LABASHEEDA - BLUEPRINTS

The intro taken from Facefuck reads as thus:- 'Female fronted artrock, noise and post-punk band from Amsterdam' - well I am a sucker for the art of the impressionists, I like rock, post-punk dabblings can be a wonderful thing and Amsterdam does well for the cannabis industry - who am I not to be interested here (nudge, nudge, wink, wink).  The request came for me to tinker with the tonality and hopefully evacuate my cerebral bowels and shit forth an appraisal - I duly digested the noise and squatted like a good un' - this is the reeking end result. 

'Fossils' has a bass pulse to open with an escort of swirl and swish tympanics.  A regular route is found, strange wire warpings come along with a sub-psychedelic shadow serenade borne form an utterer on a tangent. A quick urgency, a gentle floating on clouds of barely touched cacophony.  The general essence of the material is very much as stated, an after-the-event sub-spike meandering with many hints at something almost experimental. There is a gossamer feel combined with something more sturdy - this is interesting and provoking tuneage. 'Closure' goes for a slightly darker edge with bleak dystopian guitars opening matters. The lighter flicks fail to add much light as this grim number plays out beneath stark skies of unearthly nakedness. We get moments where things are stripped further, keyed restlessness and vocal free dabblings that see the band fall in realms jazzoid.  This second snippet as a slightly eel-like leaning and can be difficult to grasp. There is too much hesitancy in parts and so the general ease of listening is impeded - this is a shame as it mars an effort with great potential. 

The next brace, 'Sparkles' begins with a serious pulse before matters are slightly lightened and a certain insouciance of affect comes, thus giving the whole scenario a looser and far more natural friendliness.  There is something deliciously warming here as well as being gently breeze-blown and may I add, slightly gothic. Heavier scud-scuzzes are a surprise and bring into play a suggestion of grunginess whilst the song still maintains a good balance of the cleansed and the slightly unwashed.  I like this one very much and move on to the next track uplifted. 'Homeless' comes to the fore with a blend of tiptoeing hesitancy conducted within semi-darkness and a more sanguine sonic striding done with a certain pseudo-operatic grandiosity.  Adjustments to the acoustic receptors are needed so as to fall in line with the graceful advance of many clashing tones and the uncertain thoroughfares taken.  I listen over and over and find many gratifying points and so keep in flow with a CD that gets better and better with each rotation. 

One of the competitors for the overall Fungalised highpoint comes via 'Curiosity' - a more forthright, unhygienic and perhaps obvious piece of noise with a certain pushing essence and a meaner drive to all areas.  The broken glass guitar grindings and the soothing vocal style that oozes a slightly haunted feel contributes to a final satisfaction when I come to the rather abrupt ending. 'Vanity' is the perfect partner to the preceding donation with limp and languid tones of surprised beauty and liquidity that slowly meander on a pathway of tender precision and careful, almost hesitant forethought.  We are dealing here with caresses and considerations dealt with a somewhat soothing passion that hints at something scarred and fractured.  A quite lovely piece that contrasts perfectly with its predecessor. 

Dustbin scrapings and post-punk angularity follow with an awkward shapeshifter crawling forth under the guise of 'Minus, Minus'.  Eventually a flow is found, it is oh so brief as further clumsy staggering takes hold and we are left hanging on for dear sonic life in the hope of coming up with a final verdict close to the truth.  Again what we have is a well-built number that is away from the orthodox routine and therefore one that has a certain longevity that may grow in appeal. A strange beast to be sure. 

The closing quartet begins with the nervous reluctance of 'Volatile'.  Instruments are barely touched before semi-taut wires are stroked with a reclined waltz unfolding before our blessed ears. Those open throes are gloomy yet uplifting and come from moorland scapes of bleakest winter where the wind blows and monochrome images dictate.  This is a fascinating piece of orchestral simplicity that has majesty and emotion - a splendid inclusion. 'Procedure' is a blend of the almost shackled and automated with a free and ghostly spirit.  This copulation of seemingly opposing forces is brought together in a marriage of cohesion by a pseudo-sub-operatic and pondering vocal style that is quite apt for the musical donations offered.  For me, this is winter's day music that can be used to enhance all ambiences. 'Tigre Royal' has a sensual needful commencement before a light pulse, a determined thrust and a greater abandonment of approach with the oral offerings hitting the highest zenith thus far and really appealing to my less studded and spiked attentions.  There is a great deep underlying strength to the tune with the bass being a commanding force that heaps on a wealth of robust scaffolding and keeps the overall construction... upright. The final number on this CD is entitled 'What Remains Is Love', an acoustically driven hybrid whose plugged in aspects are minimal.  The languid feel of the overspill and the tepid cascade of all tones makes for a soporific closure that maintains the strain sought and the unflustered modus operandi of the players. As a lover of things short, raw, quick and under-polished, I shouldn't really like stuff like this, but I am never shackled by generic rules and in-scene restrictions - this is a pleasurable listen. 

Labasheeda have come, tickled my senses, and done so in the most polite, passionate and subdued manner possible. I would like to see where they go from here and hope they don't rest on their laurels.  A short sharp shocker wouldn't go amiss and will keep folk guessing, for now though, what a sweet surprise indeed. 

THE PUNCTURISTS - EVERYBODY'S ON DRUGS/SPECTRE

A two song offering from a female-fronted band that hail from the rolling climes of Yorkshire.  The band label themselves as a 'garage' unit although the songs lack a little dustbin clatter and hollowed out rawness and in fact, progress over a running time that is quite longer than much of the 60's spillage I douse my ears with.  As per, my good to honest time was taken, I rolled the flavours over my palette during several musical sojourns and was eventually capable of dishing forth the following dissection.

'Everybody's On Drugs' is a long drawn out affair that tinkers, tampers and tonally trundles with a mid-paced affect that has a somewhat wraparound effect many will be ensnared by.  The winning aspects are the snagging hook, the crystal clear vocal application and the cheap and slightly scurfy acoustic qualities that give the song a really likeable earthy feel.  The running time though is severely overdone and a shaving off of a full minute would only help in giving the song a greater impact and a more 'replay' magnetism.  I am charmed and frustrated in one sonic sweep and if the band were to release an album of such lengthy numbers I would be the first to consider it a 'faux pas'.  A good song diluted methinks, ah the niggles of reviewing and being honest. 

The flip side is 'Spectre On My Back', a slightly more mystic movement with a gentle gothic under-suggestion and a retainment of the griminess of sound.  Here matters are called to a halt (albeit abruptly) at the 3 minute 28 second mark and for me, the impression made is far greater.  Again the flow is middling, the application sub-garage and the individual components well-blended and easily picked out.  If I was offering a harsh critique I would suggest that a little more impetus would help and an increase in the grubby factor would accentuate the overall output but, this is decent fodder that I am sure will be far more rewarding during an 'in the flesh' encounter. 

A brace done, digested and dealt with.  I am convinced in part, eager to encourage in others, this reviewing lark is a real test.  I have this band booked, I am keen to view the vibrations, I reckon the sonic spillage will be better than they are having me believe here – watch this space, I may do a ‘live’ review. 

AMBULANZ - II

Hailing from Leipzig this lot produce a desirable shabby rabble of riotous rhythm whilst capturing many essences of yore and dragging them, kicking and screaming, into the morrow.  Many elements I have heard a million times before but this should not be an excuse to undergo any diluting process of the appreciation.  So, into the rush I plunge, hopefully to be breath-blasted, thrown all ways and kept on my toes.  Here is another honest strip-down of sonica by the ever-willing Fungal git. 

Track one and 'Slipping' is a fine blend of the simply rhythmic, loose wristed and somewhat careless. Despite the latter element the crew keep things in line and the result is a snagging snippet of spicy noise that sets out the stall and lets you know what to expect from this slightly kooky and off kilter unit.  I listen closely, jack up the speakers and spasmodically jerk to the jangle-jive that leads me into the dangerous zones of being addlepated.  There are NY scene suggestions in the mix too - this is decent fare for raddled rhythm lovers.   

The second sonic surge to hit the tympanic membranes is entitled 'Hours', a potholed scamper with all players dashing in unison like a pack of rats round an unbleached u-bend.  There is a stench of something natural, a feeling of youthful urgency and a scuzzy crud cacophony that appeals to the dirty dog sensors.  Something slightly space-aged is the end result, a creation borne from the hands of creators with many influences methinks, it is all rather intriguing and liable to get one 'rushing' in many ways. 

A hullaballoo of liberation hollering follows with 'Labyrinths' being a fresh and kicking shitshow of solid energy and demon banishing discordance.  The opening recklessness gives way to a more strait-jacketed seizure of semi-controlled spasmodica with an underground tinkle creating something slightly disturbed.  The whole unorthodox approach and loose abandon is what ups the appeal factor of this feisty fuck-up. 

'Run, Run, Run' is a beautiful batter-clatter bout of rhythmic urgency that is delightfully garnished with keyed dressing thus bringing out the full flavour of the pandemonium that leaves one with senses reeling.  The sci-fi age is shot through, the modern day ravaged, tones of what was are hinted at in a number of many essences and a slapdash but highly accurate condition.  This is my fave track so far, from the crooked guitar tangents, the untamed gobbage and the jerk-breeze fidget movement - the life is tangible, the animation high, the end result, magnetic!

The next two episodes of tonal nipple-twists begins with the haunted oddity known as 'Missing C@t' - a really jazz and jizz ad-hoc patchwork piss-up of sound that is quite difficult to read.  The sub-verse incidents are cavernous, mentally crippled and only just capable of holding themselves upright.  A combo of the jarring and the smooth makes for something challenging, I fall out of the end orifice a trifle worse for wear and undecided.  Something intriguing has this way passed.  The chasing chunk of tuneage is 'Race Horse' - a number that opens with a sub-Spectrumised tickle, an easy 'on the ears drift' and a verse that has a 'dazed out' feel whilst retaining an awareness of the tunery that is being committed to the recording substrate.  I like the loose and relaxed ease with which the tremblings fall against the lug-skins and the way the charm of the song slowly develops over each and every listen - nice. 

With the digital dabblings of this 6 tracker I received an extra track known as 'O7' - an instrumental unwind that flows with a smoke-bombed lackadaisical idleness that is no bad thing at all - I shall leave this one for you to snooze with - my work here is done. 

I like what is on offer here, it mixes many flavours that I am always enchanted by as well as a feeling of something under-processed, lo-fi and approachable.  I am no fool though, the way Ambulanz deliver is liable to produce some great successes and some real disappointments - that state of play is always a pleasure to observe and to assess. 

NATHAN AND THE OUTPATIENTS - SELF-TITLED

Nathan Seaton has what can be loosely described as a 'musical kink'. He just can't stop twanging and tweaking and has an insatiable desire to get out there and play a gig.  This mental defect is dealt with via many exhibitionist formats so that the suffering gent can duly get his musical fix. Here he shoots up under a not-so-familiar guise and does so in the expected tuneful and honest way.  The band can take on different forms, I have seen them only once and I was tickled pink by the output - there is a certain honesty going-on with no bullshit or fuss and I like that.  Here goes the next review folks - please hang in there.

We commence with 'Bay Checker' - a smooth and honest number with recognisable tones the order of the day. The working man comes under scrutiny via an orthodox chorus and verse routine that is mid-paced, melodic and waterproof.  The chorus is a joyous sing-along release with well-aired and relieving tones the winning facets. A cool but worthy number to make the opening play, a final indulgence shows players loving what they do - smashing.  'Flesh From The Bones' is a meaner song with a more focused and gritty edge. String statements, flicks of the wire-manipulating wrist and a steady stick beat all provide the earthy foundations on which the intense vocalist can do his job.  At times things are stripped to the waist with the supportive bass exposed, other moments are fully clad and therefore satisfying the listener's noise needs - this is not a bad do at all.  'You're Not PC' moves with a prowess and defiance. The ones who want to keep you shackled, under the thumb and in a position of feeling 'lesser' are the fuckers creating as many problems as the opposite bunch who are straining to be outrageous and just being cunts. Too many know best when in truth ego is ruling and self-importance is out of control. This is a good kick-back done with an applaudable control.  This one completes a stable and expected opening trio - on we go to the next 3.

'Secrets' is a song that waltzes along with a good motif but is one that is not for me. The content is disagreeable - gimme honesty and faithfulness any day of the week. I am out of sync here but the tune is decent indeed.  'Goodbye Miss World' is a cracking number, it begins with a certain tranquil tonality before slowly moving along with an assured strength and impressing darkness. The opening verse relates a detail regarding a creature of the night, a creeping femme fatale that seems to devour all in her path.  The chorus is a release from the tension but only ever so slightly. The deep chuggery, the general weight, the under-complicated effect all combine to make this a tonal bone carrying much meat.

'For The People' is a thoughtful song, one for the ones who have sacrificed themselves for their cause and those willing to fight their corner. The movement is a little too treacly and travels with a perspired brow but if the mood is right and the frame of mind ready for certain reminiscences then this one will do the trick.  It is not a song to pogo to, not one to raise the hackles and get one pinging, just a steady anthem for the pondering.

'So Rock N Roll' has good spunk running through its shaft of sound whilst dealing with the dirty circuit many DIY doofers get dragged into. There is a relish in the rhythm and the throat work thrives whilst stating a situation that is not one for the faint hearted.  The premise of the orchestration is somewhat simple but the band have an insight, a nouse and experience and so post something that is relatable and easily enjoyed.  At occasional points it seems the players may suffer from an attack of premature ejaculation; thank goodness they are old enough to know better.  

Into the last 4, I am now in-line with all tunes and have no need to dilly and dally.  A pronouncement, a shifty chug and a sun-whispered opening verse.  'Eye Of The Storm' has mystery, a surreptitious sub-text and drifts along into a land where promise is had but hate rises.  The pertinence of this piece is blatant, the slow chug gives one time to consider - we are in a crooked world where tolerance and empathy are lacking. As a musical construct I find this one middling, as regards the content I recommend you take heed.

'Song For My Father' has a very 80's feel with tones from yore making for a quite rehearsed piece. The strings gently saw away, the drums skip with stable tidiness, the gob is left to enhance and bring depth.  A song with emotion running deep, a genuinely open and needful number with exactness taking precedence. I don't mind this one at all although I do think there is room to get more out of a number with huge potential.  The penultimate poke is labelled 'Woke World', a tickling that has a good bounce, highlights the delicate state of the world with many folk looking to be offended and many others walking on eggshells. In the midst we have hidden dictators sat in their ivory towers of self-righteous idiocy who decide what is right and wrong and duly make the rules. It is a fuckin' nuthouse and this song does well to avoid any unbridled rage and 'fuck you' spite. It is a solid offering that hits the mark and followed up by a song that hopefully hits the awaiting basin and gets flushed round the u-bend of oblivion. In truth 'I Need A Shit' is a catchy bout of idiocy with a repeat theme that reeks of a pending bowel movement liable to tear the owner of the turdage, a new ring.  The final descriptive spillage is enough to put one off one's chocolate nutty bar - unless of course one has a strong constitution.

So, nothing outstanding, nothing too shabby, just good to honest regular fare from good to honest chaps who like to make a tune or two.  I would happily book this lot after seeing them 'live' and indulging in an eavesdrop here - we gotta help the doofers tha' knows.

LEGLESS TRIALS - HUFFIN

2 more songs to keep the Fungal noggin well used and well abused.  The band offer up these tonal tangents with great fecundity, I am happy to indulge now and again and vomit up my humble take on matters slightly unhinged.

'Huffin' takes a look at the joys of the solvent and the bag, the time when the mind could go to the land of the 'Wah Wah' monster and appreciate something beyond this run-of-the-mill routine.  The music is akin to a head jarred by fumes, very apposite for the sniffing situation under the spotlight I must say. The song has a thirst and a good vitality, borne perhaps from the dangers of the vapours.  I like the general risk here and the post-punk fascinations that are thrown into the mix with solid abandon - very tasty.

'Sunny' chops, clangs, wanks and weaves with a good degree of offensive dis-tonality. The matter-of-fact vocal style clashes and compliments with the rear riot that ascends, descends, trembles sideways and then vulgarly intrudes from an unexpected tangent.  There is a harsh starkness thrown together with a disrupting rhythm that makes for something sonically appealing and charmingly aggravating - and why not indeed?

Like a pig drawn to a slutch-fest, akin to a rectal wasp magnetised towards the rasping rear of a flatulating cockerel, I am guilty of being drawn into a noise not for those with flimsy tickers or senses of orthodox decency. I am liking this two tracker and suggesting others should partake - I await your complaints with resigned expectations - you silly sods.

EAGLE SPITS/RICH GULAG - SHOES ARE THE OPIUM OF THE MASSES

Eagle Spits & Rich Gulag join forces on a new release and bring all manner of shape-shifting shittery to the fore in a classic DIY escapade that may be to some peoples liking and then again may be poison to some poor fuckers soul. I am merely a go-between, an honest assessor asked to do my bit that will hopefully pre-warn folk of what to expect.  I suppose I am in many ways, the 'in flesh foreplay' of the sonic sex world - once again, I hope to tickle thy undercarriage with more grooming text.

A groovy kind of grime begins matters with '4DV', it is political ranting overlaying a dance-sub-trance dabbling of electro confusion.  The blend is highly catchy, the vocals a little too distorted for their own good and the drift ends in a rather abrupt manner.  The soundbite verbals and the pops and pulses though do save matters and make for an intriguing opening gambit with much texture and wired up defiance.  The tones of the front lout are highly recognisable, the religious suggestions understood - this is interesting stuff to say the least.  Track two and 'The Chosen Ones' is a vicious dig at the people who apparently have it all when, in truth, they have fuck all.  Wankers with so much show, no substance but a willingness to cause division and let people suffer - it goes without saying to anyone with an ounce of intelligence that these are the vilest scum-fuckers imaginable and will undoubtedly get theirs.  This is a treacly tune that drips from the speakers and falls into the lugs with a deceptive persuasion.  Anyone disgruntled by the imbalance and disreputable filth going on out there and those who like sounds off kilter, should find reward here.

'Shoes (Are The Opium Of The Masses)' is a pertinent raving against the commercial madness so many are intoxicated by.  The big business brainwashing designs tell you to buy this and be a better person and be happier - the weak-kneed, gaping goons listen, register and duly purchase - a complete reciprocal cycle that only helps use up resources and create a pseudo-happy situation - what a crock.  This song is one I like, primarily due to the content but the drift of the discordance ain't bad either.  'Jackanory' is a beautiful snippet of modernised sub-rap and rave keyed up and shuffling sonica that pinpoints the fantasy soaked arena, the fibbers and fuck-wits and the drama queens who are contributing to, and feeding on, a real false and fucked state of play. There is a personal trauma amid the weave, a hurt and a disgust at those skipping around thinking everything is happy when reality and family life is far from picture book perfect.  This is a brutal, harsh and honest bout of exposure and it must be applauded just for that if nothing else. Splendid.

'Cave' is a moving monster of deliberate steps with a persistent grind and sub-orgasm groan that really forces its way into ones inner core and duly grips ones attention and insists serious note is taken.  The word is to take heed, defy the acceptance and progress with things more natural and unprocessed.  I feel that what many would slag down as 'regression' would actually be the only true form of 'progression'.  We are galloping to doomsday, ears and eyes are stuffed shut with trinkets, misinformation and 'grab and go' greed - listen here, we must do better.

'Stoicism' has a lovely tickle and a rather sobering shadow surround - the message is to rise up and defy, the fact of the matter is the fuckers want us to keep schtum, accept the shit and sport a stiff upper lip.  The broken and battered need to hug more, be transparent and have trust in sincere words.  Personal scars are shown with an appreciated openness, the words do not shy away and outweigh much of the oral spillage from the spiked scene that spouts one thing and does fuck all about it.  This is a delightful blend of noise with great intent - I love it.

Into the back 4, 'Dehumanise To Brutalise' has a gentle undercoat overlain by an acidic sheen of poetical ranting.  Pulsations come, pitter-patter skin skips and overloaded headboxes are apparent - the end result - more fuckin disgust, acoustic kickback and factual soundbites that show the useless behaviour that is on the increase and creating for a real hell-hole of hate.  The constant narrative, the rinse through of clear minds and the dominance of the greedy is really not good enough - this neatly packaged offering of techno tetchiness must be heeded.  'Aluminium Foil' is suspicious, perhaps paranoid and one that many doubters will poke fun at and say it is the work of people who are thinking a little too much.  Therein a serious problem is found - think and be damned, accept and be part of the piss-pack dribbling to nowhere!  I listen here, find myself on par with the oral spillage, the cabal is closing in, the claimers, the deniers, the ones in between are all condemned, is there any escape - think about it!

'The Eagle Flies' is a tale of the outsider - one who dares to question, upset the applecart, to shake up the shittery - and the consequences. Tick, tock, tick, tock, the metronomically systematic beat is in contrast to the liberated free-flyer under the cloying clouds.  This and the chasing tune have all the recognisable trinkets of tonality I would expect from the creators and that DIY flavour only found with those who do with great love and passion and see beyond the idiot restraints that deconstructs many areas of great potential.  The key - fuckin' do it folks.

'The American Nightmare' is a final horror yarn regarding a creeping presence that is invading many areas beyond the shores of the murky U. S. of A.  Prejudice, big bigoted self-belief and ultimately, unrest.  There is an ongoing resurgence of hate and spite and this song comes, states its stance and fucks off.  It is a flatline, sub-poetical techno tirade that stays on a certain par and avoids any risk or mis-swings - a stable finale.

So there you have it, these two cacophonists keep breezing along, making their political statements and not being put off by a realm of indifference in a sonic mire of apathy and grinning goonery.  In the main it is a 'hit' from me with the odd 'miss' thrown in just because I can and to keep these two fuckers on their toes.  I like stalwarts of the sub-scene, people who will not stay schtum and who keep pushing the boundaries - I hope things keep on rolling. Keep flying on the thermals chaps.

NEON KITTENS - TV AS EYES/BANANA SLPIT

Again I splash into the sonic pools of the incandescent pussies and take on two tracks that are perhaps more orthodox than anything I previously dealt with.  This is my sixth examination of the NK noise, this time the two tracks are covers of creations concocted by the mid-70's experimental unit known as Chrome - it is all intriguing stuff.

Tickle number one comes under the tag of 'TV As Eyes', a rumble grumble with a strong lower epidermal layer of vibrating scum spillage and the seductive verbals all combining to make a real dirty dog rock and roll decadence that is really something I can admire.  The hung-low, relaxed riffery, the clashing adornments and the off-the-rail abandonment create something dangerous, frustrating and fresh.  The opening gambit of things almost routine really is a winning format and the final collapse is almost half expected from a creative force who will not be shackled by in-scene/out-scene regulations.  This one would be improved by a touch of pace and some really snotty/slaggy hollering but... this will do just fine for now.

'Banana Split' has a groovy corruption with a parasitizing vocal invasion infiltrating the regulated stick clatter and the off-the-cuff string manipulations.  This one is not as immediately magnetising as the previous offering and has a focused drive that one has to get in line with or choke on.  Time is needed yet again, the band don't make anything easy but with patience the development of the dinnage unfolds and has a counter-scene contribution that hits a few inner hotspots.  If this was part of a regular music compilation it would throw the cacophonic cat amongst the overfed pigeons - that is lovely to know.

This little 2 tracker is a free Christmas present from Metal Postcards Records and the players - I am a trifle late with the review but better late than never.  I presume Father Christmas has had a sneak preview, hence his need for extra sherry to ease his shattered baubles - ooh the delicate bugger.

ERYX LONDON - BLAGGER

Nah then, I have seen the band under the Fungal spotlight only once, I was not distressed or depressed, I was not impressed, I was what one would call 'indifferent'.  These things happen, one viewing can never capture what a band is doing and it certainly can be a hit and miss occasion when passing off one's opinion.  I do need to see them again but I am a busy bod, I am sure it will happen though. The crew are based in the Midlands, the lead singer prowls and the back players have a certain control over matters which maybe the root of the success they find with so many onlookers - maybe I am too awkward for my own good.  Despite my reservations I accepted the request to review this 10 track assault - going in cold is never a bad thing.

Track one comes under the banner of 'Broken' - a malevolent sounding track spewing contrasting values of emotion with the restrained and pseudo-contained working in clashing tandem with the more unshackled and eruptive.  The opening skip and grimy bass welcomes the whispering siren with time needed to fully appreciated the smouldering brew that is about to overflow.  There is good texture added, a consistent tonal threat held just in check and although I have heard many similar arrangements this is a good moody piece to play when the head is prepared.  'I Am' creeps in, mutters with focus and with heavy lidded eyes laden with intent.  Again we creep amidst a slowly simmering stew that bubbles with increasing thermality.  The swing increases, I await an outburst of tantrumised turmoil but what I get is a thumbscrew guitar twist and a repeat of the format set.  The mid-pace, the sultry glow, the sub-gothic accents will appeal, the rise to a seeming crescendo is cut short - it leaves one on a precipice.

'U Don't Like Your Girlfriend' has some grubby elements (now that appeals), has a dubious undercurrent (nowt wrong with that) but the drift is too similar to what has been and this time, lacking a distinct hook that I can get my aural mitts upon.  Things are a trifle stuttered in part and leave the listener a little uncertain.  The tribal drums offer some consistency and again we have moments of contrast but I am not as convinced as the previous two tracks and just feel something is missing with this one.  The danger of over-doing the general design is now apparent, I tread forward with wariness.  

A trio grabbed and assessed next with 'Blagger' throbbing with great threat and holding the attention whilst one awaits a volcanic eruption that will clear the senses.  The lyrical and tonal lava releases a subdued glow, radiates thermal prowess but never reaches a full on climactic situation that will leave the listener burnt to a crisp.  The aim here I think is to rely on the brooding sensations and the suggestion of things to come - we expect and are left wanting (similar in fact to the vocal vixen).  'Just A Boy' has a fine rhythm that is interspersed with utterances and prowling words.  The band seem more relaxed here and let matters flow and, as a result, get the luggite more intrigued.  The contrast of styles, the usual moodiness and the sable hints and reactive musical touches all make for a difficult song to instantaneously grasp but which is a number that grows in appeal as familiarity builds.   This is a strong track that is followed by an equally sinewy number known as  'Cult'.  This is a sinister spill of sublimely glowing musical magma that threatens to turn the eavesdropping lugs to utter cinders.  The fire eventually begins, the chorus blaze is vicious and gets the point across - I am seared and will trust no-one as a result.  The loop continues, a switch up of the sizzle factor ensues before the final silence - take yer time folks and keep the brow wiped - this is hot stuff.

'Parasite- pummels away with the head down and buried in the midriff whilst the tonal fists soften matters up before the highpoint of the CD is released.  The explosion of ill-temper is a joy and shows why the band need to stray away from overdosing on the contrast factor and throw in a few tracks that are full-on fury and hard-driven angst.  The blend of the restrained and the unleashed need not be all condensed into each and every track, matters can be done with varied success if the odd creation is of one style and sits in juxtaposition to its opposing partner.  These are just personal thoughts (what every reviewer should offer) and shouldn't detract from the best track on the CD.  'Black Snow' is sheer atmosphere - at times naked, at others, semi clad.  The drift is a mood piece - it should only be prescribed to those in the right frame of mind and taken in very careful doses.  With concentration the aim and angles of the product can be grasped and there are moments when the lead lasses throat opens and greater oral success is achieved.  I love it when matters loosen up and matters are sung rather than sub-spoken.  The climactic conditions explode which comes as no surprise - I am finding this one an unearthly stranger I cannot trust - this may be a good thing.

The penultimate track has perhaps the greatest clash and twat factor so far. 'Grin' seethes and splats, considers and careens, assesses and explodes - the outcome, a solid song that has an edge  to be sliced by and a violent threat to be seduced by.  The tympanics provide the inescapable metronomic beat that bewitches, the strings wait, prepare and punish, the gob at the fore does the usual - evaluates, erupts and spits venom.  The style is as witnessed several times already, this is a more impacting track due to the linking skin work and the full on thrash out moments.  We finalise the whole shebang with 'Last Song For A' - a closure that begins with patience, unwinds at its own set pace and strains to capture a malevolence.  I listen with a cool understanding, appreciate the modus operandi and recline with leisure whilst absorbing the acoustic ambience.  The haunting edges are reminiscent of more classical operations and the slow wind down is not what I would have preferred as a closing piece so I sign off slightly deflated rather than ecstatic and elated - such is the musical lottery.

Overall this is a CD that is of an acquired taste methinks and I am still not fully swung as to call myself a fan.  As a long term reviewer my aim is to be always honest, consider all points and do what I can with the textual spillage.  This lot have a good reputation, do what they do well but are a musical unit I can take or leave.  There is massive potential to up the ante, throw curveballs and win new fans but, if the band are happy with what they do and are loving the vibe I suggest they carry on doing just what they do.  I can't like everything, I can't pass faux-comments to stay in favour - as long as I am true to myself and the band are true to themselves the job shall always be a good un' (hopefully).

APOCALYPSE BABYS - LAST ORDERS

The AB lads have been many. The band have somehow clung on by the skin of their scrotums and the few survivors have cobbled together this latest release.  30 years in the pit, the outcome, many overlooked CD's, a few pot bellies, some ringing ears and a liver the size of a peanut.  The band have entertained my lugs for many years, I have done a few CD reviews, and seen them 'live' quite a number of times - here is another Fungal take on the vulgar, the vibromatic and the last vestiges of good noise done in an old school manner.

'Sweet Meat' is crass and not my cup of genital tickling cha' and as soon as the opening todge-tingling groans come I know what to expect. A melody for the muff, a tune for the twat, nay a jingle for the juicy bits done with an unapologetic approach and with typical AB thrusting.  As soon as the nob deflates after the opening arousals the tune that comes is fair, catchy and as crude as fuck. The relish shown by the singer is borne from a bloke with a boner with serious needs, this is top-shelf tomfoolery many will be offended by, I can take it or leave it.  'Full Artistic Control' is a better song and has a good gumption, a justifiable frustration and a great lyrical and tonal lick.  The need to get matters back into the hands of creators and away from the fat wank users who want to dumb down, censor and ultimately dilute, is a theme worthy of disk space and the band do it in their own fine rock and roll way.  The signature sound certainly is wasted on me and I swing along with a thumbs up to the band and a V-sign to the musical predators out there - take note - do it your-fuckin'-self.

'Dumbing Down' has a good Ramone's riff, the usual vocal escort and the observational aspect the band take on.  The song deals with the mass consumption of TV trash, the way the heads are screwed on the wrong way round and the lack of depth to the celluloid puke that flows our way.  Many seem happy with the state of plugged-in-play, but rest assured, some are utterly fuckin' disgusted.  This is a neat tune that catches the attention due to the content and gentle cacophony - nifty.

A couple of tunes caught in the mitt as one come next, 'Mr 9-5' has been given many goings over by the scene and beyond, it is a typical song and given the usual orthodox treatment here with a breezy tune dealing with a stressed out automaton who is trapped in a societal snare and has no escape.  The crooner refuses to join the fold of those in a routine - a wise decision methinks. An average tune but no bad do at all.  'All I Want Is You' pronounces, is a tale of temptation and a weak-kneed willy waggler who strays and lusts.  The feeling again is one of someone trapped, someone who needs to break the role but is scared to make the decisive severance - ooh the silly blighter. This is a sweet and sour pop punk tune that the band dish out with utter ease - a minor delight.

'Armchair Guitarist' pops and punches with fine gusto as all hands fiddle and fuck and produce a sniping tune to those with no ambition or willingness to shift the arse and share the sonic goodness. A simple approach, an acidic verbal edge and the job is a good one. The tonality is spot on, the gob work always a fresh treat and from A to B I find myself with no gripes or grumbles.  'Clint Eastwood' (no not the DIY pornstar Clit Eastwood) is a gruff and punked up thrash out that pays homage to the film star who played some of the greatest characters on celluloid.  The words bring visions of fine scenes from films I have watched over and over, especially the ones where a name wasn't needed and the others where a big fuck off gun dealt with all the scum of the earth.  I like this one a lot - it comes, doesn't fuck about and gets said what needs to be said - the musicianship is, as spot on as ever.

I crack on, 'Happily Married' is a dead-eyed delivery done with a poisonous slant that doesn't ring true.  The claim to be involved in wedded bliss is exposed as a lie here as a victim to the ring and the vows strives with all his might to defy an inner misery. The band tackle the bitter content in their usual way with a good contrast had between the half-convinced and the defeated.  It all becomes too much, the finale is almost a mockery - lovely.  'I Wanna Play The Guitar Like Johnny Ramone' is what you would expect - a school-kid-like eruption of rock and roll relish played by old farts who should know better but thankfully don't. The song flourishes, ticks a few cliches, showcases an unashamed Ramonesy love and gets the job done without flaw.  Ramp up the volume, fuckin' pogo baby and fuck everything.

'Daddy' is a smart number with a pang in the product that sees a bloke accept the absence of a father with a final statement that sees a strong soul saved and a punk rock bugger thankful for having his racket. Nicely worded and done in a way that is highly relatable and with a solid vibe, this is a nasty and hard-hitting piece with a quality the band produce over and over again.  There is something earthy and honest about the AB output, I am reminded of this during moments as found here, perhaps more than when the band are in full comedic mode, it makes a difference.

The last 3, 'Summertime Blues' is a cover, it sticks to the Cochran formula and that is just as well, why dabble with a classic and make a mockery.  This is OK, it pays homage, has a good groove, as per though, the original is unsurpassable. The next is a tribute to that grubby looking frontman of Thin Lizzy.  In truth I thought the band were average, Mr Lynott OK at what he did but nowt special - hey ho, I must admit I have no heroes so that may sober my stance a little. I can see why folks like the band, but 'Mr Rock n Roll Star' also warns of making idols and follow in their steps as drugs and booze really can take away much promise.  The cliche of being a true RnR stalwart though is followed by many who should be more rebellious perhaps - who knows. Anyway this is a well-played tune I am out of sync with and one which is too corny for me - boo, what a misery!

We fuck off with the perky postcard vulgarity of 'If I Had A Face Like Yours...' - a pure throw-back joy that bounds along without apology and comes out with some cracking verbals concerning a right old horror of a lass.  Many may take offence at this, many need to go flush their head down the shitter and have a word with themselves - it is pure idiocy and nothing more. I am a great respecter of women and would never take this stuff seriously... well, you gotta laugh tha' knows. Comic, cacophonically appealing - a good way to sign off and pure AB spillage it is.

Well, I recieve, the band achieve, I write what I feel with no plans to deceive - what do ya think?  Yes, I am a fan, I don't apologise for that because my radar is tuned in to earthy punkery rather than some of the more pretentious and showy shit that has less depth.  I remain honest though and I hope the band sort themselves soon, there be another Fungalised gig waiting - in the meantime, I shall play some more.

EAMON THE DESTROYER - WE'LL BE PIRANHAS

What on earth have I got on my hands here?  Who the Hell is Eamon The Destroyer?  Are we indeed Piranhas or just useless sprats swimming in a polluted river of hopelessness?  These are the questions that bounced around the belfry of this cranially buggered assessing blighter who does more than his fair share for the acoustic world.   

'The Choirmaster' begins with discomforting misfires, bonce jarring assaults on the tonal decencies and all manner of clashing cacophonies. Like the warming up of a deviant orchestra my ears are insulted before the initial drift comes, albeit in an off kilter and unexpected way.  I stick with matters and find many sounds to soothe, a few to unsettle and an overall atmosphere of sci-fi experimentation gone AWOL.  The fiddler at the helm is searching personal sonic stratospheres and dragging me along for the ride - my thoughts regarding this one is that there is much potential tapped and much potential untapped but, there is plenty to be intrigued by.  Track the second is 'Rope' - a more classically tinted foray into the world of the uncertain with some quite dreamy-creamy cruisings that really hit the mark.  The opening throes are wary, peeping and creeping before a whispering comes, observations made and then a disrobing drifts arrives, a drift that has rage, emotion and something I just can't quite pin down.  I don't mind being thrown into a nebulous state - it happens and so it should.  Anyway, I like this one, I can see the spiky tops cringing - wonderful it is. 

The next two 'Sonny Said' offers, is refused, crawls along with a slow burning frustration and a ponderous accent.  The lackadaisical approach of the song is perhaps borne from a feeling of uselessness and futility although the follow-on white fuzzery is indicative of an overspill of tension.  This is a definite mood piece that moves with a persuasive grace only when the listening temperament is welcoming.  I find myself split in my end verdict here and move on hopeful of something more certain.  'Underscoring The Blues' has more appeal, the opening bars soothe and suggest positivity.  The embrace of things deemed simple and not over-elaborate is the way to meet this song and to embrace its subtle charms.  Again, time must be spent to fully digest the angles, the gentle clashing tones and the somewhat capricious tangents thrown in - at one point I feel I am in a supermarket dreamscape where consumers are conveyor belted to check-out Heaven and the background music is all a flutter - strange indeed.  The fact remains though, the creator is doing his thing and avoiding the orthodox route - I just hope the finished album comes with explanatory notes. 

'We'll Be Piranhas' sidles in on comfort tones with no rush had.  The strength of the sonica is multi-layered and although not to everyone's liking, it is worth taking time out to appreciate the experimental value and the multi-faceted potential that could be used to create a multitude of acoustic offspring.  The orchestration is exact (perhaps overly so in certain parts) but floats with a casual ease, the subject matter is ambiguous unless one is enlightened. 'A Pewter Wolf' unfolds, looks back, smiles with remembrances of happier times and hints at taking time to enjoy the here and now.  Lukewarm lilts and placid persuasions are the aim of the game in a creation that has manifold moments to ponder further.  I am way out of my comfort zone here and I like it - applause must be given yet again, to a designer of dinnage not following any set generic dictates.  As I further scrutinise matters I begin to understand the process and appreciate the end product - this is far from a turntable must, but it is worth ones time. 

Compassionate pulses come via 'A Call Coming' - a trickling of thought that reflects on a call of unsettling connotations that brings news of a passing and leaves one reeling.  Time heals, therein salvation is had.  The way in which matters are dealt with here is sobering, the material is terrifying and a stark reminder we are just pins in a game of idiot bagatelle - we can be upright on minute, the next knocked down.  This is a song of emotive torment with the grip of matters difficult to understand - therein is a suggestion of a winning format. 

We finish the disc with 'My Stars' a song I have been kindly informed that is about a man on a hospital gurney who reflects on life as the anaesthetic begins to reach out with its soporific tendrils.  This is very thought provoking subject matter and having had many operations I know the feeling of profound pondering only too well.  I am finding this a close-to-the-bone horror show that just needs a finale where the soporific shackles are snapped and life is ready to explode into action - ready for a new, and contrasting, CD perhaps. 

So, my final thoughts are 'yes' and 'no' - 'yes' - if you are in the mood, of a reclined attitude and need a break from harder, faster and rougher material, 'no' if you want rousing, feel a need to pogo and party.  This is a slow brew that can be stifling if taken in huge gulps, my advice, take one track now and again, swallow after angrier outbursts and compare.  Rest assured though - there is talent a plenty, a knowledge of what needs to be done and a fine end execution.