Half Edge Records releases this obscure event of acoustical essences and goes about its business in a focused and passionate way.  I am merely an assessor of vibes that takes what comes, slowly deliberates and then taps out some honest and hopefully, helpful critique.  What I know about Ember Rev you could fit on a pinhead using a giant size paint-roller - to be more 3 precise my knowledge is at level 'fuck all'.  9 tracks are before me, there is no need to rush, and without any expectations at all, I take the discordant dip.

'Like Dreamers' tepidly sidles in, on tones both verdantly soporific and kissed with a moonlight glow.  From realms undiscovered the creative force comes, barely touches and opens up a vista of promise via vibrations of gossamer fragility and charming bashfulness.  This opening instrumental gently crashes on your coastline of cognisance and leaves... potential promise to be explored further.  The job is unassuming but done in such a way as to pique ones curiosity.  The nosey parker of noise will be blessed with the second track that falls under the name of 'From The Country' - an exotic sounding mix of panoramic post punkery that has elements of music makers who went beyond the usual trappings of a sub-label and duly trespassed into tonal territory rarely traipsed.  The whole concoction has a tapestry of assured tonal trifling with an overall mix that I would deem, as 'pleasantly mild'.  Remember I come from a realm where harder edged sounds are commonplace and I have a penchant for things more robust and obvious but, this doesn't mean I can't appreciate flavours more subtle and unimposing.  This is erudite song-making with an in-built hope and sun-shine haloed positivity.  It will have many drawing upon the festering memory banks trying to make comparisons and find influence - my advice - don't bother and let the vibes come and go.

'To The City' is more middle-road meddling with a pastel shaded arrangement coming forth on a foundation that has much give and a certain thermal comfort.  Easy going with an outback Americana hinting that is nebulous in the extreme but still there to be noted.  The verse is smooth and languid and slips into the chorus that is almost not a chorus at all.  A kind of 'one groove, mono-move' drift that at times is almost naked and at others neatly attired.  Throughout though we have a flow that is welcoming and without barb, I am sure many lovers of tepid tonality will love this (and I don't mean that as an insult).  A cute crafting, perhaps a little too clean for this scabby old git!

'Now We Were Kites' enters, threatens to become airborne and falls into the shrubbery of frustration - it is a mere musical interlude. 'Walk Don't Walk' staggers and flourishes before waltzing along with a swing in the step, an insouciance in the vibe and a happy-go-lucky accent without anything offensive to report.  This is almost like listening in to a home-made sonic session where the noise made is off the cuff and rolls forth with no intent or sign of the finale in mind.  This is a relaxing state of affairs that may irritate the ones who like-clobbering cacophony,  we all need to alter the vibes - here is your chance dear din-deviants!

'And So To The Sea' trickles in, laps at your feet and draws one slowly in to the warming shallows.  A swish and swirl is hardly apparent as the waters of the weave move with a lethargic liquidity and a sonic spume that is merely massaging rather than being melodramatic and muscular.  A very hesitant piece that just needs a little extra kaboom in parts methinks, I would like to see the waves rise and crash a little more and culminate in a Tsunami that leaves one drenched.  Here we are caressed and softly sprayed - this may be enough for some and if you are in the mood for some bittersweet movement with a reclined feel then you will be in your element here. 'Be Still' follows and is nothing more than a wallowing sub-dirge with a shining light enhancing the peripheries of the gathering clouds and giving one a brief glimpse of hope.  In this hectic life of lunacy and mad-dash mayhem it seems the message here is to take time out and unwind.  This is perhaps my most favoured track of the lot as it seems to do what it sets out to do - it really is a good vibe of respite and is done in such a carefully crafted way as to be quite sublime.  The artistry is gracile and yet emboldened, the canvas kiss precise and lacking any vulgarity - a lovely moment.

2 left and a put I spurt on.  'Ultramarine' is as you were although a little too drawn out for me.  The quality and application is consistent with that which has been and I suspect there is a slightly darkened edge to this dubious little mover.  At all times it is liquid, transparent and mobile with a slight shading of things from lands afar.  It is a song set to simmer mode and never bubbles over or scalds the senses.  The end dish I consider lukewarm and lightly whipped - is that enough for an old punk bastard and wallower in short sharp 60's shit spills?  We close with 'Like Dolphins' - a fall into an oceanic realm with the escort of acoustic resonation both embracing and tender.  We slip into the awaiting end silence with a moribund inflection and an almost beaten down intention.  A weary and declining descension into a place of great escape and, in fact, no escape.  A musical interlude, a further peaceful pass into the awaiting void - and we are done.

Oil-soaked, bubble-bath music this, for times when the soul is fagged and the carcass needs to slip into slumberland.  Time has been spent and the summing up, I hope, has been accurate – now lay down, tune in and… drift away!

Mellow bedroom rock played out from Portland, a place where a floral wedding gift was given and a safe realms for roses was started. This is my third adventure into realms lightly brushed and tender.  I jump straight in and make what I can of this 5 track tickling.

'Band From Portland' has a wonderful fluttery feel with a smudged essence that remains honest, matter-of-fact and, most importantly of all, charming.  A rippling and then an electro-Devo-esque beat before the digital she-drawl caresses the senses and helps one get closer to the premise of the produce.  A slight uplift, a butterfly wing essence and gentle massage movement comes with suggestions of early B52 happenings.  The melody slightly increases and has a running water smoothness that works quite ruddy nicely alongside the overall simple orchestration.  There are no barbs of belligerence or fangs of ferocity to upset this sweetly vibrating voyage and, although the song lasts beyond the 4 minute mark, we are kept intrigued and delighted all the way through - tickling baby, tickling!

'Powder Blue' strums with sugary goodness, pulses with a rather relaxed rhythm.  From the first verse we get a delicious lemon-drop lusciousness that pleases the senses in many ways. The slip into the fuzz-assisted chorus is fluent, the repeat route is taken and once again we get something uncomplicated, child-like and yet erudite as well.  A duvet din that is ruffled and wafted but one that retains all its self-made thermality and comfort.  The vocal style is semi-detached but still at one with the musical score and I am finding this a very generous donation of lo-fi goodness.  'Coming Down' falls like a feather from the azure skies, slowly swaying back and forth on a downward descent with surrounding time almost at a standstill.  We stop in our tracks, watch matters float on forth with the song unfolding and leaving one oh so slightly... goose-bumped.  A fear, a trepidation and a beautiful recline into a basic chorus cut that welcomes.  Tenderised, barely touched, gossamer light and almost transparent so as to be invisible, this is a song that is remarkably intangible - I think it is a ghostly guest that is a pleasure to witness.

'Hags' begins with a 70's TV shimmer before developing into an abstract divulgence of quirky content that is merely observation aural invasiveness that becomes almost sub-choral at times.  A real oddment this with many essences that somehow manage to intertwine and copulate before giving birth to a slightly unorthodox sprog of sound.  A contorted sheet of sonic metal that catches its own fair share of light and glisten factor that provides the underlay.  When the squeeze comes the slip-shedding is eased through.  There is no mither here and we gracefully move into the finale of 'I'm Gonna Tell My Therapist About You'.  A keyed Moroder-esque intro immediately piques interest from which we develop into a real shimmering blend of intrinsically basic principles and languid lilt-making that really does work a treat.  Perhaps this is why this kind of stuff is called 'bedroom rock' - it is all rather soporific and snuggly and is liable to send ya snoozing with a smile of appreciation on your mush.  It is quite glorious stuff in its own 'under-the-radar' way.

Yes - the best release so far by this lot with a couple of ascensions made into areas not previously reached.  Of course, this is produce you have to adjust to, you must make an effort with and not play too many times over.  Mix and match with harder melodies and it becomes the sugar to the salt, the sweet to the bitter!  This is a spice of its own individuality and when added to a dish of discordance - yummy, scrummy ding-dong!

Are you hanging in folks?  Are you keeping up with the reviews of the outré?  Here I dip into a world of tangents, sub-psyche and stress where itchy fingers create and goodness emanates.  I believe the creative forces are UK based, from Kent and Nottingham if Bandcamp is anything to go by?  Primarily though, I am in the dark, a glorious place where perspective and prejudice are blanketed and judgement can be a little more purer (well, so I hope).  Here goes toe dip the third, another bathe in something not in line with the norm but still of great import to we dabblers in the nether lands.

'Pointless' is aptly titled in this world where everything can be tagged as such.   The opening sequence is psyche-synthed, jumbling and bumbling with an almost retro-80's kids TV accent.  Questions are stated and seem almost sedated, the sedation borne from the realms of abuse and mistreatment.  The contrast between the alive and fruity and the almost beaten down is played out with focus and a refusal to be distracted - we continue with the demon-kick approach as found on CDs 1 and 2.  'Trampled' sees the almost ruined and ragged take stock, assess the duff deal and dish out thoughts from the darkened recesses so many ignore, are unaware of or conveniently overlook.  In an empathy free world this is relevant rhythm-making with a deep-rooted and unabashed honesty that some will find deeply unsettling.  There is a soul suffering here folks, do not take matters lightly!

I am striving to keep things terse and exact during this third review of the UN stuff, 'Would You Notice' is grasped, thrown into the assessing orifice and tossed around the palette before being spat forth.  The flavours are -Euro-exotic, all smattered with a seasoning of harsh reality and deep-rooted worry.  The struggle to make an impression is opposed by a acceptance of pointlessness and transient ineffectiveness.  We all get moments of complete hopelessness and despair, here it is parcelled and packaged in a tidy and very open-hearted capsule of cacophonic creativity - and it works.  'I Am The Bones' has a happy bounce that is juxtaposed by the double-bladed delivery that could almost be anti-meat eater frustration and a self-loathing after the beast is consumed.  A jaunt with an unstoppable jingle but one with a nagging repetition that enhances the overall misery and inner struggle.  I am not overly keen here but recognise the openness, the bravery and the downright unashamed approach to being a human being with flaws.

'Rejected' ripples and plods whilst trying to take matters on the chin.  A motif is found, latched onto and played out in a constant cycle. The vocals remain as an almost separate entity and reach the vaults of emotion, scribble out the scarred observations and duly read them back in a unshakeable manner.  The underscore of sound is tranquilising and hypnotic whilst the general aromas emanated are chilled, matter-of-fact and heartbreakingly genuine.  This is a moment in keeping with all that has been and all that will come with 'Piss' more of the same but with a suffocating overwhelm and general all round feeling of fruitlessness.  From innocent creations come broken artefacts from a time when we all could and should have done better.  In life some folk are blessed by a gift of new life, it is our role to create the best human we can possibly make - I get the feeling that most of the horrors surfacing here are down to chances missed.  It is all very terrifying and tangible stuff.

A trio grabbed with 'Sinking/Overthinking' a dangerous combination and a mental equation that bounces back and forth and brings about the same old result.  A mellow moment that states a case and just seems to accept it.  'Memories' is a monochrome downbeat dirge that barely stays upright let alone make it to the finish line.  At this point it seems we are beyond any form for therapeutic or psychological advancement - another short snippet that takes us into the surprisingly more hopeful 'When I Sleep'.  This latter piece of the snatched up hat-trick is the best of the lot with a upbeat keyed touch and a fine sub-religious poetical weaving that unsettles.  We can read many things into the fold here, it is a small fascination borne from something almost Poe-esque and almost James-ian.  A sinister grower that has more depth than realised.

The last two, 'Umbilical Noose Revisited' is an analytical overthought that destroys, rebuilds, destroys and defies.  The processes that curse continue, clever words and toss bag tactics don't seem to work, the only reaction is perhaps the action of distraction.  With my own personal demons and years of head wanking I can relate here, the intricacies are deep and I find the artists still ensnared in a web of worrying complexity.  A bold snippet and the only advice I can offer is - keep moving and be stubborn.  We close with a long and wordy poetical weave, a verbal detailing that quite wonderfully rounds off this 3 CD series and the whole exposure of a soul in torment.  The journey is reflected upon and when the final lines are read a greater understanding of the overall intent and purpose is had.  ‘Afterwords’ is a touching piece that is awash with unaffected lucidity and an emotive purity - perhaps this is the greatest and most rewarding moment of all.

Questions arise throughout and answers are sparse.  At this final juncture we are still left wondering but are a little clearer on some things.  The fact remains this is bare-arsed honesty and a trip not to take lightly.  It is sonica to partake of only in small doses but please, before you judge, consider the content and the intent!

Now picture this - 4 pluckers and fuckers with past lives doused in DIY dabbling and dubious happenings.  A stickman who once let a Hornby Mallard entered his back passage in the hope of raising money for the local Sexual Signal Box, a place where he carried out various obscenities against flag flying guardsman.  A guitarist who once smoked 7 spliffs using his oriental eye and ended up in front of the race relations board for offences against the local Triads and Rice Liberation Front.  Another guitarist who has slept his way to the bottom and hidden his Polish homosexuality behind a facade of male modelling and running a butchers shop.  And finally a frontman who has had several affairs with Captain Beefheart look-a-likes and who once set up a midnight meeting with a retailer of Bubble Helmets and got bummed at the back of a Rumbelows warehouse.  Now many reviewers would shy away from assessing the overspill of such deviants but - I like folk who have no boundaries, those who use their bodies as an affront to decency and those who are beyond hope.  Add to this the fact that these are ruddy nice guys, have played many a Fungal show in various guises and understand the DIY battle  - of course, in I go.  This is a fine 'live' unit, here I have been given the only copy to be released thus far - is this a kind act or a mere grooming situation that will leave me with very little elasticity left in the old duffelbag - I shall take the risk.

Firstly and 'Porton Down' is a cultured and erudite mellow drift with a great pastel stroke of impressive colourisation that wins applause without being vulgar and garish.  A carefully structured composite with all players given room and airspace and so making for an arrangement that really showcases a band thinking and avoiding the trappings of the 'orthodox genre' snare. This gently tainted observation of LSD based experimentation has its own psychedelic accents.  Staggerings and spearings welcome, detached driftings entrance and the overall flow is a massage melody of considered craftsmanship.  Vocals are shared and compliment perfectly, the pillow-soft descent into abstraction is posted homeward with great accuracy and the more one rotates this masterful moment the more ones falls into the realms of conviction and appreciation.  A manifold manifestation of various generic gist’s with a tattooing through of shadow echoes and shimmer shifts - fascinating.

Love and hate clash, bash and contrast within the weft and weave of 'She Stole My Ride'.  A careful start of creamy care and low-brow technicality before the players up the ante and sub-skip and skank along with zested Euro-textured vibes that sets the senses to level 'fizzle'.  Stutter stop starts and into the flow proper we go with the arrangement multi-layered, zipping and very melodic.  Moments of sobered styles intertwine with the more frivolous foamings still effective. Alongside we note the wire wankers having a personal, yet unified ball.  Thoughtful music pasted down in part with a subtle delicacy and know-how and yet with all impasto urges satisfied.  The shadings are many, the spectrum touched in all areas with a moment of pseudo-yodelling both contrasting and naked.  It all adds to the depth of the donation and I am taken and... convinced.

The final fling of the three is 'Heading For The Sinners' - a forthright look-back at times with dubious characters, where beers flowed and mischief was made.  A steady bass groove, a twisting pulsation, a sanguine stick beat and a magnetising post-punk hook. The four cabled beast continues to provide the immovable foundations whilst a cold scalpel edge cuts to the core as the verse and chorus slice through any resistance. We are blessed with a delicious cutlet of heavy duty noise both melodramatic, haunting and chugged up.  The band have shown great potential and delivered with sound authority here.  The blending of all sonic tonal values is exact and exemplary, the thermal energy radiated inescapable and the fact that this avoids that 'bog standard' punkery is the icing on the nutritious cake.  A relish for the job at hand is exhibited in a cutely creative gem.

I knew this low were good, I just hoped they could do the business on CD.  My worries are blown away into the ether, this is a fine hat-trick of well-devised ditty-making and I hope it serves them well and those trapped in their niches of noise are welcoming of this different flavour.  I am privileged to have this sneak lug-treat and I am thankful for the quality that has penetrated the aural orifices.

An email, a semi-request for a review, a play and a ponder and then I found out that this band has become a cornerstone of a resurgent Western Maryland punk scene.  I halted my investigations before I became warped and swung all the wrong way, one likes to be neutral tha' knows.  I noted that the crew are over here and playing a few miles away, alas I am a higgledy-piggledy busy bugger and can only do what I do, this is my bit before I piss off looking for bugs.

Several clicks, the music begins to play and as I don the headphones I am initially addressed by the tonal charms of 'Let's Make Some Noise'.  This is a light and carefully textured affair that is the kind of clean-cut noise that many, who like things less offensive and raw, will utterly love.  The musicianship is choice and the band play with a good fluent unity with the style of sonica of a sub-pop, semi-smooth slant that avoids anything raucous, heavy and aggressive.  As a lover of things more warted I can still appreciate the accents and angles that transpire here and the very hygienic approach that will give a real boner to those with washed hair, clean clothes and a full set of teeth - cripes - I am fucked then.  Tidy work and into 'Trying To Break (Bad Habits)' with a glassy twinkle tinkle and a slow and steady pace.  The verses are spartan, slightly snotty and with a need to have that volume ranked up so as to get the best out of the mix.  The ascension into the chorus cut is careful, the chorus itself almost a non-event but it does help the fluidity and takes away from the song falling into the hopeless arms of 'stuttersville'.  Again we have a song that is polished and scrubbed up but when whacked up on high matters become more impressive.  I can take or leave these two opening gambits but note is made of a very educated and adept band.

The next brace, 'Everybody Hates A Parade' is the best song so far, zippy, tetchy and with a fine contrast between the wires, the oral overspills and the splashed up sticks.  Perhaps a very orthodox tune but I feel that the style of the sonica is suited to a speedy delivery and the simple chorus chunk is without flamboyance and is very effective.  Tight and tuneful and radiating a worthy breeze of belligerence without being overly aggressive the band nail this one and onto 'Coney Island High' we go.  The latest lilt is 'Coney Island High' - a real cultured and homely affair with an opening sequence of thoughtful composition.  As we travel on we get a sugary tune with a panging that will hit home with those in the know.  A rose-tinted rock out done in a very relaxed manner with a slice of cheese thrown in and many expected accoutrements.  In many ways this is gentle punkery that lacks the spikes and studs of the more usual racket-making, we have pop-punk folks, the kind played within a certain niche for those found therein.  Is being inoffensive duly offensive - now there is something to think about!

'Brighter Times' is the worst song of the lot for me, a countrified bumpkin jig that really doesn't tremble my tractor or indeed force my hens to get all clucked up.  Hey, this is purely a personal viewpoint and the whole arrangement is not my kind of cacophonic cha'.  Having said this - the flow is sweet, the application exact and the tuneful trickle no doubt worthy of many more appreciative lugs.  I am moving on quickly here - I hope I don't find a pitchfork up my arse anytime soon.  'Frequent Flyer' is a musos number for the touring tunester who does what needs doing and then moans about it ha, ha.  A languid and half-doped ditty that drifts along and goes through some soporific sensations that are in cahoots with the theme chosen.  A lazy kind of drawl, an overly Americanised meandering that seems to let go of its magnetic appeal and just play away to nowhere in particular.  I suggest this is one for the end of the CD - the musical outro would be certainly suitable as a closing piece.

'Insomniac' is perhaps the oddment in the pack, a real snippet of outré-dabbling that sees the band rumble-grumble, play the orthodox and key matters up and so create a multifaceted mongrel of music that hobbles along with tongue lolling and nether regions dripping.  Tones of yore are within the weft, glammy essences are found and something experimental resonates.  I am not sure if I like this one but what I am sure of is that it is necessary piece and stretches the band a little further outside any form of comfort zone.  I listen over and appreciate it a little more - but I do prefer the nippy noise and feisty relish of 'No More Nights' - what a ruddy good blast out this is and it gets me thinking that if the band played out a 10 track CD with a rip-roaring collection of 2-minute Ramonesy style songs they would surely top all that they have done so far.  This has a zeal, a forthright authority and a grabbing melody and pace that is just spot on the mark  - a real zenith that gets the best out of a talented team for sure.  To back up my ponderings comes another barnstormer (albeit longer than need be) with the glorious explosion of 'girl come good' celebration that highlights a rebel doing well and holding her own.  The booze is a bonus it seems, the blitzing whizzery most excellent and I reckon if this was another short stinger things would be even better but... this is still a beauty.  These latter two tracks are a cracking double act - the CD has reached another level.

Last two folks - 'Back To The Wind' and 'Right Turn (Wrong Way Again)'. Both songs help us roll out on a chipper footing with the melodica high and the eagerness of the players more than obvious.  All areas are lucid, the former track continues the tempo injection as found in the previous donations, we get the usual standard of rhythm craft and controlled rowdiness whereas the latter track is more stable and routine in its approach but has plenty of gumption, cock-sure sanguinity and of course, the usual solidity of style.  I can't find anything to gripe about with these closing pieces - unshakable work with a few posing breaks (well, why not) and some added baubles of goodness to keep ya fascinated - a fine way to sign off.

Nah then how’s that?  Have ye been tempted by the honest and personal words or duly put off?  Are ye ready to delve in and discover the dunnage for yourselves?  This is a solid band with more to come I think, all I can do is what I do – a thankless task but the spirit is humble and having a go – on we go!   

This lot played a Fungalised gig recently, they were a man down and still rocked the rafters.  I was mesmerised and quite taken by the approach, the DIY warmth and sincerity and the darn good tunes.  They have the right idea, are playing for the love of it and considering anything else a bonus.  Here my thoughts on a quick CD that does the business and has been used several times whilst I work out on the punchbag - oomph!

Away we go with 'Cocaine Boner Casanova' - ooh the dirty blighters.  This is a 'live for the moment' kick arse blow out that moves on in with effective gumption and a bit of flamboyance before cracking on with a reckless rock and roll movement that has a 'fuck it' approach that many will adore.  The pluckers plead for more beer, drugs and nob stiffening sonica - by heck, and here's me thinking they were all gentle homosexuals happy to read back issues of 'Raised Rings'.  This is a fruity piece and has wallop, the basic lunatic riffery and some added nobs on and, as a bonus, all areas are loud, clear and brash - yes man.  Ooh where's me blue pills and jazz mags.  Play loud and wank man but please, don't spill yer beer.

We follow on with the same vibe but with a greater control.  'Let's Get Wasted' is a theme long whipped but here the verse is highly enticing and the slip into the chorus is sublime.  This latter component has a sing-a-long corn quality that may be typical and orthodox but which has a magnetism that I can truly appreciate.  It is a short and simple song but walloped home by boozers and wreckheads who are doing things mighty fuckin' well.  Yes - a joy, I may get the sherry out again.

'You're A Nazi' is another topic that does the rounds, here dealt with in forthright and no nonsense style.  A fine up-standing song in a world where too much shit-flinging has diluted the 'Nazi' slag which is a shame because there are some real hateful twats out there.  Some folk need to wake up - on both sides of the fence, stop the hate ya silly cunts and just get on.  The band put their conkers on the line and show where they stand which should always be applauded.  I love the approach and ethos and always adore the following contrast which calls for 'Absolute Freedom' which could be accused of contradicting the preceding outburst - not so!  We are all entitled to opinions, the only way to alter matters is to be open, talk and think.  Fists will fly and only cement divisions, there are knuckleheads on all sides, they are defeating freedom and their own objectives.  A really well-crafted and thought provoking song this and maybe, the best of the lot - it is neatly arranged and has a good weight behind the hoofing - watch yer delicate conkers folks.

'Let's Get Tattoos' is a politically-free bout of fine old nonsense.  It is great escapism with a lovable riff, an idiot sing-a-long sequence and will more than likely see some daft bugger wake up after a morn of the lash with a permanent mark of embarrassing quality.  A fine flowing effort this, played by lads having fun and switching styles quite ruddy nicely.  It would be easy to harp on about the gripes and gear grinds in life, sometimes we just need something less profound - neat work lads.

2 more songs come, namely 'Let's Get Wasted (Radio Edit' and 'Let's Get Tattoos (Radio Edit) - I have commented on these, this is more of the same with a slight change in the end product.  Two good songs but I would have preferred 2 new tracks - ooh the twisting devils.

So - 5 tracks, 2 semi-repeats but still worth your lug time.  This is a really good unit who are easy to get into and enjoy without too much brain strain.  Accommodating chaps, happy to muck in, no egos and as good 'live' as on CD - now what more could you ask for - ah yes, another CD release, some up-to-date Razzle mags and an added kick in the pecker pills - whoosh.

I am back in the midst of the lo-fi/no-fi DIY masters who stay outside the circles and create their own brand of raw and slow-drifting grooves.  Acquired taste acoustica for the dustbin deviant who scrambles within the sonic scraps looking for the odd neglected tasty morsel.  Metal Postcards help the creators to radiate their acoustic aromas, I am a passing hungry mongrel, sniffing and seeking and occasionally pissing some feedback up your negligible lamppost.

The leg is raised, the cock of critique is squeezed and the first textual jets come as thus.  'Cool Like You' begins, is an earthy charmer that is a comfy cupboard song sang from a tucked away tinkerer happy to croon out his thoughts atop a layer of natural and unassuming strumming that appeals to the core.  This is 'have a go' music without pretence, self-indulgence and anything arrogant - it feels real, off the cuff and posted without any attention seeking subtext.  The added unwashed accents all help - tis short, semi-sweet and doesn't piss about - now then, what can one add?  

To follow the opening effort we have murky water twanging almost reminiscent of an early B52's escapade.  The vocals however are nothing of the sort and are a suffering scrawl across the acoustic wall and a test of one’s patience.  'Deadwood' could be deemed as such if one doesn't put in any thought or consideration.  It is a hard listen, gloomy, idling and moribund with a repeat motif that is like the flickering ticker of a would be corpse.  A moment of vitality rises, the flakes and motes swirl and smother but a tribal need is exposed.  Overall I am not keen, but the more I explore the more the time invested is rewarded.  I won't be playing this too often (if at all) but it has more to it than I may be giving little credit for!  'Fish Race' meanders in with many touches the band are known for.  A very languid and eased up current drifts arounds ones attentive ankles in a somewhat naturalised manner.  Going nowhere, borne from who knows where, this Piscean piece leaves me pondering what the heck is going on - perhaps a drug-influenced word spill of abstraction ambiguity.  Take a watery perspective, jump in with the scaled wrigglers and perhaps one may get the gist - an odd beast that is a struggle to swim alongside.

'Hop To It Bunny Girls' appeals to my garage loving side, the forthright motif, the scuzzy mix and the groove all hit home although the lyrical content and general vocal arrangement is worthy of a clearer airspace. This latter aspect hinders the overall praise spill but the throbbed wirework, the Joy Division-esque accents and the filthy approach have something many will be taken by and many will be repulsed by - the job is worthy methinks. 'Lonely Girl' is a casual blue-tinted tickle that keeps everything minimal and softly, softly serenading.  All areas are dealt forth with a distinct delicacy and almost insouciant ease that gives the song an appeal to those who wanna take it mighty easy and just laze within the lilt.  Strings are caressed, the mouth organ kissed with care and the vocal drippings donated forth with an almost bashful innocence - hey it works and is another ideal poppet to slip between the sandwich of heavier fodder.  'My Ex-Girlfriend' follows suit, asks a few questions and seems to be in a place of loss, uncertainty and hurt.  At times it feels as though the song will sugar-lump dissolve and we will be left with a sweet stain to contemplate but, structure is held and so is a certain self-belief.  This is still a very fragile and spider-web light snippet of thoughtful creativity that is one to drift away with. The destination is slumberland - and that ain't a bad thing at all.

'New York Girl' has a very basic backbone of sound, a certain  cold and sinister essence that comes from a realm of solitude pondering where  the arrangement is deliberately kept lowbrow and undernourished as way of an acoustic hunger strike.  The starvation seems designed to make one take note of the most basic components and to appreciate the bare bones of the overall framework.  I look on, listen in and can see the style making an impression with those who have patience and an understanding for different approaches.  This isn't a bad moment but overshadowed by the lovely structure known as 'Sleeptight'.  A very retro sub-60's affair with slow-swirl rhythms of a sub-pop culture that floated below the upper echelons where all sorts of claptrap dictated.  The canvas is laid down, the artist approaches and appreciates the opportunities that the bare surface offers - as a result the sonic brushstrokes that come are water coloured, semi-transparent but with a hue soaked comfort.  There is warmth, sincerity and a real good essence emanated – nice, and the winner of the Fungal pop prize for sure.

We fall into the last hat-trick with the sinister sounding 'These Boots Are Made For Stalking'.  Slow tin-foil wire-ripples, fagged out vocals and a drawl-scrawl that is reminiscent of Bordellonian tracks.  If you are in a state of recline, bordering on the precipice of Nod and are fighting the downward drag of the peeper lids then this is one to be wary of.  A real Mogadon moment that finally wakes up and goes at it with a repeat threat towards the latter end.  Despite initial reservations this one eventually rouses the inner spirit and achieves some sense of success - I think.  Next and murky tribal twangs are escorted by shattered glass mesmerisms and an oral accompaniment that is almost awash with anguish and pain.  The result is a ditty entitled 'Velvet Mind'.  The verses cause me unrest and discomfort, the choruses go some way to soothing matters but overall I am left nervously shaken rather than sexually stirred.  A strange and twisted piece that is too nasal and noxious for its own good.  The closure is 'You Vagabond You' - a song I have reviewed before and one I am not doing again although I will say it is a smooth 'angels delight' moment that is without any hindering lumpage and slips down the awaiting aural orifice with ease.  For a few more hints - read the other review ya buggers or, buy a disk and write your own summing up.

My 15th review regarding this creative force - and if you want something raw, DIY and without pretension this is the band to have a look at.  From the bedroom, the kitchen, the bog - this noise comes at ya and avoids the potential blemishes cause by the mixing room - hey, some people like it this way, some like it polished and some, like a bit of everything - by heck, have a fuckin' listen will ya.

I was requested to listen into this CD long before the release date and duly pen some thoughts - here is what I slapped down - 'A slagheap of disjointed spasmoid cacophony all brought together by players absorbed, beyond hope and mentally unified - this is what we get here and when one adds a gutful of regurgitated spice and high-inducing sonic sugars, one is sure to find something perversely wonderful.  From their first 'live' exposure on a Fungalised stage through more gigs and a few releases we are here at the stage of the first full length release.  A composite of many songs I know and many that have vulgarly invaded the orifices of those who have dared get too close.  This is a gloriously unleashed bout of 'wank off' jizzery, jazzism with many anglings, discordant danglings and incessant restlessness.  The application is spot on, the passion decisive and the end collection a very gratifying burst indeed. Many old farts may frown, a few delicates may dither and a few self-appointed punk police may point fingers - these folk need to get a grip and toss off out of it - this is 21st century shit-kicking and we need it baby!'.  From here I promised to do a full review, here is a more focused assessment - I must be fuckin' mad!

'Turn The Radio Off' begins with a patchwork piss play of digital dross that is prevalent all over the airwaves.  Matters come to a head, a phone-in sees a response delivered in fine style and then the madness comes.  A cutting cable carving, a raw and scorched gob and controlled stickwork contrasts whilst the bass remains focused and adds the all-important structure.  The tantrum tossery, the overspill of annoyed aggravation is a delight and the resistance to those mundane airwaves is delicious.  The band throw in their all with a paradoxical controlled recklessness - it works mighty well and sets the senses reeling.  'Streetwalker' is a more organised construct but only just.  Verses and choruses careen and collide in a lunatic frenzy with an inner respite offering up a clarity and insight into what transpires and the content of the song.  The wire work throughout is gorgeously exciting and is awash with idiot enthusiasm and rabid relish whilst at the core of matters is a concrete solidity some may overlook whilst they are bummed by the more spit-splatter horror show - for me it is all rather fuckin' splendid.

'Frot Till Ya Rot' is a cock-rubbing stimulant for sure, with a self-loathing opening assault that attacks with a controlled savagery that walks a precipice to be wary of.  An inner sexual frustration causes internal and external turmoil in a wank off that is done and dusted in fine time and leaves one fagged and no doubt, shagged.  The end splash is borne from deviant hands that know how to toss out a tune or two - this one is short, penetrating and another nasty stain on the blankets of your mind.  'School Of Cock' comes across as an almost orthodox number but as matters progress these thoughts are shown to be founded on loose foundations that are easily blown away by the maelstrom kicked up.  The sleazy lick and skiddings, the snotty gob, the binding bass and the rock steady sticks all copulate in all manner of exotic cum erotic positions and duly give rise to a real concrete crack-up that holds the flow of the CD together.  The least flamboyant and capricious number thus far but a very good listening experience nonetheless and right up my back passage of DIY favour!

A voice that we know comes (or cums) next with 'Jimmy Is A Kiddie Fiddler' operating with a real sleazy edge whilst pointing the finger at the corruptive forces that ego-copulate and ultimately cripple in cahoots.  This is a slinky mover with a soiled essence of distrust permeating every nook, cranny, arsehole and fanny... of your mind!  Dirty noise done with a relish and disgust and of course, a spiked gung-ho that refuses to be shackled.  A barbed and biting titbit that works well in the midst of a mucky mush.

A fuckful of 3 - a narration, breathing and a request before a greater pronouncement.  'Crack Killer' bass weaves in, whizz wanks with great frenzied ambition before escaping from the manic verse and seizuring into the simple but active chorus.  A full on thrust, a lunatic release that is on the brink of falling into realms beyond help.  A quick break, an ascending passion, a final puking of unbridled capriciousness and boom, we are done - phew - I feel shafted man.  'Licence To Kill' coolly waltzes forth from mysterious avenues where distrust and malevolence dictate.  A throwback NY feel comes, borne via the time of degenerate sleaze and despondency.  Kill and be killed or get slain by the cacophony - your call.  During the verses things are suffocated and shackled with a real chomping at the leash whilst the choruses are moments of tension relieving expenditure that sees the cock of disgruntlement waggled with a venomous glint in the eye. I find this one a satisfying switch twitch and on we go with flags of success flying.  The final fling of the trio comes under the dubious nob angle of 'Begging For A Pegging'.  A phone call, a seeming asthmatic gets his wishes granted, a venue of questionable virtue is chosen and the song celebrates the situation with a low-slung sing-a-along fuckwit barnyard jig. The mind becomes awash with visions of boss-eyed bum boys with dungarees lowered and encrusted members quivering, all waiting in line for their next victim - fuckin' hell I need to stop taking these pills.  This one is a song I can take or leave, perhaps the mental images are blurring my true judgement.

'Flagshagger' is what it is, we know who it is aimed at and for me, every flag is there to wipe ones arse on as I don't need this divisive shite interfering with my quest for cerebral anarchy.  Alas we live in a world of labels, emblems, signatures and signs that many cling to - hence some of the frustration here.  A fast and furious injection that sees the band work mighty hard to hold all in check and maintain a tight ship.  A surging 'anti' song, some will take heed of, some will ignore and so the loop into hates-ville continues.  'What They Deserve' begins with a brace of neuralgic twinges before avalanching into a shit spill of questions and answers.  A violent and mentally unstable episode of fidgetry that clatters along with lunatic vigour and tempestuous tantrumisation.  Crumpled and rumpled and alive and certainly kicking, this is a huff and puff arse kicker to keep you awake.  'Sinkpisser' could be a homage to those who like to take a leak in a place many deem unsuitable.  I am one of these 'erberts who occasionally splash the wash basin due to the influence of alcohol or general idleness.  To rest the scrotum on the sink and let the gold flow is a wonderful thing methinks and far more comfortable than letting the globes hang free - ooh err.  A reggae interlude fucks the flow up the arse, wafflings comes that I really can't see the point of but it is quite comedic in its own way.  From here we drop into the sombre and quite effective emo-dope of 'Sad Samba'.  I can't help envisioning some washed up Sesame Street Character invading the fun time show with this sober moment that is almost confessional in its approach.  For a switch in style and a quite obtuse cutlet of creative awkwardness this one is a surprising ear worm that wriggles in, dumbs one down and gets one all maudlin.

And that, is in fact, fuckin' that!  The band began the life on a Fungal stage, have moved on, and are doing mighty fuckin' well.  They bring to the table a salty peppering of angularity and multi-limbed lilt dropping and their recent return to a Fungalised stage was a fuckin' joy.  This is a good rambunctious mix of salivating sonica and it makes me happy to see fuckers out there really kicking up the shit in their own non-generic style - ooh have that yer static fuckers!

Long term contributors to the cacophonic realms with many frustrations and disgruntlements rising, this lot continue to crack on and defy the dilution and the cranial corruption that seems to have crippled many.  I am a fan, a doofer, all I can do is do my bit and try and keep fellow buggers moving.  A recent gig highlighted that the quality and gumption is still there, I was given a couple of CD's and requested to do a review - the honesty, non-arse-licking approach continues but it is all done with an intent to keep bands on their toes - it gets me nowhere but I hope it gets the bands somewhere.

Up and away we go with 'Corporate Evil' a clubbing cacophonic bastard that digs deep from the off and adds the expected metalised touches the band are so fond of.  A gritty verse casting pearls before many punctured swines who are gaping wide and swallowing the whole shebang.  The message here comes from those against the all-consuming business bastards who want ya hooked, habitually hanging on and not really thinking for yourself.  Make your choice but please - think first!  This is a molten larva movement with big heaps of spittle-soaked kick back and some watertight musicianship.  Some will lap it up, some will switch off due to the content - I fuckin' love it baby and reckon it is heavy duty hardware mowing down all in its track.  

'All Fall Down' begins with deep-rooted gut rumbles before finding its lick and rolling with a spartan opening verse.  Snarling, asking questions, there ain't no answers man.  We live in times of digital deadheads, the rebels are tamed, the boisterous blanketed and all told to just get the next hit and smile to the grave.  This is walloping punk piquing that will unsettle some and get others pinging.  The divisions rise, the lack of respect for those not following the norm is appalling, here we have folk not giving a fuck.  The waves of hefty noise slap-hammer home with forceful intent and a blending that gets the utmost impact out of the players.  The fact that the crew don’t over extend matters works – boom!

'1984 (It's Not A Story Anymore)' is what it is and surely gets one wondering 'how the fuck did we end up here?'  Unapologetic sonic sizzling with a content that has been dealt with many times over and yet we still slide into the shackles and restrictions.  Keep the people getting their fill and the fuckers will roll over when the screws are turned.  Fuck me up the arse if ya want but I ain't missing my holiday, missing out on my night out or limiting my spending on materialistic crap' - you get the picture (I hope).  Here the mush is screwed up once more, the disgust and anger is bold and the streak of spitback refusal is strong - is anyone listening?  The band are blazing and over this 4 track course they hit the neurones with ease and good power.

Talking of 4 tracks, the last blast comes under the slag tag of 'Don't Believe The Hype'.  A digital spearing, a swishing of the blades of war and big pronouncements made.  Political mania overspills with a fury backed by some very tense-laden strings and a rigid military stick guide.  The leash is loosened for the chorus, the band go at it and let fly with an incandescent thermality that will surely scorch many senses and make folk sit up and take note.  Perhaps I live in a dream world - good music such as this flies under many radars - is it too much for scenes middling and comfortable?  Well, my thumb is raised once more, this old dog likes it on the edge.

Yeah, for chickens that are losing the spring but not the spunk, and are certainly trembling their giblets with a fuck-you flourish, this is darn healthy noise to get the rear in gear.  It ain't background music, it ain't socialising sonica and it ain't music with lyrics to overlook - play, play loud, ponder and come up with your outcome.  Agree or disagree with the ethos but man, appreciate the bombardment of dinnage.

The Puncturists are a female fronted four piece melodic, garage punk band who rehearse in Barnsley in South Yorkshire, England, UK.  Well, that is the pilfered piece done, and here I have a CD to tackle that I have great expectations of.  The string maestro sent me the goods, he is a good egg whom I have known for many year but somehow, I have yet to see him ping his plectrum in this latest unit.  I shall hopefully amend this oversight but busy lives is all about juggling and paths may cross or paths may just not meet - such is life.  Now, I like 60's garage, I like melodic movements and I am still not sure what all this punk shizzle is about but here I go, head on the block, time invested and arse in gear.

'Pissing Me Off' could be a song about anything, in this life and the modern day there are many things that fall into the irritation category.  A crisp and slightly scuzzed intro, a steady mid-paced beat follows and then the lucid lilt of the lead lady flows with unflustered sanguinity.  From the somewhat gentle verse comes a chorus that is easily joined in with and has a fine salted spite for good measure.  Moments of heavy strummage, the same languorous strain and lyrics that expose a lass not to be trifled with - this is a very steady and appealing start with some tidy turns, a good threat level and some uncomplicated but tidy musicianship.  A sweet serenade with a nasty streak - crikey.  '55' is a fuckin' peach - a real flowing sugar-coated episode of self-will and focused determination.  The flow is radiant and full of feel-good lush leaning whilst the blend of all areas is spot on the mark.  The popsicle is enhanced further by the delicious vocals that fall down like scented petals from a gently swaying tree located in the most exquisite acoustic orchard.  Come forth, admire and taste the fruit of a real stunner that really has me digging the heels in and smiling away - what wonders are found in the fecund realms of DIY - it is a place to do your bit and keep on cultivating the mouth-watering treats.

'I Wish I Was French' trickles in from the shadows, comes to the fore and steadily entrances with a bog-basic offering that rolls through the verses and chorus cuts with very little fuss.  An interlude of 'Frere Jacques' and a repeatoid cruise all give this song its own feel but it is one that leaves me a trifle underwhelmed and I think it outstays its welcome.  A neat little mover that just needs a little extra spice and to up the pace methinks.  All areas are mixed well and if folk want something very easy to listen to then this is it - for me, I was overwhelmed by the first two numbers and so feel deflated here.  'Everybody's On Drugs' is a song I have reviewed before and brings back some appreciated snagging elements and a real juicy drift that is only tempered by another overly long playing time. The band certainly know how to expose the best of their abilities, get a rewarding balance between all components and create poppy meanderings that are highly pleasant and unobtrusive.  This ain't no bad song, a trimming would help I reckon but many may disagree - ooh them darn blighters.

A musical break and what a fuckin' gorgeous moment it is.  Why the CD doesn't start and end with this textured snippet of surfy sublimity is beyond me - a real faux pas and I mean that as a sincere compliment.  I love this shimmering psychedelic spume trip and reckon this is an area where the band could progress further and create something fresh, happening and outside the many current norms.  'Theme From Commit Nuisance' is now labelled as 'great stuff'.         

'Spectre' appears from the brief silence, manifests itself with an authority that cuts to the core.  The opening throes are concrete and bear hug forth a positive reaction from this pernickety old fuck.  A really comforting drift envelopes the senses with a saccharined seasoning helping keep things relaxed and very approachable.  Within the weft and weave the bass does a real fine job at adding layered melody and stability and the strings are crisp and the sticks stabilising.  The move from all sub-sections is liquid and the chug factor is really well done.  The band do not go overboard, play within themselves and offer up a fine reliable rock out.  'It's Untrue' clobbers in, pounds with a glowing healthiness. A robust riffery without being too confrontational with the usual rhythmic qualities and casual flow all making for a uncomplicated affair that just over-repeats and hangs around for far too long.  It is an inoffensive number but a trimming, a switch in the modus operandi and some added twinkle-twankles would enhance all.  Hey, these are the usual Fungalised thoughts, if it is of help or disregarded as crap I can only be fair and offer up honesty! This song is still a smooth operator though and does what it does well.

The back stretch, 'Give Blood' is reminiscent of many songs I have heard over the years and again, throws away any idea of being an elaborate and profound episode and just sticks to the rock and roll basics.  The motif is found, stretched out and played to buggery but, the running time is terse, the music compact and things are all the better for it.  'They Don't Pay Support Bands' is the eternal pertinent piece, in a world of so-called punk rock where the big players take all, leave the floundering abandoned with fuck all and yet these latter souls still hold their heroes high and keep repeating the imbalanced process.  The key - avoid the dross, make your own path and keep it DIY!  A tapping from the side-stage, a gruff and ill-tempered wind up and into the first verse we go.  A lovely start and a gritty feel is had as the revolving situation is retold via a very strong song that digs in its heels and states its case.  A fine reminder to avoid this crud and to keep it real at a level where no-one is fussed about profit, playing with big names and falling into the trappings of a cacophonic cobweb where the big sonic spiders of deception will... devour.  Tidy man!

'Leave Me Alone' skips in on a lo-fi lick, ups the tonal ante and maintains a vigorous vitality throughout.  The riff is familiar, the swashbuckling swishings expected and the arrangement now predictable but this is still a delightful little ass-jiggler that avoids anything 'in-yer-face', political and acidic.  The core is clean and tidy, the overall blend as hygienic as usual and at this point what more can I add - just play loud and have a good jig folks.  Closure comes via 'I'm Not Alright' a quite convincing and emotive number that vies for the pick of the pops in my opinion.  Inner struggles, hidden torments and a misfiring mental state are all familiar areas and this one hits home big time.  The stripped bare verses have a great tenderness and a feeling that is tangible. The liquid move into the slowly swirled chorus is sublime.  A high standard offering that is played with a great exactitude and a snap, crackle and pop innocence that really touches the soul.  My applause are big here, a superb full stop to a CD of polished care.

Overall I like this, even though my dabblings into the land of garage punk are always where the dirtier sounds are found and the mix is more manky.  A few songs don't truly hit the Fungalised mark but this doesn't indicate any duffers here.  The crew have found their style, have produced a quality end product and are a unit I do need to catch up with.  This offering should serve them well and long may the spillages continue.