something so I must put down to justify' - this is an apposite number and does the job. The ending is rather abrupt and into the gentle tones we soon recline. 'Inject Me' is reminiscent of what goes on with the creator, it reminds me of blues past and tonal times when my reviewing mitts were asked to tap out considerations. A thoughtful song, semi-submerged vocals, barely touched instruments and a concoction that gently ascends, offers up a self-assuredness whilst remaining composed and pootling along in a quite DIY and unassuming way - have that. 'The Pipers Call' has a jolly juiciness whilst sniping at those awash with arrogance. Multihued textures float in and out, copulate and create another smooth and underprocessed lo-fi escapade borne from the street, the heart and the soul. Simplistic creations with a personal touch and away from the money-doused shittery that can indeed mar the reality. Neat enough, the beetling end result is groovy man and of a certain cut of the cloth. 'Sunshine Blue' has the most obvious solar lit laze lilt thus far, with an accent straight from a far off sun-doused porch where the silhouetted player can be seen strumming away and in his own soothing groove. The submission into the sonic flow is perspiration free, right on down there baby and of a reclining rhythm that is easy to drop off too. A summer day serenade when avoiding the usual flow and pissing on the polished, processed punks and affected rebels - ya hear me? Into the mush we meander with all muscles massaged and feeling good. 'Downtown USA' mutters, train-track shuffles with the production being a little lower than the other tracks and so throwing this number into the coal dust. I listen in, the fires are gently stoked, the accents suitable and the wheels turn with good gusto. A remix though is needed as the values of the vibes are just a little too clogged. A decent song striving to rise from the plumes - I am frustrated. 'Skin 'n' Bone' taps away, sub-skiffles and keeps all things azure and downbeat. A funky opening verse played with an ad hoc style that seems to flow as matters go. The chorus is slipped into like a buttered-up Jack Russel down a rabbit hole and the groove that comes is one that is really turning the player on. The harmonica joins in the relish rhythm, the usual underground scuzz continues in an easy song that keeps the CD moving. 'W. T. F. Y.' is a basic song that saws away, repeats the same statement over and over with an added question so as to cover all bases. The content, the creation and the whole darn arrangement is obvious and without any distraction and... it works. A song borne form a man disgruntled and perhaps tired of those pricks who look down on others and think they are better with no real reason had. The world is full of self-important shitbags all looking at others failings rather than their own mess - fuck em'. There is a good heel-dug defiance here and a pertinent poser placed before many mushes. I reckon working the streets as a DIY musician is the inspiration behind this ditty - I applaud and am right behind the DIY warriors. A soundbite, no work, no hope, a dreary drift into 'Hey Boy' we go. A bleak song, one again that deals with being on the outside and struggling. The shuffling guitars, the back rhythm and the suffocated vocals are all sweetened during the chorus cut when she-touches join the fray and add a little extra depth and a soothing sensation. The combo of the dirty dog and the massaging lass lilts as well as the direct arrangement make this a right good tickler. Pluck, consider and carefully place the lyrical content. 'Dead Towns' rings bells, peals with visions of areas now ghostly where only the shadows of visitors long past remain. The country falls apart, places that were thriving are now falling by the wayside and one can almost see this lone player, on a dirty litter strewn street corner, hanging on by a mere plucked thread. A touching, emotive and stripped naked number that rises, adorns itself with glory and gets noted as a stand-out moment. Quite lovely in the most wretched kind of way. 'Chemicals' is a groovy gonad grabber that just stays a little too submerged for its own good. DIY is the only way but sometimes we have to make sure we get the best out of ourselves and our tunes. This one needs a cleaner cut to fully accentuate the tonal touches, the jiving juiciness and the overall rock and roll rhythms. There is a good song screaming to be fully released - I remain frustrated with this one. 'Evel Knievel' is a nice cutlet and takes me back to the days when that egotistical maniac was on World of Sport trying to jump a line of buses whilst kids playgrounds were cut in two by the wind up toys that really did the business. A smooth and slow-growing tickle that is nothing complex or politically involving, just a tidy switch off moment looking at times when we were less diluted, digitally drained and unrushed. Get the kids enjoying the toys, bring back the raw-assed stuntmen and keep it fuckin' real ya bastards. Closing time folks, last orders please and as we head away we have 'Clear And Present Danger' and 'Stuff Em' All' to see us on our way. The former track has a swanky recline, a perspiration free brow and a matter-of-fact acceptance of a situation that is just how it is. No stress, no hassle, easy tones whilst one musical foot is placed in front of the other and the job continues to be done. A bit of melodic weaving in the most subdued way and into the finale it is with a straight forward snarl and a two-fingered salute to many folk. Bad-mouthing wankpots are told what is what with a repeat beat primeval stress reliever that it may be good to join in with - therapy incarnate methinks with a jaunty undertune. Hey, another CD reviewed and one from the pure streets. Busking along, staying strong and getting a gong of appreciation from this rhythm reprobate - I have the guy booked to come and play a gig, we have to roll together in the stormy and unforgiving acoustic oceans - now get some of this or stick to things more diluted. |
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BOGGIS FRINGE - DESPERATE DREAMS DESTROYED From Leeds come a trio of tunesters who border on punk but also have their tonal toes dangling in other sonic pools. There is a distinct throwback quirkiness that one could easily try and pigeonhole but really, what is the fuckin' point? As a well-worn reviewer all I can do is listen in, toss around the palette and spit forth honest and hopefully accurate words. I am rather eclectic in my tastes (well, I hope so) although there are certain strains of sounds that really dampen my spirit of positivity, particularly country and western and jazz. Hopefully we can avoid those two realms of rhythm, but I go in cold and am all rather clueless (smashing ain't it). 'Handbag' is a cornucopia of sub-Cramp'ed abstraction, all posted through the aural letterbox under a 1st class tag of quirkiness and with the contents hanging out at various angles and leaving the assessor initially off-balance. The music sits very nicely into my multi-angled and awkward noggin and the ambiguity of the detail all adds to my intrigue. Definitely music borne from neither left or right field but from a pasture awash with blended hues and clashing textures. I wander amid the sonic spread, feel the flavours and embrace the sway - I am liking the outré approach and something that is not as conventional as I expected. If you dangle the angle I am a real sucker.
'Authorities' has a fine pound, a lovely angular feel that leans many ways and always seems on the cusp of a crackpot breakdown. A thrust, a contemplation and verbals that are neatly delivered in a sung/spoken hybridisation that really sets off the whole discombobulating affair. The creative juices are multihued and the unorthodox orchestration all make for a fascinating sensation that reinforces a recent 'live' viewing where I was left with a very rewarding session of sound. The terse tonal running time, the seeming uncertainty for the listener and the quality of the application all make for another intriguing snippet. 'Rave Scene' and a clutter tumble followed by a groovy lick that gets the juices flowing and the tangent-tossed tune lover aurally agog. There is a darkness within the weave, some accomplished bassism and a controlled stick service that keeps all in check. The vocals are simple but effective, the string work has depth and despite being a quite uncomplicated number the fascination factor remains vibrant. Chugs and changes, channelled energy and a fresh breeze blowing through all the nooks and crannies and my lugs say that the job is a good un'.
We close this curious quartet with the relatable 'I Spoke Out Of Turn' - a yarn that is a throwback scrawl across your memory banks where hauntings of brutal and idiot educators came, scarred the soul and left us to drop into the world. The matter of fact approach rides aloft on a textured underscore that remains sober before rising in accent and appetite during the easy swing of the chorus. Chug bass, post-punk seasonings and saltings of things slightly gothic. For the slowest track of the lot and the downbeat soberness I think this one works mighty darn well and is a good point on which to punctuate an enveloping aural treat. Boggis Fringe have me absorbed, I like their style. I didn't know that their recent gig they played for this old Rot and Roll Fungalleer was their 2nd - by crikey it were a good do! I am hoping to have them parade their sounds on a Fungal stage again, it needs doing and their kind of sonic spice adds to the mixed dishes I like to offer. This is a compact and choice CD - invest your lug time folks.
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MAGIC OF THE MARKETPLACE - THE SPECTATORS ARE LEAVING A band made up of members who have done their time, and continue to do so. Melodic and progressive this Blackpool based unit keep the flow running with another 5 tracks which I think is the best way. EP's do the job, offer a taste and leave folk wanting more (well, if the job has been a good un'). I have an inkling what to expect here - well-produced, carefully thought out tuneage from a sub-niche that many overlook. I dip in and play, play some more and then spill the following considerations.
'When The Story Ends' is gritty, biting and begins with twilight guitars and the odd boom from down below. A terse flourish and the smoke-tonsil’ed opening vocals come and radiate an assured confidence and character. The music is natural, without too much in the way of orthodox routine and radiates a certain relaxed and cultured essence. The arrangement is of the post-punk/melodica style but trying to pin labels on bands is all very subjective and we are far better off just going with the feel. The music is compact, the scaffolding tight and the delivery as one would expect - with weight and effectiveness. You need a few listens to adjust methinks, but once in tune the impact and impression is all the better.
'The Spectators are Leaving' is a powerful song with encouraging hollers and a Cult'ish guitar sequence thrown in amid the regulated and rocking and rolling rhythm making. At all times the gob at the fore adds thermal energy and a sinewy strength that enhances the overall believability of the track. The words remind me of many a gig where people fuck off early and leave many with hopes abandoned. In life, before the party is over, many fuckers are off out of it after using and abusing. Fuck em' - if they do nothing we carry on. My fave track is labelled here, tis a meaty affair.
Sharp suited guitars, a polished boot stomp and a gruff and growling opening gob assault. The bass is battered, the guitars manipulated with artistry and the skins savaged with good intent as 'There's A Darkness' carves out its groove with focused fire in the belly and a straight ahead drive that exposes healthy muscularity. Space is a rare commodity as the saturation point is reached and maintained with a rising pressure taking us to the last hurrah. A robust song that mainly thrives due to the fact it doesn't fuck about, hang about and over elaborate. 'The Natural Order Of Things' is a funny number that is a lovely change but which doesn't float my boat. It feels as though it is not quite blended right, is caught in several minds and never really blossoms as an individual number. It is a light and somewhat fluffed up affair with a chomping at the bit had but no real breakthrough made. I listen in, find solace in the latter end of the track when things are a little more off the leash, but overall, nah - not for me although I do appreciate the necessity to change things up.
'What's The Remedy' cuts in, cracks a sturdy whip and bounds in with a flourishing hunger and relish. From the off this is a highly animated and ruddy rambunctious reveller with a spine as sturdy as a metallised King Kong. A real good groover with all areas aflame, in cahoots and clobbering out a sanguine spirit lifter that showcases a band on their game. Despite the twists and turns within the tune, the band maintain a tight grip on the orchestration whilst applying good power and high precision and, may one add, an obvious passion for the creation of a racket. The lads know their stuff and my previous fave track as just been outdone.
Well, 5 tracks is a suitable number of songs, four are real bollock-wallopers and one leaves me a trifle cold. Hey, no reviewer can like everything, no reviewer should offer up bullshit and we can all only be honest, hopefully fair and constructive. This is a sound CD indeed with a couple of real zeniths that exhibit a band with great prowess and know-how and with a strain that, in a scene torn asunder, rogered and raped, with a something a little different. 'Keep at it' is my advice to the band, 'have a nosey' are my words to you the reader.
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BLACK SHEEP D - BLACK SHEEP EP A delve into the DIY discordance of a one man plucker, an area that I have penetrated before and I am proud to say, still managed to avoid a prison sentence. A quartet of curios here, done with the same drive and recognisable tones which, as it transpires, is no bad thing. So let us see what this bastard from Boston has in store, I am blessed to be requested for a review and even if I hate the whole spillage am very respectful for the outpouring and the ethos behind it.
Baa, Baa, blah, blah and 'Black Sheep' enters the eavesdropping pastures where my lugs are open and I am happy to wallow in the dung. A gentle fuzzery and an escorting twinkle tickle with an earthy undulation all make for an opening episode that immediately gets the lower trotters tapping and the bonce nodding along. This is a gentle laid out tune with a rebellious defiance that refuses to join the grey mush and be one of the pack. A celebration of being an outsider and being classed as a 'freak' by those mentally shackled and governed by dictates spewed forth by the fashion fucks and money-making tossers of trend. The ovine bleat, they all follow the leader, this tune cracks on amidst the pack and is a good light shining for the oddball. A quaint and effective start.
'Bitter Taste' is a real choice cutlet, borne from an injured heart with a life of woes it seems. The sorrowful shuffle has a sobered and acceptant outlook with scars bared and there for one to read. This song is played from the standpoint of an introspective bod who is beaten down, ragged and worn and looking for some form of escape. The underlay of acoustica is a delight and the emotional content perfect for a cruise that cuts out a very defining groove and really appeals to the inner soul. A veritable gem methinks.
'Just A Poor Boy' is a low-slung mutt that keeps its belly close to the sun-baked ground and shuffles along minding its own business. Pure bluesy snuffling with all the essences of the scene and the DIY depths. A combo rarely touched one would think but listen to the old vibes and all the trademark touches are there. As we coolly travel along there be nerve twangs alongside the wallowing accents and the usual focused backdrop of well-directed sound and of course, all the while we feel switched off and very chilled. Job done - yeah - I think so!
'Knocking On My Door' is a reactive track that seems just thrown off the cuff. There is a bitterness within the weave but a glorious determination not to sell out to meet the needs of those who like things processed, parcelled, packaged and of obvious leanings. Yes - if you don't play ball and your face doesn't fit it is the shit end of the stick for you but... the fuckers who claim to be winning are not, they are just diluted sell-outs playing a game to get to a place that has no depth and really does nothing for the inner soul. The musical flow here is a little too jerky for me and this is not my favourite tune but, the approach, the content and the attitude win genuine applause and support. Do it, do it yourself, and never, ever dilute to get on!
I am a fan of this plucking fucking gent. A busker that does. A busker who takes a fair share of shit. A busker who does it his way and who, carries on regardless of the down shouters, doubters and masters of doing fuck all themselves. 4 tracks worthy of picking up and throwing into your personal playlist - or is it not polished enough for ya - bah!
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THE WEBB - I LOVE HALLOWEEN 2 lovely folk, came, dabbled, played a few Fungal gigs in their embryonic stages, and then duly departed the DIY scene. I am still in touch with these poppets of perversity and am overdue a meet-up. In the meantime I have been requested to review a CD they almost overlooked - ooh the silly sods. With the usual mystery, sable sinisterism and electro slice of the macabre the duo do, delight and leave me wanting another 'live' fix. Alas an 'in the flesh' show will not be, but we can still dream.
Click, clack, shuffle attack and then the cream-dream opening synthoid automation comes. 'I Love Halloween' is built on a subtly punchy bassline as well as the interstellar keyed pulsations and the tiptoe rhythm of the tympanics. The lead lass stays within the cavernous shadows, echoes out her verbals, each statement frosted through and dripping with icicles of gothic intrigue. A celebration of the time of year when ghoulies dance, witches take to the air and all manner of creepy-crawlies take centre-stage. There is an absorption in the event, an involvement in the dark side with the players beyond hope. I think this is a really captivating and uplifting tickle and will enthuse anyone to admire their cobwebs and feel liberated as the spiders legs dangle.
'Free Floating Anxiety' is a song I can relate to as a long tern sufferer of cranial mither. A somewhat cold and bleak tune that examines a state of stress that really is a fucker to control. Head sparks, bodily weakness, a feeling on no control and a deep-rooted nebulous fear that just cannot be captured and tamed. The slow persuasive throb and nag-nag modus operandi deals with the subject matter quite ideally and perhaps ensnares the feeling we victims are striving to escape. A slow potboiler then creeps in and takes over (just like the ruddy condition methinks) - is this a good thing or a bad thing - cripes where's me Citalopram?
'Black And Grey' chugs away with a pestering consistency, like a flame-haired demon child tugging at the sleeves and striving for attention. From the opening strains of taut and troubled tensions things pan out in automated style with a regimented routine the band are very much smitten/accursed by. A mental strain is uncovered, an inner suffering that shackles and suffocates. There is something disturbing and haunting about this monochrome movement that seems to be stuck in a damning rut. There is also something innately perverse radiating from this one that somehow enchants, mesmerises and wins applause - I just don't know what that darn X-Factor is!
And we close, 'Tortuous Misfortune' is the final escapade, a groovy light-swirl captivator that twirls to the tone, skips to the serenade and all the while dips in and out of the mysterious crannies of untrustworthiness. The flow is electrically charged and running smooth whilst the vocals are slightly iced, from the ether beyond and always lucid. From the initial pulses of hesitancy, through the outré tunery and the wired up weaving, to the final cable collapse, this is a good way to close a neat little synthed up package of sound.
The Webb have been, created their embracing intricacies, fed on your feedback and duly fucked off. A couple of fine folk, doing what they want, how they want, in purist DIY fashion. Will there be more tricklings coming our way? I hope so but for now, enjoy this overdue release and beware the arachnids of sonic shiftiness.
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