FUNGALPUNK - CD REVIEWS Page 1
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SUBMIT - SELF-TITLED A CD arrived through the post, I was clueless as to who the band where until I recognised a couple of names on the back, put two and two together and came up with 5.85 (darn this moon-powered calculator). I had expectations (such is how the sonic brain operates), I played and had a surprise (who the fuck left that onion on my seat) and indulged in several more silver revolutions. I was considering putting fingertip to keyboard, I felt unsure but hey, one can dawdle too long and come up with a load of old dishonest claptrap) and so the acoustic arse was put in gear and the natural honesty flowed.
Track one, and 'Haunted By The Ghost Of Myself' works in under raindrops of brow-furrowed contemplation before sub-whispered words are proffered. A self-examining escapade with a cool tempo, a certain seriousness and a self-doubting essence that fails to hinder the quality of output and the exactitude of the arrangement. The winning aspects here are the equilibrium of all components, the lucidity of each contribution and the sobering sing-a-long pseudo-dirge that injects a bitter pathos to leave one in a state of flux as regards emotion. Despite the sable-edged leanings to the rhythmic sabre swung this one has enough momentum and accuracy to cut to the core and bleed forth a positive opinion.
'Wankers At The Weekend' pulses, rolls, repeats and calls for our attention with a fine 'hey up'. A tale of the lads, a night out, an indulgence. Each and every town is inundated with these cracked cunts, each group thinking they are 'mad as fuck', outrageous and as original as Hell - ooh the silly cunts. I have avoided this clap-trap existence and formulated 'man's man' approach as best as I can, listening to this reminds me why. A vicious dig in some respects, accurate as buggery and a steady stomper that states a case that sees no progress, more self-serving and a tedious routine that leads to no end result. A quite solid song albeit without any great zeniths of unexpected boom-blasts - it is veritable cement between the bricks. The next song is a delight, a combination of emotive accents with a care-free streak working through. Positivity and negativity are at loggerheads and eternally battling for the upper stranglehold that will direct an existence to who knows where. 'Used By Date' is the best song so far, it envelops many day to day feelings felt by a struggling grappler with life, an eternal outsider, a square peg who is happy to shit in all the round holes. I love the tonal layers, the careful yet natural arrangement and of course, the theme that resonates within this Fungalised soul who is always happy to avoid the idiot comfort zones. Yes, a real subtly sinewy song that has a hefty impact.
A reclined waltz manifests itself during the delivery of 'The Bits I Lost', a consideration of long lost times that are part of one's make-up, that are now blurred but which made a deep moulding impression nonetheless. This one rolls with a very unfussed flow and gets one pondering as to what is the point of a memory that has made no difference, gets jaded and warped with time and is nothing more than a mere illusion/delusion that leaves one... befuddled. This is a real tender piece, posted home with a heartfelt and tear-inducing aplomb - a very satisfying encounter with a darn decent song.
The next couple and the doom-laden threat of a single string thrum is followed with a dark, sombre and very sinister vocal touch that brings self-harm (or worse) to centre stage. 'Let The Razor Slide' is an accomplished work born from a pit of mental ill-health that gnaws away and forces an overspill of confessional creativity. From the damning verse to the delivering chorus, this is a horrorshow not to be taken lightly. The claret-daubing artiste has a pain, a loss, a fear and a voice that pleas for help. A very apposite song in times when many are suffering in this happy-plastic world where smiles are strained, pressures mounting. 'I Can't Swim' comes to the fore on riverbank tones, almost borne in fact, from the loins of 70's sub-hippy kids TV. The exploring of the personal make-up continues with the outside contrasting with the inside and a continuing lack of assuredness running deep through the entire piece. The daily plight is a fight I know too well, the core of the curse is the noggin, a miraculous piece of creation that is nothing less than a bastard. Despite the helplessness, the feeling of no hope and the ongoing battle against unforgivable life this is a beautiful moment of clarity and if taken as a standalone, can explain the whole CD.
'Soil And Blood' slowly electrifies, walks with heavy steps and deals with the aging process that manifests itself as a warning from people deemed ancient before jumping out at you as a reality not to be taken lightly. Growing old is indeed fuckin' crud, an essential humbler of the ego and the arrogant and par for a very trying course. We live, we die, but did we indeed try and put back and be decent (everything else is piffle). The words here are donated by a fellow struggler, a defiant old goat and one still not happy it seems. A muscular mover laden with disgruntlement and exposing an inability (perhaps a refusal) to accept this creeping crippler that wrinkles us beyond hope. Bah fuck!
'Somehow It Feels...' is a tender, frangible and somewhat hesitant piece with a distinct trepidation had in the acoustic delivery. Matters gradually find a tad of extra strength to progress with a less restrained and almost reined in accent, I find myself pulled along rather than skipping alongside fully intrigued. My least favoured track - the reasons, too long, a trifle too sombre and just one of those. I suspect a more uplifting angle would have been well-timed here but who knows? The balanced of all areas is spot on, the theme is in keeping with what has transpired but... Fungal' digestive system isn't satisfied here - belch!
At stage 'penultimate' we land with 'Motherfucker Days' a gently pulsed number with a very approachable and relatable theme that brings back memories of when I was a broken youth with no idea, a belly full of rage and despair and a carcass kicking back against every social nook and cranny you could imagine. This has a friendly feel to it, it comes across as an old fellow struggler who just needs a hug. A debilitated piece that finds inner strength and kicks along against the dreary drain and the grey old days that pile up and add their own little bit of extra pressure. There is no escape, there is no great solution but a sagacious statement says you best make sure you make the most of what is left - I do suspect many will smash and grab and get what they can and fuck everything - hey fuckin' ho, this is still a choice offering.
The last stand, 'The Devils Game'. From bleak and dreary shadowplays comes a whispering, a sub-moan, a pseudo-westernised waltz. Deep within the veins of the fully-flesh shambler we feel a weighted burden, a schizophrenic threat, a worming malevolence that just leaves one oh so slightly on the cusp. Moments of solace seem to be the cursing factor, as open wounds are further exposed and that twisting dissatisfaction comes to the fore and takes all the blame. Shaded work of many greying layers, hang in there folks.
From the problem known as life we have the solution known as death. The problem is all we have, the option is a dread - the questions are many, the answers too few - we are trapped in a playpen of pandemonium, here is a soul bared, can you indeed take it? My thoughts are of a well-scripted and admirably honest work that is heavy going and not for everyday play but which is ideal for provoking thought and creating necessary contrast. Without the dark, can there ever be any light?
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REINE DES LEZARDS - SHOULDN'T WE BE ALL WEARING SILVER NOW An invite to review, an invite that dragged me once more into dungeons of dabbling decadence and testing tonality where multifarious swirls of sonic shades are blended by forces borne from several recognisable names. I had initial trepidations, I should have known better but... the DIY spirit insisted I threw myself into another mischievous mix of experimentation done without shackle. I was prepared to take a stated approach and perhaps use a blend of brevity, analysing tomfoolery and good intent, here is what I came up with. 'Somethin' On U' opens with industrial chuggery and some clutter-fuck-it buggery. The verbal vibes come from icy shadows that are tinted blue and forever shimmering whilst a waywardness of direction always leaves one wondering where the general beat is headed too. Mysticism and melodica combine in a kind of nuthouse way with a dance/trance edge tattoo dictating the main thread of the movement. I find this is one of those shifty shapeshifters that remains elusive - I ponder and play over, it is impish meddling with a quirky charm. 'I'm Sold' is questioning, disgusted and enslaved. Clonk, churn, confound - the machinations of the defeated manoeuvre are all bleak, confused and seemingly in need of a great escape. The bastards at the top have the power, they shuffle the hordes into rank and file, here we see an almost numbed and dumbed down acceptance of a situation most horrid. A gloomy number with a subdued rhythm and no lasting hook - I am not keen at all, I do appreciate the off-kilter approach but find 'Fastnet Rock Automatik' a better jaunt. More focus with a good zipping pulse and with a more forceful intent on getting from A through to B with a decent amount of gumption. The rock and roll injection is blatant here with a certain slag-bag looseness that helps give the song extra juice. Still we retain the jangle-angle accents and oddball outré affect that leaves the song just on the cusp of decency (emphasis on 'just' may I add).
Into the fourth abandonment with 'Lie Glitch' beginning in a very inter-stellar/angular feller way with a tribal underbeat and retro programmed utterance liable to take one out of this realm of sanity. The lyrical content is both nebulous and ambiguous, there is a definite concealment of the actual definition and whilst the lower belly tub thump continues, matters misfire, threaten to implode and duly come to an halt before we fall into the blatant madness of 'Reptile Hitz Paper Clown' - a veritable shuffle-scuttle of nonsensical popple-piffle that leaves me confused, on edge and striving to find reason. This can be a fine state of play if the occasion or mood is just right, more often than not though it leaves one in a state of frustrated fidgety fuckity fuck - I am restless and nowhere near smitten.
'Lizard Boy' swoops in, seems to have a pleasant vibe before vulgarly pounding away with a machine-like clank-o-static incessance that operates with great effective gusto. A real stomping number with a hefty unstoppable metronomic beat that will please many with heads sozzled and in need of a regulated rhythm to keep them upright and moving. I like the fluidity here, the poetical ambiguous lyrics and the weight of the vibe. The follow-on is a disappointment that disgruntles my nerves and has me all a flutter. There is no flow, the sonics are jarring, the lyrical content a puzzling mire of head-twiddling tomfoolery. As ever, these conjurers of crooked cacophonics who masturbate the melodies in a non-orthodox way are always liable to inseminate one’s mind with befuddlement and give birth to the bastard sprog of disbelief - such is the case here. 'Legs 2 Die' comes next, a toy-box drama playing out with a haunting twist that really displaces the internal sense of decency. This one is both disjointed and shambling and yet makes progress in its own crippled and pseudo-cacophonic style. What the fuck is going on here? Who the fuck has animated the pantomime characters and got them moving, creating and cursing. A very frazzling encounter with plastic-face melts and juddering dolls of malevolence.
'Acrylic And Acetate' is one of the better composites with a swirl-whirl interstellar barbing that hooks onto the material of the mind and seems to be unshakable in its tonal tenacity. The space-invader releases are incessant, the general motif wraps-around and around whilst the overall gist is continued. This is ideal music for a 22nd Century back-street freak hive where all the wonderful outsiders come and parade themselves on a neon flickered dancefloor whilst the colour spectrum is ravaged and minds are duly turned to liquid joy. Intriguing for sure. The final brace, 'Lizard Goes Home' is a fuzzbuzz flee from this planet of normality and may I add, restriction. The chargers are fuelled, the panging in the digital dream is blatant, the song comes and goes and we wish the players farewell. A shiny-bright inclusion and I nearly forgot, there is one last track. 'Howl At The Moon' should be a real high-energy closure, fizzed to fuck and moving with outrageous pace - alas we get something a little too mundane and with a repetitious underflow that fails to generate any real jizz of joy. A very jangling jigsaw piece with the end picture lacking any satisfying rhythm. The words are too ambiguous and nebulous, the flow not undulating and contrasting enough - I sign off on a personal duffer. Say what you will, I have had a go and I hope have captured the essence and have been honest and fair. There are moments to inspire, intrigue and of course annoy. There are sincere 'wtf' snippets, episodes that soothe, elements that jangle - it is all par for the course when dealing with experimentalists who care not for the usual. This approach will never be to everyone’s taste, it should never, ever be that way - make of that what you will.
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THE CARS THAT ATE PARIS - BARELY CONCEALED CHAOS WITH From outside yet more parameters of normality and beyond the suffocating restrictions of routine labels comes a band slightly off-kilter and creating music the way they want it to be created. This crew have played a few Fungalised gigs and have added a quite wonderful texture to the proceedings. They come, muck in, waltz along and deliver vibes to keep one thinking and dabbling beyond the usual comfort zones. As the sets have unfolded foots duly tapped, arses waggled and heads nodded along to the warped, sometimes weird but always approachable tones. Here is a Fungalpunkeroono take on the latest toss-off of tonality - make of it what you will but rest assured, I am a fan of the band.
'Fuckin' Jayne' is a song with a simplistic tale about a relationship that seems to hold great prospects and then goes all awry. By heck the lass under the spotlight sounds like a right boozed up dominatrix, she would be a fine partner for some of the lethargic drunks I know. The song itself is a beautifully constructed rust-bucket meander with a blend of many sub-genres and acoustic suggestions with the slip into the chorus from the easy verse being well oiled, unflustered and highly magnetising. The laid-back and intrinsically unflustered approach of the players and the oral offerings are quite attractive and this a short, snagging and utterly enjoyable opening track. 'I Don't Care If You Go' follows suit and has a waltzing lilt that is perspiration free and awash with 'fuck-it' casualness. Added sax appeal gives rippled corrugation, the inner pulse is strong and the overall unassuming blend of all components works mighty well. Free of many punk restrictions, embracing shades and hues outside the obvious spectrum this is a fine follow-up to the opener and even the most ardent lover of crash, bang and clatter those bollocks will undoubtedly be charmed here - I certainly hope so.
A sinister sneaker borne from the lips of a cataleptic next with the gloomy deathbed of sound known as 'Down In The Ground' surely a work of some Poe-tainted noggin. Jizzed and jazzed and holding a creeping style, the mists of eeriness send tendrils of unease down each and every aural avenue of any nearby victim. The drift is unpredictable, I await a rising from the residue, a sudden eruption from the maggot-dance fest, alas what comes is a mere wind-down into oblivion. Despite the lack of any explosive accoutrements of born-again vibes the song has its own signature feel and is unsettling to say the least. I am a convert nay victim!
A real old-skool she-punk jamboree of jauntiness comes next with the agitated, energetically masturbated rag-time rock along mis-routine of 'Girls On Telephones'. A wonderful modern day observation piece of the goggle-eyed robots who just can't take their peepers away from the head-melting device that is destroying every part of their individuality and crippling their chance at cerebral freedom. I love the DIY and honest feel to this one, a real 'get up and have a go' gob off with a charming accent and overall rough and ready effectiveness. It really is right up my rhythmic street.
'Lawnmower Man' is a pop at a destructive bastard who has to have everything manicured and trimmed to a warped sense of perfection. A slow reggae-skank tinged number with an attack carried out on a bloke who sounds like a right wanker. An embracing number especially for those who appreciate and understand the natural world, like a casual dance and have an intolerance for backward shits who can't see beyond their own petty needs. The brass inclusion adds texture to an already sense-laden number that works and works mighty well.
A clutch of two, 'Magic Levitating Finger' is a flower-power contemplation of trickery-laden digits that can do some strange things ma'an. This one takes me back to psychedelic tapestries of yore where headmelt dabblings came, infused the music scene with something soothing, ethereal and gracile. The lead chap does a massaging job with light touches from the lasses both ideal and equally relaxing. A pure submergence into a switched off realm that we all need to wallow in from time to time. I have a fondness for things thrown back and reclined with that 60's essence so sorely overlooked - the creamy bass only adds to this lovely experience - now where's me 'shrooms?
'Sort Your House Out' is a rebellious tinker with a right old crisp and fruity feel that sees the flow become self-perpetuating and kicking back. The masters who make the rules and who attempt to dictate need to self-examine, spend less time point fingers and more time helping folk to get along and be themselves. A saturated mover, with the usual essences the band do so well. Nothing outrageous comes, no big highs invade ones lug space but this is a steady shuffler that again has a liberated dance factor and a certain underground vibe that works ruddy well. I have a preference though for the feisty, anti-idolising fluency of 'Temple' - a fiery infused incessant groover that stands proud in the face of hypocritical and plastic smile fraudulence. This is an all-encompassing saturated sound with many layers all thriving, and richly mellifluous tones that are noticeably unstoppable and highly passionate. I find this a sincere zenith of the CD with many spiked aspects as well as an overall gratifying level of lively animation.
3 left and 'Misery Monger' is a prod at the folk who thrive on doom and gloom and enjoy wallowing in the failings of others. 'Disciples of Schadenfreude', 'Perverts of Discontent' - these folk are on the increase in a world of desperation and turmoil. The band take the subject matter, toss it forth with a great contrasting joy de vivre and a drift assisted by a repetitive nag motif that gets its musical choppers into your ass and just won't let go. Frustration invades, despair with the down and out dwellers whilst the players up the impetus and all work in unison to rise high and thrash forth to the finish. Pacey, piquing and highly perspired - a neat change of approach.
'Too Many Memories' is a tear-soaked dirge that has an almost westernised mocking tone I can't help but snigger at. The Jonah who is juicing out his great swathe of misfortune makes this a crackpot moment of bleak hilarity that has some quite giggle-inducing lines. Not the best song on the CD, not a profound piece aiming to shake your veritable musical foundations but an episode of idiot light relief that does indeed work well and leaves one feeling fuckin' thankful for small mercies ha, ha.
The closure and double entendre takes centre stage as we wonder if we are dealing with a song about a man with radioactive globes or a man who appears at Christmas time and tries to sell his wares for your festive fir. 'The Man With The Illuminous Balls' is a simple piece, easily joined in with and is a good idea for a black and white B-movie. A groovy creeper that is what it is, take it with a pinch of salt, and of course... enjoy.
Yes, I like this lot, they offer options, step back from the pigeon-holed parade and are always welcome on a Fungalised. This CD will serve them well I am sure. Certain in-scene cliques may avoid, those with well-spread lug-radars will pick up on something very rewarding here – by heck, what a reet treet!
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NOMATRIX - SLIBHIN This band, from Athlone in Ireland, tickle along with no concern for kissing arse, indulging in grandeur and wining false favour. They are a tight outfit, doing things just right and without any sub-text and idiot underhand game playing. They put on a good 'live' exposure, nail their songs with zeal and rapidity and 2 of the lads run the fine record label 'Deadlamb Records'. It is DIY in action rather than a lot of hot talk and contemplating the navel - here I do what I do too whilst finding a bit of time to scratch my knackers (phew). 'Slíbhín' is an angry straight-ahead song that deals with the sneaky snakes in the grass that groom with their smooth flow and then bite you on the ass when a better proposition arises. From the opening to the final thrust this is a 1 minute 23 second bog-brush basic passion push of good to honest noise making, executed without idiot baubles and cock-firming thrill, but with a reliability not to be questioned. It is consistent fare from a band who know their stuff and do not look to wallow in experimentation and pomposity. They could do more with this one but it does what it does and who am I to gripe. I do prefer 'Identity' though - the emotive content is greater, there is a good contrast factor enhanced by the unleashed, untamed finale and overall the song feels more complete and more challenging to the players and the listening lugs. The opening throes are pacey and intrinsically laden with Nomatrix essences. The same spicings are felt via the following gob assisted throes with energy aplenty that is easily more appreciated if the 'volume' nob is cranked up. Depth is found and again, that final rabid riot at the end sets the whole song aflame. Ruddy lovely! A tremble of nervousness and outsider oddness. The main drive is soon upon is with a very retro-Nomatrix feel that has me pondering the archives and pondering how long this band has been plying its trade. A gruff, rough and inner-scaffolding with a kick up the arse for those playing a game. 'Victim' wallops home with uncompromising hunger and a no-nonsense style of sound. Very obvious stuff from this lot and it is what it is - frill-free, energetic and to the point. The band have better numbers but there is something so damn deliciously consistent about what transpires here. 'Eulogy' has a seasoned and more emotive quality with a very sober and somewhat disillusioned feel emanated. A hopelessness is found, there seems no escape, the crew face it head on and batter out a very magnetising track that has many nuances and acoustic accoutrements that any knowing fan of the band will appreciate. When the warbler at the fore adopts a greater sense of relaxed persuasion to his oral emanations things seem to be more honest, natural and emotive - I call for more of this during future expulsions. Another reliable track methinks. Four tracks, four examinations and I am still fan. As a fan though I now want the band to take a few risks and change up the style - it will be good for the players, the listeners and the DIY scene - challenge set - Fungal wants another EP with a quartet of real teste-tickling oddments. Phwoar! |
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THE CONSPIRACY - TROLLIED Metal Postcards deliver another offering via The Conspiracy. I have dabbled with this combo on 4 previous occasions, I have no need to do another intro, let us crack on and concentrate on the tuneage hey? I expect something off kilter, challenging and poetically intriguing, then again, this could be anything or everything - onwards. 'Salisbury Gloves' begins with tip-taps and ripples before a title statement is made and a lazy meander is taken down a thoroughfare of deep intrigue. Having exchanged messages with the creator of the tunery I discover that this haunted tale is about a school were the throat warblers grandfather attended. A recent visit and a presence was felt, hence the ghostly vibes methinks. A careful, memory laden subtle chill with a kind of monochrome flicker feel that slowly unravels and with each spin, reveals further layers. A slow boiler with emotion subdued but if you take time there is persuasive matter here and to mull it over is a must. The opening sequence to 'Digital' reminds me of 80's to 90's dancey/trancey dabblings that left me musically disturbed. It was a terrible time for we more regulated rhythm lovers who like things more natural, this is a blast from the past - ooh where's me 'E's. A mild tempo, a look at a gig, a soothing susurration sensation, a gentle dopamine disturbance with things oh so slightly 'Fall' en. A very strange and somewhat hypnotic arrangement with a mellow accomplishment had as well as a certain overall nebulousness, I balance precariously on the edge of uncertainty. 'Icarus' is the most textured and balanced number I think. It is a slow, reliable and comfortably rhythmic. We fall, we rise, we fall again - repeat. Along the way we can take care, go wild, walk on tiptoe and sometimes trample - I think if time is taken out to contemplate with this number as a musical escort we may do a little better with the approach. The caressed strings, the semi-whispered warnings, the soporific lullaby lilt and the overall orchestration leave one with a feeling of having listened to a song that is complete - nice. 'Trollied' closes, a true tale of a gent on an A&E trolly clinging on to life itself. Again, there is a horror tattooing throughout the content, a contemplation of a time of terror and then of great relief. The groovy flick along belies the fact that the end of days was near, the upsurge in emotion exposes a frustration with the recovery process - the mental rollercoaster is, I suppose, par for the unpredictable course. From the depths of despair the musical content reacts, the untrustable overspills come in a number that is one of those snippets that you have to be ready for. If your cerebral state of play is lowly then stay clear, if you are up for a challenge for the acoustic sensors, have a nosey. Unorthodox, natural and with a tempo to tease. And there ya go, 4 songs outside many radars (shame, shame) and 4 songs to get one thinking, throw into the everyday musical mix and to keep things varied. I am thankful for the listen and am happy I have done my humble bit. |
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OMEGA TRIBE - POWER POP PUNK ROCK Cultured, considered and, may it be said, outspoken, Omega Tribe have been, gone and re-emerged and continue to ply their trade with good heart, fine musicianship and a determination to get their voices and opinions heard. One must be resolute and resounding but one also must maintain that we can't all agree on the same thing, we have to be respectful of others and understand why they disagree and where their foundations for the stance arise from - only love, good spirit and a sturdy backbone can win the day in this world of division, hate, biased madness and down-shouting (well, I think so anyway). Here we have another full-length offering with time donated by yours truly. As I always say, I cannot like everything, will never claim to be a know-it-all scribe and certainly will never kiss arse to garner favour. What I can offer is a 'bloke off the street' honesty, a musical nouse built on 1800 plus CD reviews and of course, my own scribbling style. Here I go again, passion and madness hey, what a combo! We open this account with the defiant and robust snagger known as 'Anti Government Forces' - an easy flowing number with a certain casualness of drift counterbalanced by a sharp stated account of how those in power duly operate. This is an instantaneous sing-a-long rebel song that floats along on gentle tonality whilst making individual statements that one would do well to argue against. The day to day disasters and crimes increase as those at opposite ends of the scale tick along with imbalance the great victor. The suited and booted are playing games with their human toys and all the while only thinking of legacy, profit and personal ego gain. This is a gentle but equally strong opening account with a good blend of all areas to win favour by many willing to 'think'. The production values get the best out of matters too - essential stuff tha' knows. 'Nasty Brutal People' points the digit at the scribes and scum-wits who create cerebral disgruntlement and a divided community with the end result being a whole lot more hate, finger pointing and unrest. The flow is easy, the musical approach not as confrontational as the message, the end result is an easy number to embrace, fall in line with and of course...enjoy. The individual components are considered and again, there is a solid snag factor that has one striving to shake-off the ear-worm element that wriggles within whilst using great persuasion to win applause. A concrete follow up to the sturdy opener. 'Goddess' is a loved up bout of admiration, soaked to the skin with perspired passion and ardour. We are encouraged to clap along before the opening string sensations bring back early alternative echoes that many an outsider thrived upon. The shift form verse, to sub-verse to chorus is without hitch and the rising zeal is complementary whilst being kept on a very loose leash. A bouncing song with a certain joy de vivre and unrushed inner belief. Not an instantaneous winner and not a CD zenith but, a good mover and groover with an accuracy of intent and acoustic prowess to avoid a Fungalised hoofing up the jacksie. With each play this one embraces and grows in stature - bear with it folks. Rich and eloquent textures of European flavour trickle forth next before whispered words are flourished with a deep-rooted sincerity. A love for a child is a thing of purity and selflessness (well, so it should be). Being blessed with a superb daughter borne from an equally superb wife, I find this song hits the spot. 'The First Time' is delicate, fragile, caring - it captures an emotion many don't take time to ponder and appreciate, it is a cerebrally acute number that deals with something so basic, so natural, so unbelievably precious. In the world of severe 'let down' - we need listen, take heed and not overlook that which is at the pinnacle of emotion. Fine content, fine song - play it and think! 'Animal' is a brooding number, a real sober study in abuse. We masters that have the need to control, restrain and ruin are tainted by a desire to not look beyond our own fatuous (and may it be said 'fat arsed') needs. At the brunt of our crippled and overly needy emotions are the animals, those creatures that contribute to a better world, a richer world, a place of intricate interest. Here the band don't hold back, many questions are posed, some may not like them some may be rankled and spit back but... we gotta always question and try and move on to a better place. A heavy song this, a mood laden piece awash with disgust and disgruntlement - you need to be prepared. This isn't a pleasure, I don't think it is meant to be, it is one to be played now and again but... it is worth its weight in gold. A cluster buster of three, all grabbed by the Fungal mitt, tossed into the assessing orifice and pondered. 'Essential Workers' is a joyous shout out for pure under the radar grafters who do more for the economy than a lot of suited and booted bags of bullshit who talk, barely walk and are forever riding on the back of someone else’s endeavour. A simple song and a simple premise but a real highpoint with a good uplifting and celebratory accent. The endless and thankless plight at those at level 'unconsidered' is there to be highlighted and Omega Tribe do just that and do it mighty well - nifty! 'Angel' begins on a cool groove sub-reggae drift with a touch of wire bending adding a necessary emotion. We drift into susurrated comfort, we see another contemplation, guilt exposed, thoughts on what is good, what is not - where are we ending up? Passions rise, there seems to be a conflicting source of emotion with fear present and desperation sneaking in. With it pseudo-religious questioning, the examination of life beyond death and the end judgement, this is a moment that dredges up many inner queries that never seem to be answered. I love this chill thrill and like the angle it is swinging in from, but I still don't have the universal answer. All I can advise is that 'you must try and be the best version of you that you can be'. From this moment we have the rippling undulations of 'Upside Down', another episode of laid back crooning that meditates on a topsy-turvy tombola where the end prize is always something ridiculous and mocking. It seems that those with greatest command are the ones with least empathy and from day dot, if we examine history, it seems we are making very little progress. If one doesn't take care this can be deemed as a song that waltzes away with an almost insouciant indifference, to class it as such would be a crime. I like the content but I am not fully in sync with the tonality and find things a little to tepid and underwhelming. Again, I can't like everything, and here I play and pass on unconvinced, but the words still matter. Romantic strokes and reclined rhythms make the next song a veritable mood piece. The frame of our mind will depend on your end verdict - some days this one works, some days I feel the need to move on to music with more clout. The inner uncertainty of vocal delivery, the flickering hesitancy and the slushy mush is neatly done but it is a 'tread carefully' snippet in CD revoluting time. 'How I Love You' could be easily nobbled by a one listen review, please take your time folks, consider the accents, the switch in style, the aims. Some may say it isn't 'punk', but if you get bogged down by a made up label I suspect that is what happens. I rate this fragile, heartfelt but a 'play now and again' inclusion. A harmonised intro, a lovely chipper jolly and some sage advice done in a repeat-beat style - simple hey? A skanky serenade with some therapeutic advice proffered for your delectation. 'One Step' has a positivity, a sanguinity and an easy pop-along and ping accent that is no fuss and ultimately, uncomplicated. We can all get dragged down by the day to day commands and bullshitting dictates - the key is to throw off the shackles, look to the intrinsically basic and most important aspects of life and go grab em'. Keep things productive and one can surely move fort. I like this song, some may say it is hippy-drippy flower-power soaked weaving - is that a bad thing ya silly buggers? 'Rain' is a bonus track (unless of course you don't like it). It deals with the emotive climactic condition that I for one find highly appealing. Heavenly droplets feeding the needing realms of wild wonder and the cleansing of thoroughfares dusted and tired. A good run in the rain can be a wonderful thing, watching a film indoors or reading a book, whilst the torrents batter the window is a joy - never underestimate the downpours. Here we see a swaying song that emanates from a reclusive scenario. Self-company, inner thoughts, a feeling of safety and warmth are all found in a real switched-off, snuggle on down song that has many meritorious points. Cosy man. And we finish with, yes, 2 more bonus tracks. 'Streets of London' is not the Ralph McTell number that was covered by the foul-mouthed Anti-Nowhere League. This is a 60's sounding tickle too but makes modern day observations and highlights the difference between the haves and have nots. In truth, this song could be about any major city and is an insight into society as it was, as it is and as it will be forever more - dis-fuckin'-jointed. A serene and serious coursing travels through the latter end veins of this impacting and thoughtful CD with the final salvo coming via the pertinent and neatly bass-enthused 'The Actual Heart'. This is a fine closure, a positive crescendo that finds inner strength and commits an act that really is one that should be carried out each and every day. Let go, give your love, throw away your impeding emotive shackles - play this very loud and celebrate a state of grace where we are actually moving on. The mix for this one needs to be exact and the balance of all areas both accurate and complimentary - the OT trio achieve this and some. Boom! A sound and reliable CD with messages aplenty and delivered with what I hope is respect and love ( I reckon so). I could go into the realms of punk rock analysis here and consider whether this is a punk album or not but... why the fuck would I? If music has passion, good attention, a thought process behind it and is done with good intent then the need for an added label is nonsensical. If I like the tunes that is a mere bonus and if I don't like them then so be it and respect me for saying so. This however is a good album - it ain't full on power, it ain't pop as such and it may not be 'punk' enough for ya - but it is a darn good disc of delights - have it! |
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JEAN MIGNON - MIGNON 7 I like the style, the speed and the scum-fuck suavity of Jean Mignon - the sub-garage rabidity of the noise, the terse running times and the unruly mania that pervades all areas piques the primitive sonic senses and, more often than not, I come away from a review quite pleased with most of what has transpired. The New York based rapscallion of rhythm chucks out 4 tracks here and I duly put in my thoughts after receiving the vibes via the webwaves. 'Tarmac Gold' shoots out from the speakers like sizzling spunk from the genitals of a Bombardier Beetle. A two-beat, a lunatic holler and then the foot is pressed on the accelerator and all hell lets loose. High energy dysfunctionality slapped in yer mush with a whizzed up, unwashed relish and over and done with in double wick time, Slap, bank, bollocks baby - have it and pogo like a goon, it is all astounding stuff. Straight into 'Won't Put Him Down' we go, great pace, electric pulsations of barbituated loaded zeal and a general mush of acoustic madness that one can't decipher only duly enjoy. This is fast rock and roll and magnetises the senses, intrigues all the areas that love unprocessed, unaffected rancorous rhythm making. Slagged and sleazy with a 'fuck you' paradoxical decency, this is another mucky manifestation that reeks of earthy reality. Boom, bang, yelp and a smooth and more controlled groove comes as 'Lookin' For Stairs' snots off, sneers and snarls and takes its time with the overall trash and splash musical grooming. More off the cuff and reactive than the previous two offerings but this alteration in pace is needed and with the consistent dirty grind style and relaxed and rockin' riffery, this is a tasty piece that gets spicier with each nibble. We close with the glorious regulation riot of 'I Did It And I’d Do It Again'. Coruscated crud is scraped from the scalp of the serenader before a primeval scream opens the gateway for another bout of spittle-soaked, rambunctious riot-making. This is a scorching beauty delivered with accuracy and an distinct uncouthness that is quite ruddy glorious. A supreme explosion that rattles the membranes and punishes any areas deemed lethargic. The lunatic waywardness is delightful, the fact that the player keeps all in line and scuzzily tuneful make this a real winner for me. Jean Mignon knows his stuff and executes it with aplomb. A four track is ideal for this kind of noise and I hope these sizzle-snippets keep on coming. I am choosing the latter track as my 'Song of the Month' - yes baby, yes. |
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REINE DES LEZARDS - I'M SOLD A brace from a new creative force on the Metal Postcards label. I jump in and do, know nothing and come out none the wiser. IN the mix is a guest appearance from Half Naked Shrunken Heads - the plot thickens - gloops, gloop. 'I'm Sold' clambers from shifting subterranean shadow realms were ambiguity and vagueness dominate. With insistent persuasion, and some effort on behalf of the luggite, a semblance of something akin to a song unfolds, a sub-sonic creation not for those who like to immerse themselves in the obvious it seems. The general wired and wayward backflow has a construct that just about falls into the boundaries of organised and we end up with a mind-boggle enigma that has many gradients of esoteric interest provided concentration is maintained. Weird, perhaps under-mixed and with no defining hook, this is hard gruel to swallow if the stomach acids aren't balanced. 'Sasha For President' squelches in, mutters, utters and generally splutters. A contrast of that which has lucidity and that which is uncertain and nebulous sees the latter hold precedence whilst a fidgety feel keeps matters moving. The overall looseness and shimmering molestation leaves me somewhat disturbed, unmoved and cold - there is a lack of something highly definite and defining here and after several rotations I really can't summon enough inner interest to garner any form of intrigue. I walk away unimpressed and disappointed - it happens. 2 songs, a quick review, I am not in sync with the spillage and don't really get or like what has transpired. Sometimes this is how matters roll, this is not to say this is crud and it should not stop the creators doing what they do. I have tried here, listened in but as I say to many folk 'no one can like everything they hear, especially if they are covering many realms'. What can one do? |
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GRLDCK - DEMO In this day of plugged-in addiction and piffle it seems the main bulk of review requests I get are done via the digital drain. This is a good thing in the fact that it saves on space and stops me building up an unfathomable CD collection that I really struggle to deal with. On the other hand, too many are ensnared by the trappings of the wired up wank age and I remain dubious about the whole shitty shebang. Anyway, come what may, I crack on against an unstoppable force and deal with some Queercore from Hamburg, it sounds intriguing but then most stuff does when it comes as a teaser. I am hoping for something off kilter here, I plunge in like a loon faced with a man eating lion - I does stupid very well indeed. A pointless opening sees a whispering pug and two others exchange words regarding a vibe - I can't see the point here - can you? Is it about taste? Is there some subliminal message that may turn me into a turnip? Fuck knows and onto music proper with the pain-laden rambunctiousness of 'Let Me Be' - an explosion from an angle where the individual can't be accepted and anything outside the circle of normality is pounced upon. This has a good NY old-school slagginess and plenty of power reactions that enthuse the gob to keep going at it. A real feisty affair with plenty of rage, clarity and natural rhythm-making awareness. The end production values are spot on and there are plenty of balls, bits, breasts and whatever you want - bared with ill-temper, have it ya doubters and down-shouters! 'Burn Flame Burn' has a need, a panging and a forthright compunction to resist, defy and stand firm. A sub-violent explosion that has clearly had enough, all done and dusted in a quick volcanic eruption that singes rather than sears, suggests rather than slams home. There could be more done with this arrangement but short and fiery is never a bad thing and so I pootle on and say no more! 'Callout 1' is glam slaggery issued forth from a den of sozzled-head iniquity where the so-called freaks and weirdos hang out. Garaged sub-psychedelic manifestations from realms where colours are garish and cool, all are pissed on and people can be what they wanna be without fear of treading on anyone's sensibilities. A mucky pup licking at the lower parts of the listener, I do wonder if I am guilty of a full-on submission! 'DRM-BT_1' is a quick burst of desire, almost akin to a jam session with a frenzied need to 'get seen to'. A sub-song, as natural as you like but in truth, not really grabbing my attention and turning me on. 'Fingered In Line' is a stumble-bumble confession from what sounds like a heap of sordid shittery that I for one am happy to leave to others. Some may be shocked and cocked, some may be amused and consider themselves liberal - I am merely bored by the behaviour that would be better off done in private. The sound has a good reckless edge and an uncertainty with a collapsing finale - an unfinished product I reckon, just like the fumbling it seems. 'Top Shortage' briefly groans before screaming its way to blessed relief. As I screw up the earholes I struggle to make out what the gob is harking on about but take the presumptuous decision that it will be undoubtedly sex-based. A confused number that can't make up its mind as to what it wants to be methinks - one that is over and done with in the blinking of a bloodshot and weary eye, I remain indifferent to this one and really can't add any more. 'Give Space' is a kick-back against the ongoing prejudice that will appeal to those looking to make a change (sometimes it seems, just for the sake of it). This is poetry done with an absence of sound and then with a tumultuous backdrop of ill-intent. The fuckin' human mush is a bastard disgrace and the divisions and fallings out still go on no matter how many holler. I don't mind this, it has a culture and a good intent - is anyone fuckin' listening - aaggghhh! More talk under the guise of an 'Outro' - hey ho. In truth this is really not my cup of cha', a bit too crude in many ways and with a rather unfinished feel I think. There are moments to ponder though and potential is there to be utterly tapped but for now, I shall leave others to make up their minds about this one – I gotta be fair. |
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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. |