I know a few of the peeps in this band, I have done a bit for them in the past, in their various musical guises.  It is good to know they are still going, this time with a comedic element thrown into the mix and some face-painting tomfoolery - it seems a growing trend in this diluted age.  The band have been around since 2015, I have yet to see them but hey, I can't be everywhere and wander my own way doing what I do.  They are based around the Manchester area, mix up the styles, add some brass and try and create something pleasing on the lug.  There ain't nothing new here, there never is, but that doesn't stop me going in with eagerness and an attempt to do my bit whilst spitting honesty!  

The cunt of silence is opened, the first fuck of dinnage gets slapped home under the name of '99%'.  A chug march, an advance of all weaponry with added brassage in the back passage make this initial arse fucking a curiosity to contemplate further.  The band use the slag tag 'party metal' for their wares which perhaps is in the hope of appealing to the cruddy state of shit were social skipping over-rules political ripping.  I avoid getting into the mass dilution and do my thing with hope and honesty and here uncover a track that has a good spiteful-edge, a strength of hardcore hunger and a bog standard riffery to appeal to those not willing to scrape too deep.  The guitars knock out a good vibe, the vocals have a scorch-factor not to be underestimated and the chorus is easily tagged along with and has its own force to savour.  Yes, this one is worth my time and a good start to an album I expect much from.  'Space T-Rex' starts with good flamboyance, digs a good groove for cock-rock wannabes and those who like the hybridisation of punk and metal.  The thirst shown is gratifying and the opening thrusts at ones gentle areas inescapable.  The players show good insight, are able to clatter and batter with efficiency and maintain a liquidity amid the turmoil.  I think the buggers involved have found their niche and, apart from one or two moments that drift off and sear matters, they have their second decent offering notched up.

Onto the third, in fear of a turd, in hope of the word - 'St Anne’s' brings bold surprise with its general nuts out/fanny sizzling accents that culminate in a cacophony of wild freedom that, in some strange way, really gets my gears turning and my inner oil burning.  The band combine a pogo-persuasive hot-pot of bubbling gumption then add some.  The brass accentuates the beat and is a nice condiment to add to the sizzling steak of oral fire that is doused in a stew liable to burn your insides out.  The band exude a relish here - I am never one to argue with that and, with a touch of mentally-ill gusto, the song gets a thumbs up from this end.  'Balrog Stole My Britches' crawls in, finds its feet and blasts away with meaty effect.  A flow and a stagger collide and add necessary contrast with extra flamboyance added via players well versed in tonality beyond one specific spectrum.  The only danger arises when one ponders the possibility of going overboard with the decoration and thus making a scenario that is too muddled for the aural observer.  Thankfully the band don't do that here and I am quite happy lapping up the animated shizzle.

There is a serious edge to the song known as '(Welcome To) Suplex City', those opening strains say so and who am I to disagree.  Again the brass adds emotion, gives a conviction and makes the players rise in accord.  They do this, the end mush is complete in many ways and has essences of early 21st century skank/punk that was doing the rounds in many sub-circles.  The band soup matters up with a good bollock-holler and cool the intensity with a mid-way knee-crawl.  The final chant is obvious but has gumption, that will do for me.  'Hipster Moustache' is a scream-fest that nails its thinking to the mast and displays a dislike for those hairy accoutrements that adorn the face of the fucked fashion-victim.  These fuck-wits are invasive and many are in the scene with their beards, designer haircuts and chameleon-like views.  Fuck the lot of em' and whilst doing so play this song loud and  keep yourself aroused - nuff said methinks!

'Burning Hammer' begins with a wandering waffle borne of a mind cracked and a mind with too much time to toss forth zoned-out thoughts.  I suspect I know the hollerer, if my thoughts are correct I thoroughly understand the output!  The song proper comes in, the cock rock route taken is blatant, rocks with an orthodox riffery and is shot through with heated verbals, invasive brass rapings and varied angles to make sure interest is upheld.  It isn't a favourite of mine but I am certainly putting this one down – unlike next doors dog who had a touch of the mange.  'Stone Cold' stops, starts, awkwardly farts.  It chants and takes a slow and steady route thus not raising any goose-pimples of desire.  The verse soon corrects any doubts and flows into a very effective modus operandi.  The off-the-leash yellfest is done with sound vigour and although the halt and holler moment isn't in-line with my wants I recognise it adds that oh so crucial contrast factor - the job, as they say, is a good un'.

A final trio to tackle, 'Swinging At Ghosts' is a lunatic fringe burst that has a core of repetitive industry and a screamoid sincerity but which continues to entertain with much fiery rhythm.  All areas clash and bash with pure untamed mania thus keeping the CD thrashing along right up until the last gasps.  We have two to follow but time is well spent dwelling on this moment whilst flinging shit and hitting your erect cock with any available blunt instrument.  'Nunslinger' subtly whines in, finds a hook, flicks a switch and use a decent drive to 'go for it'.  There are a few twists and turns in the upchuck, some of which work better than others but, given patience, consideration and several spins the song, as a finished article, has much to recommend it.  There are better offerings on this CD but hey, only a cruel git would put a boot in on this one - 'thwack' - ooh I just can't help myself!

'Shinigami' bass glances in, adds guitar and skin fuel, creeps like Rolf Harris in the cellars of a primary school.  The initial throat bursts are pained and striving before blossoming in the usual raw and rabid way.  The song regarding the spirit of Death fractures and fucks around and leaves an aftertaste of an effort overly patchwork and too inconsistent for its own good.  Not my favourite, one I lose interest in quite quickly and one that fucks me off as it isn't the solid way a sound CD should end - in my honest and personal opinion of course.

Despite the end boil on the peripheral ball bag of noisy goodness I reckon this entire collection of sound is a fine do and the band have many options and angles to take which, as a self-confessed awkward cunt, I hope they do.  My arthritic fingers are crossed - ouch!



Nosebleed are not trying to be original, it is just as well as my thoughts on that molested claim are well aired.  What we get here is a very bare-arsed, no-nonsense, lo-fi sound that I have heard many times but, in truth, very rarely tire of.  This Leeds based 3-piece chuck up short snappy pop songs with a shithouse sound essence very much reflective of the DIY approach.  The band have some good vibrations floating around the scene at the moment, I take no notice and make up my own mind without sway - it has served me well so far although many would disagree - ooh the scabby buggers.  So inwards and at some point outwards, in between the penetrating proddery I have uncovered this:- 

'I'm Okay' intrudes in tinned up fashion and has a distinct simplistic urgency that repeats a lick and lets us have it full in the face.  Swift, to the point, very little fuss and over and done with in the blinking of a jaundiced peeper - the assessment is the same - I like it.  The second song has a sinister slant and goes under the name of 'I'm Shaking'.  From freaked out chorus cuts to chorus chunks that border on the mentally collapsed and, with a brief snippet of gibberish thrown in, this has all the hallmarks of the scene in which it dwells.  The band stick to the inner regulations and although they don't outshine the first episode they still hold their own.  Very reminiscent of what The Franceens were doing a few years back (and you know how much I liked that lot), this is easy throw away garbage with a trashy element to paradoxically add to the longevity factor.  It will do for me but from the opening hat-trick I get sucker-punched into liking the vulgarly obvious strains of 'Time And Time Again'.  I say 'vulgarly obvious' because the tricks used to get the toe tapping, the head nodding and the pulse surging are without subtlety and are of a style I am more than a little familiar with.  At nearly 1400 CD reviews in I should perhaps know better but I proudly don't - I still get aroused by shit like this and apologies I have none.  The mix is precise, the merging of the undercooked and the nicely grilled is spot on, I play loud, pogo and put my foot up the arse of a pensioner - some things just wire you up that way - a choice moment!

'Wrong' flicker-wings in, pings like a jumping bean dosed up on amphetamine soup and shits out its sound like a skitter-fuck bug bursting at the elytral joints with straining desire.  The band fly thorough the routine with exactitude and sharp-witted attention, this is par for the course fuckery, I am swinging along just fine.  'Start Again' has a pulse, twinges and repeat hollers before propelling itself along on a buoyant beat that has all the flavours already cooked up.  A bit more rocked and rolled this one but not straying outside the set circle and using the same old tricks to make its mark on a CD full of short sharp punches rather than big haymaking ball-busters.  The punk side of me is pleasured but I don't get carried away and recognise shizzle as this as being short lived and dustbin destined - never a bad thing and in many ways, tis how things should be!  Note must be had that the bin mentioned has a recycling compartment, it is the one to use if you want to keep both acoustically and environmentally friendly.  

'Everybody', 'Slow Down' and the title track 'Scratching Circles On The Dancefloor' are 3 more frenetic pieces with the first a simple but magnetising piece played with zeal, the second a colliding winner that chops and charges with fuel-filled gusto and much breathless hunger and the third tiptoeing in, knocking over the odd vase of disturbance before 'fucking it' and jig-jiving its way along on frisky feet and juiced up joy.  'Joy' is a key word here because that is the sensation the music makes and this is uplifing vibrology that trembles parts other tunes fail to reach.  Over the years my leaning to things more melodic has grown, my pre-school years were laden with rock and roll and glam rock, then punk took over and Northern Soul has graced my lugs too - but a circle rotates and I am back with the initial leanings - blah!

'Can't Stay Here' snuffles in, smells your weakness and rises up and bites your globes with understated effect that still shifts some attentive sperm into action.  A very controlled and bass-driven operation that cuts to the meat of your notice and gets one admiring the simple exactness that hits all the primeval hotspot we musically-fucked victims are cursed with.  A tidy effort seemingly committed to the disc without much effort - nifty!  'Psycho' has the apposite sub-gothic rock-a-billy touch of terrorised scuffling and is given a good burst of blood-filled pace and a subtle edge of things unsettling.  The band apply themselves with ear-snagging accuracy, the momentum of the double-quick time ditty is up my street - it comes, it goes, it does what it sets out to do.  'Kick Me When I'm Down' begins with scabby bass before going through the usual set formula.  I am not complaining, for one album this shit works and here we see a copulation of the desperate and the accepting slop forth a son-of-a-bitch sensation that brings nothing new to the well-rocked table but which keeps things rattling.  'I Can't Tell You Anything' has more of that Feelgood factor the Doctor regularly ordered before hepping matters up with genuinely gratifying gusto sweated out by players in the zone.  The relish is magnetic, the manic delivery is tireless and this penultimate track keeps the internal fires blazing.  We close with the tidy 'What You Have Done', a delivery with a darker edge, a blood supply of psychotic hunger and a flamboyance that sees the band push to the max before hitting the final wall of silence head on.  It is swift, salivated and spirited shit, I am not planning on wiping my arse anytime soon so the soul of the stink can soak further into my framework - ooh mother!

Yes, a good effort this, following a formulated course that has been tried and tested but still given a good walloping.  The band are sharp, they play with a gusto, the throw out their noise with enjoyment - I ain't no fool, I ain't no liar - when noise is good I'll say so, I reckon I just have.



Zoo Party are a fine band, they produce music of a zested variety, are always on the Fungal radar and have brought me untold pleasure with their quick-fire and highly fruited sound.  The outfit is a 3-piece, they hail from Sweden, have 3 albums under their belts (all reviewed by yours truly), and have been witnessed plying their trade with good vigour and magnetising effect.  This album is released on Deadlamb Records, a fine affair ran by quality geezers doing it the right way.  It all sounds good, my honest streak and fair judgement shall not be swayed though, I go in hopeful but not bent!

'Lardass' begins, has a wonderful uplifting riffery that sets the sonic sensors to high alert and has one pogoing with passion to the zipping and irresistible vibrations thrown one's way.  The words involved are honest, thoughtful and against the takers and twats in this life who thrive on others misery.  This an all-round encouraging construction moving with joy de vivre and thirst for the task at hand.  The gushing waters are foamed, the band create a mix that is crisp, animated and, most importantly, lucid.  A sparkling opener, just what was needed and continuing the standard set over the previous 3 albums.  'Two Different Sets Of Rules' is a crisp and well breezed rip up against the injustice of it all and the prejudice we find in many circles.  A stop and start opening, a thrust of vitality laden goodness and we stomp along with much gumption and hit many fine and dandy highs along the way.  Zoo Party have a zip, move with pepped panache, have the ability to maintain lucidity whilst galloping with purpose - it is a good angle to the output and this second number, although not as effective as the first, is still magnetic listening matter!

A toss around the tympanics, a very stated chorus and a regulated run through of the first verse sees 'Set The World On Fire' go through reliable motions and come out the other end with shit-free credit.  It is a very safe and stable song, the band roll with a pumping flow, pulse with a punctuated temperament and make sure the core of the song is never strayed from.  'You Don't Know Me' has a very Euro-flavour akin to an 80's pop glamorisation that included a harmonious essence liable to embrace the sing-a-long needs of the eavesdropping clientele.  The initial escalation is rinsed through and magnetic, the following river rush bubbles and foams before hitting a calm spot on which we can dwell.   My thoughts are of a very inoffensive tipple that doesn't try to be anything else than a sweet burst of riffed up music that relies on clarity and clout and a coherent delivery - is this a bad thing?  

'Don't Be Afraid Of Love' is a groovy chicken , cluck-stuttering with a hugging charisma that serenades the softer side of the soul and gives one a feeling of general brightness and hope.  The tempo is mid-paced, the affect is of poppish innocence with a care to keep all components somewhat simple and refreshingly honest.  This may not be everyone's choice of punkism, whatever the fuck punk is these days it doesn't matter, I like some pleasant material to tickle the neurones - this is all well and dandy. 'No Point At All' starts in vibrant fashion, kicks a good chunk of the rear and moves with a wonderful cleanliness of sound that gives the listener a full-on experience of the ZP zest.    The verse has many points to take heed of, the chorus cuts blow a gale and toss one about (as well as off) with energising accents.  I am right in the eye of the storm here, tis bloody marvellous.  'Everything I Failed To Be' is a great titled and sums up the no-hope and the 'at a loss situation' many of us have encountered at one time or, many others.  The song is a quirked oddity and despite having the usual pep in the engine room and high level of string and skin activity this one comes across as a simplistic wrap-around bubble-gum speedburst that needs little microscopic investigation.  Tis a free-wheeling roll-along, no bullshit, no fuss - get on it, get over it or get the fuck outta here!

'Wake Up' screwdrives and drills with early vitality, sets about setting an alarm-clock noise to invigorate the senses and makes sure one is not dozing off anytime soon.  And how dare they, this is a convincing effort from the ZP lads and here again they play out a perky pusher of persistent energy that really excites the most simplistic of receptors and sets an 'alive and kicking' feeling in motion that never lets up until the last blast out - smashing.  'Hardcore' is nothing of the sort and belts away on expected riffery, a riffery full of high-blended tonality making sure that each and every component gets a good sound airing.  You know the script, this effort sticks to it, don't expect nothing new, just accept and enjoy.  This isn't my favourite tune to chomp on but it is still a wholesome listen, I shall let you delve further and make up your own mind.

The last hat-trick, I make a dash for the tape and leave suggestions to tantalise your aural taste buds.  'Hearts Don't Lie' is a crystal clear effort and something of a cheap-track jollity that avoids complication and just wanks itself off for the pure pleasure of it by using a repeat-beat routine.  Mixed and blended to a tee, not for me though.  'Shaken And Disturbed' is more like it, a strong multi-layered effort that sees a subtle progression in the output with a serious edge to proceedings whilst maintaining the expected power and professionalism.  The song is mid-paced, highly efficient and has a touch of darkness that is neatly banished by a cloud-clearing chorus eruption done in fine style.  The soundscape is saturated, the Zoo Party Three come out of this one with all flags of victory flying.  We finish events with 'Your Truth Is A Lie', a right riff loaded jaunt of pleasing magnitude that goes through expected revolutions and gives us nothing new but a consistent send off in keeping with the ZP style.  The band could have taken a risk here, they play it safe somewhat, I shall not be a bastard so late on and leave this one on good terms.

Zoo Party are a highly efficient band, cruising through the tonal spheres with ease and knocking out a very effective sound for people like me and people like you.  They have a good feeling going on within their weavings, I find what they do most inoffensive - in my life of honesty and toe-treading this is a blessing.  If you haven't already - check out the band please, and rock to some honest vibrations.



Formed in 2011 this 5 sided hardcore ball of aggro exposing fuckers play their music loud and fast.  They are intense and kick holes in your defence and is perhaps only for those saturated in the waters of a certain scene.  My task is to stand-back, review and expose and tell it like it is - no bother there then.  Apparently if ye be a fan of Circle Jerks, Poison Idea and Minor Threat then this may be for you - so sayeth the blurb with the music - we shall see.

The 'Intro' initially tells us that something isn't right - be it with the heads of the operators and the forthcoming noise that we may have to take cover from.  This is musical possession, a demon has invaded the disc of devilment, your gaping maw opens and is ready to consume - are you ready to kiss the anus of the Demon of Discordant Death?  'Hog Peni' blur rushes in with a shimmery haze cloaking the initial mush of sound.  The band travel with undeterred direction and end up retching up a cool-down retro attack of tepid accents that is void of any great upheaval.  A scuffle rather than a darn good kicking this song only rises when a tribal chant passes briefly by and for me at least, that is a chance missed.  A saturated effect not truly wrung out - bah.  'Coyotes' snarls and bites, attacks with a consistency that follows on from the previous song and makes sure there is no respite from the rabidity but no real upshift in matters thus giving one a decent going over that can be dealt with.  There is a sub-spite, a slight foaming at the corners of the oral utterer's gob but I would have preferred a greater froth up and a greater amount of abandonment which I am sure would have got more out of the band and created a greater end blow.  Not bad, not ground-moving either - I advance!

'Bacterion' is a scuzzy song with a distempered feel that makes one itch and pick at the flesh of frustration.  The whole dirty and undercut slant aches to rise and give birth to pustules of excitement that sprays infecting sonic pus this way and that never happens.  What we get instead is a consistent flat-line of crud that indeed has character and is appealing in a perverse way but...this could have been so much more.  From the petri-dish of hope a culture was borne, the doctors of madness were too distracted to cultivate the true beast - t'was a shame!  'White Chickens' is a repeat dose that fails to cluck from the shadows of the cloying atmosphere but here we have a slightly better construct due to the added drama and greater injection of horror.  There is a pervading darkness that slips into the porous epidermal layers of the listener and turns healthy coursing blood to struggling life liquid of a darker hue.  Another filthy eruption, I may be slipping and falling victim to a grooming - I give this one a slightly above average nod of approval.

'Blucher' travels in on a skipped drum beat, is soon seared over with that familiar dirty sound and cancerous throat scorch.  The intensity is zoned in as per, the production is holding matters beneath the surface and a certain suffocation is had.  I am getting a gist of early Killing Joke here along with some sub-encrusted efforts that relied on guts rather than glamour.  I am thrown but am confident in my opinion that the band are not taking enough risks and kicking enough shit - I progress, not overly impressed.  'Hypno' rattlesnakes in like a pulsing invader from worlds bent on war!  The approach is heavily encrusted with sonic detritus that clogs the output and pebble-dashes the receiving membranes.  The scorched earth intensity works up to a certain point but as the song advances, interest wanes.  The end mind melt and utter corruption of the construct fails to remedy matters - I still remain outside the circle.  'The Pit' is kicked open, one expects some new blades brandished to cut through the numbing flesh and, although the band hammer away, I am still left unmotivated.  This is very much an acquired taste, it is now more than apparent that I am just losing further touch with the mush and despite the band playing a tight routine, driving with hard focus and scuzzing like fuck, I just can't get into the groove here.

'Authority Magnet' is a cruddy number with no outrageous flamboyance, no attracting energy waves.  'Paranoia Eggs' is an instinctive shit-out of reeking rhythm that is unfriendly, opposing and puke-inducing.  The song has a bite, an infected strain that does kindle interest but at this stage I am low on patience and reserve any definite judgement.  We close with 'Potatoes', a fast-paced plough through of tonal fields that have already been well trampled and turned over.  I have run out of gas and interest and sign off here - my verdict is of an album that I have no interest in, one that will have a niche market and one that may have many people exaggerating the merits of - it does happen, it is called dishonesty but hey, one or two may actually like this stuff - it takes all sorts - thank goodness.



'Are you still reviewing CD's' is a question I get asked now and again by people I presume to be on the ball.  Well, I am and am getting closer and closer to my target of 1500 reviews each and every day.  Here we have a band who have only been around since late 2017,  who drop back in time for their influences and who are releasing this sonic shit on the ever glorious Dirty Water label.  I haven't time to dawdle and look to honesty, careful pondering and off-the-cuff reactions to get me by as per, at this stage I am hoping the formula works and works darn fuckin' well but then again...all I can do is try and the rest is left to the masses.

'Big Fish’ is a relaxed and fruity number straight out of yesteryear onto the turntable of today.  The jerky feel, the basement psychedelia and the pseudo-radio accent that adds oodles of character to this initial cool cruise is all in keeping with my pre-conceived ideas.  The band are in no hurry here, they run the engine at their own pace and all the while provide a subtle gesture of uplifting delight.  'Identity Crisis' is a better effort, the swing is more deliberate and therefore hypnotic, the guitar touches blended with vocal tenderness all float above the careful manipulated skins.  Everything about this and the previous effort is cared for and very attentive with the arrangement almost shying away from any risk-taking or speed injection.  Luckily this second burst is ideally suited for the tempo and I am provoked with new intrigue...and it's only the 2nd track in.

'Two And Two Make Ten' is a stunner, a real laid-back croon that floats at its own leisurely pace and just shimmer-ripples the waters of attention so as to charmingly gratify the soul. The crisp guitar application, the languid laid back lilt and the easy swing of the verse are sublime and the sunshine glints and tambourine tickles make for a delicious treat to play on a summer day to increase that lazy feelgood factor - brilliant!  'Get A Life' shakes its ass and travels with a purpose with switches in the serenade done with exactitude and all contributing to a consistent end mix.  A clucking fuckery borne of the barnyard is never far away and as the song hopscotches through the first two verses and midway guitar wank a lather is eventually worked up and a staining is had of the most excitable kind.  The flourish is brief but well spunked - there is evidence!

'You've Seen It All' has surfy touches, pure rock and ready pluck-fucks and grooves along with a cool-cat snazz I get particularly mauled by.  The hollowness of movement is subtle, the increase in tempo nicely creeping and the ultimate swing very ensnaring.  This music can be foreground frivolity or background blending but all the while adds a certain uplift to the day.  'Head In Sand' is a more head down drive with a sombre edge that takes a little getting used to.  A certain languidness and almost lackadaisical approach gives one the sensation of a band playing a little too much within themselves.  Time is very much of the essence and care must be taken to use this consuming commodity and give the song much attention.  Eventually one discovers a hidden beauty, a beauty blessed by the charm of imperfection and approachable wonder.  The surreptitious attraction comes more to the forefront as the song progresses - I am happy with that!   'I'm Going' is a more jangle-juiced affair and cracks along in a certain ramshackle rust bucket kind of way that stays together, makes good advances and eventually judders to a pleasing halt.  The song, although not feeling a complete construct, knows its own direction and gets where it wants to in double-quick time, this could be a better asset than I suspect - ooh heck!  The last number and a good one to finish with 'Don't Let Them Bring You Down' a low-burning ditty that trickles in like a serpent intent on your soul.  The simmering coils take their time to squeeze out a verdict and slowly constrict with a purpose only fluttered by rippled skin and melodic sub-hisses.  The vocals are unrushed, the string work combined and counteracting, the message obvious.  Par for the course, a course I am happy to tread and a good way to finish - oh aye!

Yes, I am with this one, it is a nice counterbalancing weight of easy noise to play alongside more heftier chunks of discordance and more forthright executions.  I have a rock and roll basis to my punk existence, this one has much to gratify and the fact that it doesn't overcook the formula and keeps things exquisitely simple works for me also.



On EHC Records and Screenprints this latest release by The Infested seems long overdue or is it just me - it usually is!  Formed in 2004 this lot have been on the block for quite a while now and deliver up their own brand of ska-core, a sub-genre that seems to, of late, gone on the back-burner of the pseudo-fashion fuckery.  Who cares what is in and what is out, as long as the vibe feels good then bring it on.  So, what have these Leeds-based buggers brought to the tilted table of tunery this time, as per, there is only one way to find out!

'Believe' begins, it is a crumpled up countenance of cacophonic effort, forced fed through a tube of taut and testing tonality, quite ideal for the ska-corian troopers who like their upstrokes and down strikes intoxicated.   The fiery guts that are behind this construction are animate and hungry and the blend of many sub-fractured elements is foamed up with a certain excitement that sees the players play with a cluttered tightness one needs time to adjust to.  The main gist I am getting from this shizzle is of a youthful exuberance not to be denied.  I see many bands like this come and go, it seems age is a factor as well as many fizzing hormones.  I like the general gumption here, the song has vigour and a good twinkling melody - a grand start lad!  'Hoax' tympanically tumbles, gets bass bombed, fizzes up and catapults itself along in the same style as its predecessor.  The glistened edges prevail throughout, the skins are fluttered over like a million moths on the arse of a nervously hepped up rhinoceros and the strings are masturbated with an almost unthinking style.  Moments calm in some respects with skanked clanks taking over and adding something akin to the orthodox.  The true excitement comes when harmonies flourish, particularly at the latter end.  Not a song that fits as snugly over the attentive radar as the first, but one that slowly grows - how fruitful it will be in 6 months’ time is anyone's guess!

The next 2 songs are an accompanying brace with the instrumental vibes of 'Shackles' being a tidy Hors d'oeuvre for the appropriately named 'Shackles Part 2' - where do they get these titles from?  The first section is a shuffle-stagger string out that proceeds without rush on tones best regarded as slightly subdued.  It is a hesitant piece which can't be said for the screwed up and chomping chaser, a song that gallops with many skacorian fundamentals and much fluster and bluster within the heave ho.  Great patience and attention to detail needs to be had by the listener so as to get the best out of this one although I am sure those in the inner circle will lap it up.  'Fight Or Flight' has more convincing tones for me with a greater pronouncement had between each strum and a slightly greater clarity had in the vocal department.  The opening salvo is honest and effective, the crispness of the verse is tin foil pure and the desire shown as soon as things escalate is good enough for me - a tidy little snippet here, do not overlook it!

3 swift bites, 'Dopamine', 'Monsters' and 'SSRI OR Die' are all in the same vein as what has gone before us with the first a tuned up paper bag of happening noise entering the fray on a hot ascension of electric promise before scatter gunning between holler-offs and darn exciting cruises of high intensity noise.  I wasn't impressed by this one on first listen, now I love it!  The second slap down screams inward, goes straight for the jugular and creates a blasting miasma of textured horror that flits on black-diseased wings and pounces with a voracious spite.  Personally I find this not as effective as the previous blast but I gotta tip my titfer to players who know their artform and deliver it with belly-fire relish.  The inner skanky grimness is mean and on the mark - tidy man, tidy!  The last of the speeded 3 begins with a great admirable gusto and has an easy manner to join in with, a strain that continues throughout and makes for one winning end result.  Perhaps this is the simplest cut of the trio, perhaps it is the most orthodox in outer appearance but there are two factors that matter - longevity and crowd-involving catchiness - both elements are there, albeit in a subtle way but in a way that is mightily effective nonetheless - you can't argue with that!

Into the back stretch, 4 to go and 'Buy To Survive' is my least favoured song of the lot with a lengthy intro, general mushiness of sound and lack of any stark moments that really persuades my passion.  I listen, get lost in the midst of an uncomfortable melee and come out the other end.  It is a busy tune, played with a zeal and with one or two well-licked moments but, along the way, I am left behind and get duly lost.  'Another Life' is a breezy blow-out that gets tossed along and given extra life by the enthusiasm and general flimsy feel to the construct. There is nothing too deep or heavy going on here both in lyrical content and musical vibration - just a flitting tune wing-beating by and relating the requirements of music-drenched souls.  'Outro' is just that, a musical escort into the land of yonder silence via orchestrated machinations that offer an angle unexpected.  It is a sweet moment and only has the edge blunted by the chasing 'Demo-Bonus' - a song I am not dealing with as I like to leave these things to your imagination.

So, not a bad effort for this type of shit and one that shows the band have further avenues to explore.  There is a place for this kind of noise and even though I can take it or leave it I don't mind the odd dabble, and that is how I will deal with this - a listen here, a listen there and over and out - you may treat it otherwise!



Well what can I say about The Webb?  2 absolutely lovely people, playing music they like and not what the scene demands and chipping in whenever the need arises.  They have played several Fungal gigs, a couple of which were charity do's whereupon they came, played for nowt and made a sweet donation - this kind of attitude and behaviour far outweighs much of the bollocks that goes on out there and will sit with me in the most admired and respectable way possible.  This delightful positive aspects in no way will swing my verdict of the songs under the spotlight and as per, I would never insult decent people, with bullshit backslapping - it goes on far too much and is one of the worst human traits I know.  I go in, I take my time, I re-wire into the Webbery, I hope those arachnids are feeling kind today!

'Born Fed' glances in on compressed Webb-waves before pulsing on stark-naked sober tones that come from vaults of iced distance and mechanoid cruelty.  The statements about the situation of this existence may not be favourable in this Facebook happy-happy social scene but the fact remains the basic routines are all the same and this cold reality is yours to face.  Whether you choose to live your life taking heed of these spoints or keep your head up your arse is your call, this is a frosted tune and leads you through the gateway of the album on uncomplicated terms.  'First In My Book' is a slow beat of sedate exploration with the tendrils of tonality reaching out with a certain timidity and finding where is the most appropriate place to lay down new roots of rhythm.  The lead girls gothic utterances are dominant, have a prowess and magnificence that is both sultry , mysterious and...unsettling. The synthed soundscape operates in two ways - clockwork and without feeling and then panoramic, emotive and embracing - it is a comfortable design and works a treat - tis always marvellous to adopt these altered vibrations.

'Trust Me I Know' runs in light-snatching rivulets through computerised rivers of fidgeting affect.  The first verse is dominating and stark and moves into a neatly punctuated sub-chorus that sees us then merge into a brief retro ripple of sound akin to something almost Who-vian.  The mix is The Webb through and through and when we see a complete breakdown of the threads and an inner collapse of the structure I think we are witnessing a band still restless and looking to extend their acoustic arm.  This is well-blended song, it gets its job done and doesn't hang around for the sake of it - appreciations are mine!  A glass fractured alarm call rouses us, a crud chug chases and then a slide down internetted freeways were techno-toss and the life's pressures drain the brain in no uncertain terms.  'Get Up And Go' is a cool customer dealing a clean and clinical warning to all who pass by.  You may have empty gas tanks but do you stop and think?  This is a decent delivery with a purity borne of tended keys and care in the mixing room.  The energy via the plugged-in contraptions counterbalances the doom laden lyrics and we have song to digest further.  'School' is a horror show, a reminder of the time when each and every day of the week we were drilled into position by suited and booted operators of a regime gone wank and an educational system hell-bent on moulding the future man or woman.  Luckily many of us were able to scrape through with scars aplenty but come out the other end clued in and not willing to repeat the process.  The repetition was the biggest killer of creativity, a point re-emphasised here in a song that harrows the mind - I replay squeezing my sphincter muscle and expecting a rap on my bonse from a ghostly headmaster, brutalising beyond the grave.   

'Hell-Fire' is a slow roam through vaults of minimal light where subterranean sinisterism pulsates with glow-worm subtlety and straining determination.  The dull emanations take time to highlight ones sonic hot-spots but with consideration and time a languid but somewhat acute number is had with many toy room hauntings suggested.  The night time switch has been flicked, the implements of fun are up and the clockwork imps are applying deviancy - sometimes it is quite strange where the head is sent listening to these constructions.  'Questions' repeats, repeats and repeats before taking to the static-filled air and repeating some more.  A disco horror track flutters away beneath a cold upper layer where frost gathers on the synthoid feathers of  soaring mechanoid eagles that display with keyed in fascination.  I listen intently, I come away with a listless feeling and verdict of unconvinced - bugger it.

'Alice In Wonderland' is a strange blend of creamed key work, twisted vision creation and sub-spectrum pipings that make one's mind...wander.  If anyone has ever read the insane scribblings of Lewis Carroll then it may give a hint of the affect it has had on these wee vulnerable minds and the electro-output.  The poor buggers have roamed from the pages, pondered things cracked and come up with a creation that I very much enjoy.  It is strange but not overly so, it glides along and has a jaunted appeal this angular git likes - ahem!  'I Don't Need' is a denying cuss that throws back everything anyone offers and stands alone looking deep inside and seeking to find a certain hidden strength many don't know exists.  It is a very basic scaffold of sound from which very few ornamentations are hung and for this reason, and this reason alone, the longevity factor is a lost and the pleasure dome of interest not titivated enough - I move on, inappropriately enough, unmoved.  The last song, 'Raised On Dread', is a tortuous, suffering mind-frazzle of psychedelic jumblings given birth by Frankensteinian devotees destined to experimentally fuck when the most innocent chance arises.  The double act dissect, disengage and then deliberately patchwork to make a monster that staggers forth on sonically corrupt heels and perhaps turn the stomach of those with a fragile nature or indeed those who are 'punk' free.  Time given may pay dividends, it may empty the gut - one thing is - the players are walking their own path - I shall not complain.

The Webb weave, The Webb wander, The Webb warp the expectations.  There is a place for this music in many scenes, there is no need for this interesting unit to get pigeonholed and suffocated by many insular rules.  My advice to the peeps involved is to pootle afar, my advice to you, who have stuck with the review this far, is too investigate, enjoy and keep your listening matter...varied.



Deadlamb Records are still at it folks, this is a blessing to all and you really should get out there and support em' - buy a CD, do a review, share their precious word.  These guys were the original and only sponsors of the SAS Tour, a showcase I ran with my good mate Andy NoizeAnoize, trying to get DIY a bit more notice in the 21st Century.  The label here offers up an 11 track CD from a band based in Orange County, California and after several rotations on the ever-rotating turntable I can hold my hands up and honestly say that some moments...inspire.  There is no need to over-indulge before the game is afoot, I go in and take things step by step and let you pick up on my feelings.

Bang - the title track is thrown out 'Trails' is a beauty and after a roll over the skins, a guitar twinge and a smooth, reined in first verse a hint of what is to come is given via a brief stimulating sub-chorus.  Textured and exhilarating the song grows in presence with all nooks and crannies free of cloying dust and polished up for you to admire.  The merging of the angles comes, a succinct message is hammered home via the aforementioned sections where the band rise high and apply their trade with pertinent passion.  The flare of the temperament is executed with consideration,  the eye of the storm draws one in and the final swirl of spirit is not lost as our senses get blasted.

'Grind' has addictive qualities in many ways and is a smartly executed and has more going for it that one first deems possible.  The gruff vocals are enthused by the reacting music that is a mere catalyst for continuous high energy that all the while has a natural flow and absorbing nature.  From the shout out and bass grumble to the high frequency electro bursts, the excitement levels remain lofted and we are thrown about a melting pot of bubbling action with gusto.  The band back up the initial impact made via their first tremendous song with a thoughtful and articulate second piece - lovely.  'Riot' moves up the ladder of success, wallops home a pile-driving fist of defiant musical aggression that makes one sit up and take note.  From the stable and focused to the more flamboyant and weaving there is a reliable solidity racing through each and every vein of this excellent outburst and all along the way, from the bass grumble and white-light guitar strains through the opening gravelled hollers to the all-absorbing soundscape set, this is a beauty - 3 down, the foundations have been set for Album of the Year already!

'Step Back' is a fuckin' blinder, one I use, as well as the rest of the album, to don the boxing gloves and knock seven bells out of the punch-bag or anyone who gets too close (I do get carried away tha' knows).  The band are on fire, they are nailing each and every song and doing so whilst exuding a prominent class that one cannot deny.  This song opens up with a salvo, pummels with pace before haymaking with a quality that refuses to bob and weave but stands its ground and lets you have it in no uncertain terms.  'Chinatown' is equal to the follow-on task but comes with a more controlled culture and erudite essence emanated from a band very much on the top of their game.  The heavy-duty application, sincere force and precise drive of all unified components is right in-line with my noisy ways.  This is another cracker, I think the band are something quite special on the evidence given so far.  'Needle Park' scampers in, travels with lofted energy and impetus and tells a tale of a murky world where the needy are in danger, the predator’s prowl and the gunslingers are happy to fire off their frustrations.  The songs skids along, slides in a bloodbath of effective presence whilst all the while being kept on its toes by the rattling tympanic energy that never abates.  A firm middle-ground song as is the chaser 'Stranger Than Fiction.  This slab of sound is one of the smoothest efforts and sails along in easy fashion but still has much weight within its inner core.  The cooled-down tones are a subtle alteration than what has gone before and although left salivating for another high-powered burst I can see the raison d'être of this song and also appreciate it capabilities.  A steady effort and one that easily keeps the interest - high!

The last 4 are upon us, 'Drive' is emotive chaos let from the leash and allowed to spit venom and tear chunks out of your inattentive arse.  A 1 minute 32 second eruption of spiteful kick-back that blows a chunk from the set-pattern of the CD and nicely leaves one staggering.  Fast, to the point and with guts exposed.  A quite scrumptious bass drive opens 'One Two, One Two' and is soon joined by a tension-inducing vibration that really sets the soul alight.  The band are foaming at the mouth, at the arse, at each and every pore - the perspired juices emanated are blood soaked, inspiring and full of fuckin' gumption.  The tightness and stress-laden intensity is only relieved by a brilliant moment of free-flown melody before the heat is turned back on and a knife is held to the throat.  A lovely explosion - now where's those knuckledusters?  'Automatic' is a zenith, a mere gold-tinted monolith of glorifying grandness that excites and ignites whilst moving with consummate quality through each and every discordant department.  The band are on the top of their game, the switch between blue-light encouragement to an easily delivered chorus of snagging proportions is sublime, this is a latter end beauty - do not overlook it and whilst you’re at it, admire a band on their way to making for one amazing CD - ah amazing, a shitty word used by the masses and diluted in the extreme, not so here, this collection of songs are bang on.  We close with 'Wonder Why', a hearty rip up full of abrasive guitar work, throbbing bassism, slap-happy sticks and vigorous gravel-splattered vocals that leave little room to put in a critical boot.  The band go out with a flourish, stop, start, slam with intent and screw and swerve before crashing into that final wall of silence in fine, blazing style.  The job is a fuckin' good un' folks, this has been one exciting journey, I am ecstatic.

And there, my perusing chum, is a CD done in stunning style and if the truth be known, is up there with some of the best.  Splintr have come from nowhere and registered themselves big-time on the Fungal Richter scale - the earthquake has left many an aftershock, be prepared to get knocked off your feet.



The Performance Enhancing Suppositories are unsettled both musically and mentally.  They see things as they are, get wound up and react - that sounds pretty honest to me and after having several jabs up the sonic ring-piece via this four-fingered fuck of awkward spillage I feel as though I am now loose enough for my sphincter muscle to squeeze out a shit-stained review.  The band hail from North of the Border (fuck all borders), are obviously on strong prescription medicine and are people carrying a real problem on their shoulders - I like that!

We begin with 'Alienation', a groovy sounding song that moves on string-vest strings and sub-honky tonk wankings before slipping in with something akin to sham glam.  The band capture an early punk fuckery, move it on with a careful patchwork abstraction that is paraded with utter absorbed belief and razor-edged certainty.  There is a lot going on within the weft of the work, a veritable jazz and jizz jerk off of experimented masturbation that, after persistent rubbing of the shaft of sound, eventually spits seeds of angular success.  These seeds, once planted in your cerebral cunt, will give birth to visions of horror, horror that is perversely irresistible - I must be having a breakdown.  After a gum-induced explosion where one artist cracks and the other masticates hard in search of flavoured juices (ooh if only his mother knew) we travel on to the blatantly entitled 'Arsehole'.  A strict anti-people song, a vicious fist in the face of the masses with the band applying a musical gusto that grows like a tomato vine around the nuts of your consciousness and strangulates with a careless cruelty.  The opening sequence is relatively sane and melodic, a chant is thrown in with the main aim to enthuse rectal stuffing (cor blimey guvnor) but overall we get a delivery doused in fidgety frustration and inner belly angst that will not be doused anytime soon.  I request that you take time to dissect the noise here, listen to the neat touches that are almost a reaction to the rhythm, an ad hoc response to the feel of the foaming product....and then make your mind up!

'Ego Crusher' deals with one of my real pet hates, the all-consuming 'me, me me' attitude of the music scene and beyond.  Even people in the merest piss-pool squabble over the pecking order and backstab and betray in their feeble efforts to be on top of the pathetic, failing heap.  Over the years I have seen so much utter bullshit within the scene and met so many fakes who are only motivated by self-gain that I am at a stage where I am purely focused and undeterred by what anyone else does.  In the midst there are some fuckin' diamonds but finding those is hard work and the stink one has to go through is a real challenge.  This song deals with (and dishes) the dirt in forthright terms and comes on a thermal base that is loaded with threat and hateful venom.  The lass who joins in the invective is a fine touch and double-edges the brandished sonic sword - I hope it makes many bastards squirm.  I like this one, sometimes things need saying!  

After a bout of gigglemania we close with 'Hipster Plague (Acousdick)', a very pertinent song as these designer dullards are an extreme bore to my eyes and are a weak excuse in the name of fashion where an attempt at being an individual is almost laughable.  The kings of 'bespoke' and the mock antiquated these bearded bastards need to wake up and be themselves.  This song is a screwdriving twist of piss-taking and would surely be a fine accompaniment to a 'hipster bonfire' - mmm, smell that sizzling facial hair and those blazing flat caps.  The song in itself is a jerky jerk-off from Jerksville and comical in many ways, highlighting this sub-cultural farce in gratifying style.  To get to understand the 'hipster' style better I grow some facial hair, buy some expensive ripped jeans, don a generous coat of chequered pattern and hang around in the local coffee shop.  I feel a fool, my jokes about flash cars, high tech gadgetry and killing Ed Sheeran don't work - I am happy not to belong - thank you.

Job done, what a weird trip, what a bit of jolly nastiness and what an awkward slap of punk this is - right across the buttocks of complacency and predictability - just the way I like it.  Many will hate this, some will be offended, some may even use it to whip up emotions before they beat up a cross-eyed cretin, it doesn't matter, if it creates an emotion then that is a good job done.



I know a man called Eagle, he has a good soul and has a wayward edge to keep one guessing - two marvellous qualities I applaud and the fact that he cares not one jot for the idiot punk rules and regulations pleases me no end.  On his journey through this life he tries to raise money for street kids via his noisy dabblings.  The charitable machine operates under the banner of Punk 4 the Homeless, I have a T-shirt, have a done a couple of joint gigs, I am a fan of what transpires.  Here I have a showcase of bands that have pitched in to the cause, many familiar faces are in the mix and a few I am not closely acquainted with - I indulge and these are my thoughts!

When starting a compilation CD one needs to combine quality and clout in one impacting punch and what better way to do that than call upon the talents of Brocker, a band I have worked with many times, who never fail to impress and who are a genuine cut-above.  'Gimme, Gimme Rock N Roll' is a barnstormer, exuding an ear-snagging lucidity, high action relish and just an all-round alive and kicking confidence that exhibits a band who are just loving it.  The arrangement here has many angles, all in cahoots and contributing to one clean cut crackerjack.  The vocals are lucid, the switches throughout are well-oiled/well-boiled - massive man, massive! Born To Destruct are the next band to be plucked from the pack, they spill forth a superfluity of gushing lust for getting up and playing 'live' and keeping you, the merry fuckers...happy.  Here we see a less gruff approach, a simplistic technique to deliver the tonal goods and an overspill of earthy emotion get mauled, molested and mailed through your aural letterbox with sincere sanguine belief.  This snags interest, from the interest comes involvement and from the involvement comes gratification - to the point and no bullshit, not a bad do at all.  3 Stone Monkey kick 'Left To The Right' and CSOD follow up with the hefty face-fuck of 'Be Ready'.  The first track comes from a band I am still hit or miss about and this song keeps me in the same grey area whereas the second track rapes and pillages your mind and leaves nothing behind only an utter bloody mess.   CSOD are gut-twisting band who never fail to arouse both on CD and in the 'live' pit of punishment.  Both efforts have their own merits and the first is better than I first deemed and grows like a well-fed parasite on the arse of a nazzy reviewer - serves me right - good stuff chaps.

Luddite Bastard puke out the diseased and spiteful cacophony known as 'Hitler Youth'.  A song dealing with such a shower needs a dirty edge and a poison coursing through the veins full of seething contempt.  The band do just that, inject it with raw-assed energy and balls-out anger whilst creating a cruddy filth many old-schoolers will love to get smeared by - and why not?  Rich Gulag comes forth on his todd, after some wordery flows out a warped poetical electro-beat entitled 'Glory Of Yesterday'.  There is a certain thread of something familiar here but also something from outside of the norm - nifty.  The inner core of the tune is smooth and running with a message.  The dig at the pretenders and players is not lost, the sharp insight into what is and what is not is cute and beneath it all one detects a frustration with the ways things have gone, inside, outside, everywhere.  A decent chap this, worthy of time both on and off stage - listen in, shift thy rear!  Headsticks tease out the careful brilliance of 'You're Killing Me America', a choice song by a stunning band, a band I have worked with and hopefully, will do so again.  They provide a touch of utter class here in their own folk-punked way with all components pure, well-rehearsed and given that extra touch of heartfelt reality. I was a fan, I am a fan, I shall be a fan tomorrow - here is one reason why!  Lily Gaskell says 'Chin Up', and reveals a strong protest song of moving dimensions that tries its hardest to shift a couple of gears and get people thinking.  The plucker applies herself to the task with a heart full of thought, moves with great emotive passion and gives a cardinal-kissed tune that is working class, against the ruling mass and of an embracing slant many will surely sing along to.  Being a Nazi-Tory who gets off on poverty, capitalism and inequality I really can't get the gist of this - I have my tongue in my cheek when I say this, tis a shame many others don't.

Steve White And The Protest Family talk from the street and verbally send us 'Moving Target'.  A very pub-rock sound from vaults well-dusted but visited by those who appreciate some earthy and quite honest music.  This is a great tickle that takes into consideration the hazards of the cyclist and the cunts out there with no, or little, consideration.  I am a push-iron rider, I use the odd road here and there and recognise the stress involved - in fact on completing this review I have had a cussing today - fuck em', I shall cycle on and enjoy this number in the process - keep safe peeps.  'Ska Pete The Uplifter' is a street-credible reggae-tinted skank-along done in a jerky quirky kind of way and with an accented drawl.  I have heard this shizzle in various guises here and there over many years, it reminds me of something Do The Dog and has a certain aspect best suited to the 'live' pit.  I shall reserve judgement as I am, at this stage in my life, almost acoustically worn out!  UK Skunk offer up the foolish throwaway nonsense 'Hobnobs (The SAS of Dunkers)' a bout of misdirected tomfoolery that misses the true fact that Bourbons and Plain Digestives are the ultimate dip with those Special Stem Ginger Biscuits purchased at any reputable retailer being the purist zenith any biscuit devourer can reach.  The song creates a debate, the creation is too basic and lacks any real bite.  The mix is rusted which is a preference I have but here things appear to have not stood the test of the mixing room and I remain unprovoked.  Wonk Unit follow up next with an ever-inflating reputation that sees them go onto bigger and better things.  'Van' is typical fair, gets the blend spot on but doesn't have that ensnaring snap found elsewhere in the WU catalogue.  The last time I saw these guys they overdid things and sent me AWOL bored shitless, am I losing touch or are things growing in different ways - it does happen.  This has its charm but I am unmoved - tis a shame I suspect although I don't feel it.  

The Mispelt are a band I have done much with, they have some remarkable stuff out there and have entertained me no end over the years.  This is a track I have reviewed on previous occasions, here given a more 'live' treatment.  '99%' still has a good swing in its arse and shows the efficiency of the band as an 'in the flesh' unit.  The last few times I have seen em' I have been impressed, this is a good taster for the uninitiated - there is better waiting for you!  The Blissetts are the last unit to charm the airwaves with their usual sparse and very effective stripped-down style that is straight off-the-cuff, laden with believable lilts and as politically charged as ever.  This is a crisp upchuck of 'bloke off the street' gobbing, that is spat forth with a certain honesty that should not to be underestimated.  The inner crumple of the guitar and the 'fuck you' chant make 'Nothing To Lose (But Our Chains)' a good slap of earthy noise.  What a good way to end!

I have done, I have taken my time, I have ended up with quite a pleasurable sensation (ooh mother).  A good effort this and now I have been sent Volume 2 to tackle - by heck that Eagle is a bugger but hey, he is out there and doing - something that is an example to us all - now do your thing too - buy this, chase up the bands, put back!

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