Miscreants from times advanced come back and scuzz-fuck like mad and deliver a synthed up shithouse of sound to rattle the bones of those stuck in one time, one place! I reviewed the bands previous CD, I was in a state of indecision and thought there was more to come - here is what I believe to be an upshift in sound and a better attempt at fulfilling potential tapped.  These French adrenalin travellers test my mettle; I sit back, get transported and spit back with an overview that goes like this.

'Please Abduct Me' instantaneously displays the environment from which these dabbling untrustables voluntarily emanate their vibes.  A quick 4 counts brings in a star-travelling rush of sound that immediately shows a band hitting sought asteroids of achievement and blowing any hindering detritus of doubt out of the cranial galaxy.  The song has pep, runs with fine pace, holds enough quirky essence to get many screwballs and fantasy-seeking music lovers aroused - this take-over wastes no time, no sooner has the boost button been hit and we are catapulted along at the speed of sound - and what a good sound it is!  'Catch Up With A UFO' skin bounces in, switches to cruise control and glides through the asteroid belt of problematic critique with resonating rhythm and fantastic wired in energy.  The song is one long complete mush of sparking electro-pushing.  The pulse rushes are plentiful, contain zoned in unity all heading for Destination X and along the way contributing to a flavour borne of tomorrow, best!

Skies turn ultra-violet, a strange emanation is buzzed, we look around and a realise 'Random City' is before us.  A shimmer of the vision, a different shade hits the optical nerves, a colour from realms beyond.   The escorting soundtrack is nipping, has convincing 'outta space' tremulations, seems focused and determined to use a straight forward drive that will not be shaken – I think they make their point and do it well!  'Mars Attacks' clanks and clatters, is a hit and miss assault of invasive noise that comes from many angles with a suggestion of psyched skank never far away from the receptive assessors.   The song is played over and over, the nag of the rhythm, the stop-start rhythm, the general fruit-loop uncertainty make this one is a wormhole one can easily get lost in and misplace one's verdict - oops!

'Space Exploration' next, the start stalls, slips into bass mode, penetrates awaiting galaxies and perpetually rotates like a UFO intent on adventure.   The spaceship of sound trembles the sonic airwaves, undulates as the peregrination into lands obscure is taken.   The band keep a tight rein on matters, the odd awkward collision is had but overall this is an easy offering to get to grips with, move on and enter the pending 'Galactic Race' juiced up and ready to fire photons of critical praise.  The flag is waved, the angled and piercing keys molest the cranial membranes, the race is run and the finishing tape hit, perhaps too soon.  The opening sequence promises much, what we get is a repeat pull of the toned trigger that is all well and good but after the sci-fi energy of the start, the quick flick sub-skankiness that follows, I really expected so much more.  The band had hit a zenith and let it slip through their robotic fingers - ooh the silly sods.

And 2 more rhythmic ray-gun blasts hit me in the mush, the first 'X-Ray Glasses' is a jerky number that avoids a flat-line with a regular beat in the meat, a nicely woven bass thread on which to ornament and musically posture and some automated utterances to bow down to and...obey.  The construction is in keeping with the scenario set, ideal for android dancing, conveyor belt repetition that sees the eavesdropper spasm to the sonica.  'Spin Like A Record' follows up, is a similar song but has greater pep, higher animation and so receives...greater praise.  I switch on, jig to the rotating silver circle, the tremulations of the electric parts so far unreached.  There is a spark coming from my jacksie, the stop-start affect is causing great friction, a friction that is a catalyst for much bopping.  The mix of elements may be a trifle over blended if one wanted to offer harsh critique but in truth, I have no complaints.

The last 4, 'Don’t Run We're Your Friends' (now where have I heard that before) is straight out of the 1950's B-movie blitz that saw many a creature come from distant globes, offer up a signal of peace and end up in a war.  The attack here comes over a course of 1 minute 30 seconds, sticks to a continual loop and encapsulates what the band do - there is nothing different here, we are still being propelled on the same collision course - hold on tight.  'No Panic, No Stress' is a more complex song although retains the strains we now know so well.  The opening indications are of something restricted, shackled and on programme setting 'loop' - again.  The blend between verse and chorus though is slick, complimentary and efficiently functioning with the vocals getting the most out of another fuse-box situation.  Something snags me here - I play over and over and act like an Invader from Mars - it pisses off my family!   'Pesticide Kids' gets the head down, gives the acceleration button a slight nudge, chugs and channels its energy, has a rewarding verse and drops into a stagger segment with ease.  The middle break turns up the voltage, is almost frenzied, takes the band into the final throes and gives them enough vim and vigour to finish this one all aglow.  We shut down the receptors with 'Run DD Run', a montage of fucked up fiddling that sees the band plough in with all their techno wizardry, experiment, create sub-chaos, insult with angles and come up with a creation that is a pleasure to explore.  There is a certain chaos yet a certain careful arrangement and as we dash for cover to avoid the last hail storm of photon fuckery we do so with a spring in the step.  One for the end of the night when liquid have been sloshed, pills popped and heads are truly melted - let the cacophonic colours collide.

The Scaners are on an upward curve, at the moment I feel from the nadir to the zenith they are sitting at the halfway point - there is still more to come.  They have a style, are not moving from it and for me, just need to create a few orthodox numbers and then layer over with the screwball space age bangles to make for an intriguing mix.  Pop things up a little more, add one or two 100mph speedbursts and wham my man, you'll have a stunner.  This one though is a nice advancement and has many fine moments but a reviewers job is to be honest and push - so that is what I have done (I hope).



After recently tackling a 2-track offering from these French dabblers I have been requested to take on a lengthier escapade despite my verdict being split down the middle.  I like a challenge, especially one from the bucket of discordance that spills water truly dirty.  I strip bare, look forward to another soaking and try and do my best to spit back some good to honest feedback.

'A Place I Want To Know' begins with what seems to be a horde of trumpet-nosed creatures tribally calling from recesses perhaps best left unexplored.  An ascension of strings comes, a few tweaks and twangs add a twilight essence, the mush of the music comes and overlaps with increasing frequency thus creating one hefty movement of incessant toned syrup that really does need acclimatising to.  Several rotations follow, the cloying and colliding mush of compressed and somewhat dense music is rolled around the palette - I come up with a verdict of something stodgy, highly loaded with noise-nutrients and, if the digestive system is in the mood, a song that can be enjoyed.  Warning - do not overdose or partake if the gut is heavily laden.  'Wild Honey' drips forth next, comes on a low dive drum beat before slagging its way with heavy-lidded, slowly skidded serenity that works its way under the listening flesh and tickles out a middling response that in many respects remains uncertain.   This isn't crud crapulence, it isn't classic creation - it is an average offering that stays on one reliable plane.

'Please kill Me' enters the fray, pecks away with sludgy insistence, rolls with a certain muckiness that is borne from sewer-laden dance-floors where the murky music lovers spiral and swirl with a certain doped out abandon.  The accents of acoustic onslaught are heavy, the blend soused, the tempo sub-staccato in many respects.  The throwback style here is somehow easily adopted, the inner freakshow of sounds warps matters further and is followed by a crisp string stroke that shows the band are still reacting to their own rhythm - not a bad do at all.  'Earworm' tunnels with intent, squirms within a waxy substrate and barely makes its vocal voice heard.  I screw up my mug, the chevron at the centre of my brow turns ruddy, my eyes ache with the squint - this is a porridge of sound that needs hard aural mastication to extract any real goodness.  I re-spin, re-chew, I take a stance of indecision.  I am not smitten, when in the mood though I can get the best from the vibes, but that is the key here - being 'in the mood'.

Next and 'Surrealistic Feast' crawls in, belly slides across the molten floor, a substrate that glows with thermal promise, radiates a noxious gas laden with a certain religious zeal borne from deviant monks with time to wank. From catacombs of torture arises a threat, comes a creeping malevolence I am certainly unsettled by.  There is an obscurity of tone manifesting itself like a phantom from a smog - I touch, a caress, I respect the horror of it all - a strange experience.  'Collection Of Regrets' is a gathering of pain, an inner turmoil released via a slowly smoked cadence of straining sonic energy.  The tastebuds of tonality need to acclimatise to the delivery but this one is a slow creeper and the rhythmic gases radiated eventually transcend the hesitant neurones and one gets into the slowly rotated groove - I reckon I am softening.  'The Goat' gets all bluesed, trots along without urgency, has a shaggy coat of unhygienic appearance and is a real fly-blown beast of untrustable intent.  The clash and collide that comes is intentionally manky, the sub-psychedelic accoutrements designed to trouble the assessing noggin.  This one indulges, experiments, throws many colours against your eavesdropping walls and makes a mess some may truly be inspired by.  I can see the aim, feel the angles dig into my sense of decency - in some ways I like that even though the song itself doesn't truly float my ever peregrinating boat.

Onwards, and to the turmoil of 'Trouble In My Head' - I know the feeling.  The initial penetration is drilling, incessant, smogged over before blooming into a rhythmic roadside weed of resolute melody that brightens up the whole polluted fiasco.  The tune is tactile, a morass of molesting music that, like the clutching hands of an urbanised swamp monster, smothers, embraces, crushes.  From the midst of the mess something sublime works against the senses and causes a twitch in the ass - tis crazy I know!  'Out Of My Brain' chirps from the dustbowl, strums and thrums, duly numbs and then intrigues.  The song becomes immersed in its own brand of multi-coloured garage, gets entangled in its vibrations of decadence and, if one steps too closely, entraps ones attention.  Upheavals come as the bowels of sound are further squeezed - this is a middling number for me but it does retain the characteristics exposed thus far.   We close with the dream disturbance of 'I Will Write You Poetry', a fluffed song that rolls on languid and lazy tones down an acoustic hill into treacled waters that will ultimately...swallow.  A very reclined song this, delivered through heavy-lidded bloodshot eyes in a realm between suffocating slumber and that precarious waking moment.  It maintains the low-slung almost careless aspect of the CD - make of that what you will.

Weird Omen occasionally hit a Fungal hotspot, have their own style and sludgy strain but in the main I am not a convert.  This CD for me has too many shades from the spectrum of the numbed and doesn't have any real moments that gratuitously dazzle with gay abandon.   In between opposing tones I can enjoy the odd track but so far I am unconvinced.   Sorry, one has to say what one feels.


The Shady Poets come from Blackpool, they played their first ever gig for me on a recent Blackpool Bastards Invasion - I was taken.   The band were nervous despite being made of musical perverts with many crimes of a cacophony to their name - nerves can be a good thing though.  During that first fling they gave away some 2 track demo's - I failed to pick one up as I was absorbed in the vibes and highly mithered - luckily a link was sent my way and so I thought I would do my feedback-based bit to help things along.   Mind you, if I uncover crud it will be duly highlighted, somehow though...I don't think I will!

'Wretches' is a fuckin' brilliant song and has a certain sparseness of sound and snagging lilt that really does appeal to my DIY and eclectic senses.  The flicks of the wrist, the magnetic bass, the cute twangs and the opening cavernous vocal tones all copulate and collide and make for a slick trick of tonal goodness I am utterly bowled over by.  It is a crafty song, one that uses the basics, applies them with sublime skill and then slowly soups matters up with a bit of Cuffi-fied concentration and exhibitionism via the six-stringed sex weapon.  The whole creation is a complete treat, a finished package and mixed to a tee - I will even go so far as it is the song of the year thus far - ruddy marvellous and this is why I do what I do, for moments such as this.  This snippet is par excellence and is splendidly complimented by the 5 minute plus indulgence of slightly darkened matter known as 'The Raven'.  As a digression the author of The Raven is one Edgar Allen Poe, a literary genius and one of my favourite writers.  Also there is an old black and white film from 1935 of the same name that features the double-impact brilliance of Karloff and Lugosi - it is in my all-time top 10, I have watched it more times than I care to mention - fantastic - the song has a lot to live up to.   The opening wing-beats are languid, the song progresses over placid waters of slightly rippled sable, the reflections given are subdued and somewhat vague - intrigue is maintained.  Again the vocal style is enclosed, giving a somewhat 'beyond the grave' expressionism that duly haunts.  The approach may be sombre and thoughtful but there are subtle skills exposed and intricacies many may overlook.   This second expulsion may be too elongated for my punked patience, may not have the certain zest of the opening stunner but it is a necessary counterbalance and certainly rubberstamps the fact that the band have many strings to their bow and know their music inside out..  Nice!

So, a 2 track taster from a new band on the block.  All is exciting, fresh and new, there is a world of possibility, many acoustic avenues down which to wander - isn't this just the best time in a bands life, isn't the music always more rewarding early on, and isn't the anticipation of what will come the best feeling in the world.  The battle now is to keep it varied, keep it feeling alive and to keep bastards like me entertained - so far so good I reckon - indulge!



On Oddbox Records we have a trio of talented tamperers, a pop producing band delivering songs with with a quirk in the work and a certain fresh innocence running throughout.  The band hail from Clermont-Ferrand in France, they have been playing 'live' for many a year now (over a dozen at the time of writing) and have me pondering their latest release that is full of crushed tin can guitars, sweet fore vocals and bin lid tympanics.  Things are laden with sugar-cuddle goodness, I go in hopeful of a pleasant trip that keeps melody high, interest even higher.

'Always Late' is an uncomplicated piece of plastic-pop done with a squeak, a rhythmic tickle, a raw and DIY effect that counterbalances the sweetened style quite nicely.  The song moves like a sun-kissed charabanc taking we humble listeners on a smile-inducing trip to pastures multi-coloured, without stress and thermally pleasurable.   The easy swing, the nut-loosening niceties (crikey) and the general gist are all honey droplets there to be partaken of - I sip and appreciate- a quite lovely start!   The follow-up punch to the first impact is the yell and threaten kickback of 'Leave This Town', a tantrum gone haywire and screaming from the top of the stairs with stroppy sloppy zest that is well-directed, full of youthful spunk and as pimpled as you like.  A short trashcan booting burst of buoyancy - tis enough to put a spring in your step!  I duly twirl like a troubled twat with a smile on my face, any why not!

'Fun In The Summer' is a pinky and perky chirp of cheeriness that comes from sun-kissed treetops and is warbled forth with great triumph.  The sensation is pure, bubbling and of peeping quaintness.  The girly-girl aspect is a win, win situation, it gives the song squeaky life and, as the chorus hits home and I type away during a day of drizzling melancholia, I duly yearn for the season of solar goodness - I think the job has been a good un' in an opposing kind of way.  'Tongue-Tied' is a slow waltz that has a very rough and ready unrehearsed reality soaked through the raw and ready strains that are marvellously under-processed and utterly earthy.  This is teenage naiveté, played with a pimpled goofiness that charms the soul and reassures one that a million dollar production and an overspill of acoustic baubles are quite unnecessary.  A lovely ditty, pass me a popsicle, a sun-lounger and turn up the darn tones!

'Easy Come Easy Go' wanders in with harsh string shards and high pitch wonderings before slightly upping the ante and bringing in a greater contribution from the rear pack.   A moan and groan song that, in truth, fails to really get going and becomes an invasive assault of the already ringing lugs.  No, despite being convinced thus far, this track is a low-point I am not keen on and lacks pep in the punch, any gusto and it finishes on very annoying tones - bah.  'Don't Mind' whoo's in, finds great joy in its own machinations.  The bulk of noise that initially hits us is a frisky manifestation dictated by some neat bass manoeuvres, sugar sweet gob lilts and the usual trashy guitar.  We advance into a tease and please section that suggests sexual tomfoolery and really throws the CD off kilter - I like that as I do the song, a right angular piece if you ask me.

A quick flick of 3, 'One Kiss Sailor' - is a peck and run flyer that keeps on the sunny side of chipper and dazzles the rhythmic retinas via a chorus that really ups the game.  A fruit chew oozing citrus goodness and eye-watering zest this is what the band are all about, an encapsulation of pretty pop played with admirable thirst.   'Doppelgangerin' is a Germanified oddment, thrown forth on wanky wired tones that just take a little adjusting to.  From a sci-fi comic of cheap and nasty scribblings this is a weird wank off that just fails to fully ensnare my interest.  It has good clank though and the screwball laser lights do enhance - I just remain a little split and unsure.    The last of the swift 3 and 'Dear Mr Twist' tip-taps in, sugar crushes the coated velvet and calls for matters uncomplicated and for you the listener to get up and 'dance'.  The orchestration of the piece once again revolves around some fine bass manipulation, the ever present tin-foil crush of the six wired sword, the reacting sticks that adhere to the sensation and of course, the oral hollers borne from the playground and onto the stage - the mix has much appeal.

'Davy Jones' is the best, what an uplifting burst of holistic melody that gets the band playing a short sweetly spiked serenade of utter goodness.  From the opening easy wristed strums and hop-scotching drums this one rises into the air and is lofted further by the usual tonsil-based beauty.  At 1 minute 38 seconds this one is over and done with and leaves behind a desire to play again and again - job done.  The finale, '1959' is a long drawn out splodge of straining sonica given birth from thighs of an outer-world where garaged freaks have been cast and where experimental dabblers invade.   This is a song in opposition with most of what has transpired thus far, the only niggle I have is that pesky long distance running time - I think 3 minutes would have been enough and a fade out quite apt - but there ya go.

The CD is done, we get 2 bonus tracks, both done in the bands own dialect, both done with much fruity conviction, the second being more emotive.  Now is the time for me to leave a little work for you buggers and if you want to reveal what goes on with these extra time treats - investigate.

So, the Wendy Darlings have tickled certain parts best left unmentioned but tickled all the same.  They do what they do with a certain sincere shabbiness that perspires a paradoxical ingenuity - this can be a facet that puts them in good stead for the future, it all depends on the desire, the ability to differentiate and deliver, the need to make some good natural noise - here's watching!



Rebecca Radical, a relatively new plucking turnip on the toned-out block, applying herself with a sound attitude and an embryonic innocence built on free-thinking, earnest effort and good old DIY spirit.  The lass makes many a good point, has her hands in many pies (mmm pies) and conducts herself with a firm and resolute attitude.  Her peregrination through this punked and spunked mire is still at an early stage, it is a wonderful time of hope, wishes and wonder - here I have been asked to review a lone track, these are my bastard thoughts - honest and fair as you would expect and consideration of the time, place and circumstances!

'Be Intense' begins with an honest flick of the wire-wanking wrist before the dulcet tones of the she-crooner come to the fore with a recognisable lilt.  The accents are warm, honest and laden with a languid leisure that delivers the message in a quite contrasting style.  Within the weft of the warbling perhaps an overspill of words is had rather than the player taking ones time and letting things flow with naturalness.  The punk ideology is clear, the insistence to be oneself an integral part of this creative tinkers produce and, for me, these early dabblings are where great seeds are planted.  This number, with a few obscure embellishments and a cute inner break, could become a mighty acoustic oak – I always have hope.  Keep thinking, keep being brave lady, for now though this ticks the boxes.

The world is fresh, the doors are there to be kicked open, watch this space people and support those who have the future in their hands and who are thinking on their feet.  Here is one such example, don't let another plucking pirate walk the plank of indifference - tune in, support, do it with a  good heart.   Here's to the next offering - tis already time to to stretch Ms Radical.



From Orange County, California come Splntr, a band who bowled me over with the album 'Trails', an effort that I had to give Album of the Year in 2018 and one that I play over and over and get duly excited by.   The band pack a punch, have great energy and deliver tunes that are well-mixed and with great impetus.   Each area is given space to shine, here I am given two track to assess and am pretty excited.  I quell the enthusiasm though and remain neutral - come triumph or trash you will get the words to match, all done fairly and squarely and without favour.

And spin...

'Propaganda Machine' is a consummate construct of liquid raucous rock and roll straight from the street where you can feel the heat and duly pogo to the beat.  With a twist of the volume dial, the power and general sweeping spunk all rise in magnificence and from the stagger swagger opening we go through to the impressive burst that is awash with flamboyance, hard-hitting cobblestone desire and an artistry not to be underestimated.  The band move from verse to chorus with compacted power, throw accusations at the idle and the controllers and emphasise a situation of mental slavery that duly destroys all.  Tight-knit, with latent muscularity apparent the song initially promises much and in my opinion, delivers in expected style.   Man, I am so glad the  band have maintained the standard.


'Banners And Slogans', in we go, no fuckin' about, the system is all go.   The heads are down, the guitar work sharp, the skin slaps brisk with the vocals as ever irate and urgent.  A very fluent song like an eel travelling the rapids and one that needs due time to fully grasp.  It isn't an instantaneous smack in the mush but, when given firm attention, takes hold and squeezes out a positive response.   The inner radio-fied inclusion is perhaps a distraction although a nice touch but for me the song comes into its own following this tuned out moment when the band hurtle to the finish line and leave on a good buoyant bout of angry blasting.  I am still 50/50 come the end though but I am very much a Splntr fan.

2 tracks, if you haven't heard the band before you will be impressed, if you have listened in the first song will be perhaps given a label of 'bang on', the second 'adequate but there are better bomb-blasts'.  Fungal comes, Fungal listens, Fungal gives honesty - this band are something to be reckoned with though and for me, have a whole host of classics just waiting to be borne.  Go get 'Splntr-ed'.



A band who have two forms - one exuding matter from the vein of self- thought, the other replicating rhythms from times past - of course, all I am interested in is the new stuff, not imitations played out for nostalgic piss-pots or idle headed music listeners.  The bassist I know from times of yore, about 35 years ago to be exact, he was an old Hindley punk and a guy with a gentle nature and a keen appetite for all sorts of music.  The fella was in a band called The Deceased (long dead) but due to social media contact was made and I found out the fella is still plucking, this time with the band under scrutiny.  I go in excited, fascinated - here is the usual Fungalised puke spilled in the style you should all be familiar with.

'You've Changed' escalates inward on a repeat wire shimmer before adopting a strum pulse and throwing one more rise before the first verse proper.  The tones emitted are New-Wavian, tidy pub-rock-esque and with an arrangement reminiscent of artistes long in the tooth, well-versed and with no desire to thrash things out.  The opening tones are too similar to some corned rock effort from the early 80's and so my assessing hooter turns upwards and I take a breath. I come back in, spin the disc several times over and come up with the opinion of a disappointing opener - well for me at least.  'I Didn't Know' is better, has a shifty undercurrent and plays its cards close to its chest.   The tones are slightly richer, the movement a little more emboldened with exotic guitar touches adding to the initial mystique.  Again the accelerator pedal is left unmolested, the band go about their business in their own steady style.   I like the Noir-esque accents, the monochrome visions created, the unflustered and uncomplicated approach of post-punk sanguinity - not bad.   The opening hat-trick though is topped by the finest layer of the lot with 'You Can't Have It All Your Own Way' a very complete, accomplished and oh so smooth song that brings the first determination proper of a band in the zone.  The mid-tempo pace, the sensation of a mind made up, the soft blend of strings and vocals are  exact and the blossoming chorus is more effective than one may first deem.   The style is borne from musos rather than mucky pups snarling with unbridled naiveté and although my preference is always for that which is under-processed and raw I always consider contrast a necessity and enjoy sounds from each and every generic pool.  This is good, the bass is a cool customer and provides concrete foundation - I am spinning several more times - it is a reviewer’s pleasure!

'System Rules' and 'Fat And Boring' suggest the cover band previously mentioned is nudging its way back in with the former song having a very blatant 'Who-esque' chorus and the second definitely inspired by Joe Jackson, that cool alternative crooner who charmed so many.  Both escapades though have their own identity and it must be said are decent listens and have a character of their own.  The first is a good movement with touches that will obviously appeal, the second is the best for me as it shows a great progression on tonal flavours and ascends with insightful aplomb without breaking too much sweat.  As a couplet though I have no complaints and reckon, despite the early personal gripe, the CD is going mighty well thus far!

2 more and I' Don't Wanna Be Me' finds its hook, ties it down on a substrate of easy and reliable tuneage whilst the vocal gets on with job and almost pleads for freedom.   The wire breaks add a certain texture, the flow is as smooth as a knuckleheads bonse and the initial magnetism pulls with good weight but may lose its power over a longer listening course - only time will tell!  'Follow Fools' tiptoes from the silence on keyed tootsies before the crooner comes and uses the oral key to open the doorway to a room of rhythm kept chilled and thoughtful.  The band keep things somewhat minimal but provide another trinket for the musos to be attracted by.  Mid-paced pulses come, the drums are languid, the move from verse to chorus as relaxed as you could want.  I like these two but reckon the second will outlast the first and just has the edge on emotive content - as per, tis all a personal opinion!

Orders given, a regulated drum beat, the lightest guitar touches and 'Playing A Game' follows routes set, uses pastel shades to create a picture of forced discipline, a soul sold, a way of unwanted life.  Life in uniform is not what it seems, rather than shout 'fuck the army' the players use sobered and measured tones to get their point across - a style now indicative of the band.  This and the chasing 'Loser' and 'I Don't Want Anything From You' are a slow midway triplet of tonality that needs that little bit of extra attention and concentration due to the careful touches and outright lack of flamboyance.   What I am finding here is that the CD is too much of the same thing to be listened to in one go.  When split into sub-sections the songs garner greater favour although I do think a shake of the sonic salt cellar would spice things up a little more and an injection of an angle or two would be most welcome.

Another clutch of 3, 'Live Life My Own Way' starts with serious tones, lightly skanks and 4 wire weaves whilst the skin taps are sedate and occasionally fluttered.   The vocalist pseudo-croons, the arrangement may not have a particularly orthodox punk strain (whatever that is) but the message is on the mark, kicks back and says it will do whatever it wants to do - if things were only that simple.  The dream travels on tiptoes, is a little sparse when it needs a little extra - not my favourite if I am honest (which I am).  'Open Your Eyes' convinces me with greater sanguinity and prowls around ones vacant airspace with a firmer footing and a more impacting direction.  The initial cable twists, the regulated pulse, the march and the request all combine to give me a firm conviction of a veritable victorious song that calls for 'transparency'.  The slight elevation and subtle drop into the transient chorus is spot on - I consider it nifty work.  'So Far Away' completes the 3 way fistful, is a panging, languid bout of nostalgic consideration ideal for the teary, bleary slurpers who have reached that time for some rose-coloured reminiscing and self-pity.  The song becomes too absorbed in itself and trickles on far too long and so leaves this punk bastard standing.  I can't like everything.

'Funny What Love Can Do To You' is a fine piece, straight from the post-punk realms, dusted down, kicked up the arse and given a perky skanking bounce for good measure- all done with the bands usual care and mid-paced magic. Easy listening without barbs or foaming intent, this is a pleasurable jaunt that has good muso textures without going over the top.  The playing time is terse, you know that always gets my vote and 'yes' I am wanting more - just how it should be!   'The Price Of Love' is the penultimate piece, a stabilised moment that starts with a spring in the step, rocks along with self-assured sanguinity, creates a listening experience that is uncomplicated, effective and flowing.   The band are within their own comfort zone here, no genuine highs, certainly no lows - I skip on and into 'I'll Be There For You' with slow crawl to the final full-stop that leaves me a trifle cold.  I don’t like these attempts at anthemic sloppiness and perhaps my punk strain runs too deep to appreciate but this is definitely not for me.  This reminds me of a wedding song, it brings visions of horror – I run for a fix of dirty DIY noise to get things balanced – sorry chaps, these things happen, all I can do is pass on my feelings – as per many will disagree.

A CD from a band playing noise with emphasis on music rather than attitude but, within the weavings, there are many messages that reek of punk rock ethics.  These lot have provided a sweet break from the raging rackets and angled affairs I am normally immersed in – I have them booked for a gig, be interesting how they go down.  I reckon I’ll enjoy em’ anyway – gotta keep it varied tha’ knows!



Andy Higgins is a doofer, he has his hands in many pies and is a ruddy amiable chap - I like that!   He is primarily part of that advancing 3-piece known as Litterbug, a very underestimated band that are on something of a rise and starting to turn a few good heads this way and that - I like that too.  Here the man is dabbling again, I think for some there is no hope - what a wonderful situation that is!   The band under the spotlight I know sweet FA about, I go in as cold as Pope John Paul's left testicle and as eager as a fat kid in a pie shop.  I will give what everyone expects - 100% effort, 100% honesty, 100% belief - if that ain't enough then so be it - I am a mere dog chomping and trying, not one lying in a basket waiting for the master to create an easy life!

'Emily Goes To Public School' twinkles in, picks up on the general drive and pushes on with a strained vocal style that compliments the tight and orderly musical arrangement that gives very little away and always appears taut and played with a good thermal focus.  The skins react to the rhythm with a spark of naturalness, the 2 sided wire work copulates with inseparable unity and as a result we get a solid opening track that simmers with frustration at those with silver spoons acting like goons and destroying the realms of the half-decent.  I play the track several times over, get more drawn into the architecture of the song and further appreciate the general construction - tidy workmanship I reckons.  'Again And Again' takes to the throne of noise making, vocally struggles like a constipated crapper of cacophony before a release valve is moved, a repeat of the song title had and laxative induced lilts come.   The song is simply curled down, is laden with nutritious weight, stinks better when oral poison is spat.  This snippet is short, placed in this second position does it no harm - it gets one replaying, discovering and enjoying the impetus of the CD thus far.  'Insane World' is a perfect follow up, gently alters tack, gives an emotive enhancement and works with a severe sweat on the brow.  All areas are pushed, pressurised and yet given room to breathe.   With such intensity the players do well to keep all areas clear, functioning as one and contributing to a very convincing piece of zoned in music of delicacy and latent power.  I think this one completes a firm and variety riddled opening hat-trick - I play over and over just for good measure!

'The Weather Changed (An Ode To Litterbug)' begins with some inane Monk-ish choir spouting an oral illness that throws me off at a dangerous angle (Stanley Unwin - can you help in any way).  The song proper eventually kicks in, has a biting verse, a mild chorus, all the while scaffolded by some hot-roasted guitar work and up-tempo stick work.   The impetus here is the winning factor, the song is well-blown and kept on its toes by musicians looking to uphold a set standard - it just scrapes by.  'Remember Me', is an emboldened number with some marvellous accents and a double headed he/she delivery that really encapsulates the insights and creative juices the players are using.  The opening synthed spices set the jowls salivating, the dish proffered does not disappoint.  What a complete and invigorating number this is, and taking us into the sharp and snatching 'Celebrity Is Dead' with the standard still very high.  This one stutterguns, nails a few facts for you to mull over and slowly rises to a gratifying boil with a handclap of delight that the A-list shits and the like, are indeed dead (if only).  Too many at the top and bottom of the heap make Gods and this creates this situation called 'celebrity' - it is a realm built on ego, weakness and need - and baffles my fuckin' bonse.   This is the most venomous song thus far, really pierces the epidermal layer and injects home its pertinent point - lovely!

We head down the highly anticipated homestretch with the guiding hand of 'We Are Not The Rolling Stones', this is a restrained song and the main gratification I get from the rhythmic gift is when the band let themselves go via a bittersweet chorus that reminds you of the stance, the position, the way in which this music is created.  I do struggle to get fully upbeat about this one although it is a quite steady track.  I feel just a few extra embellishments are needed and a bit more juice in the mixing desk.  As per - tis a personal viewpoint but for me, there are better offerings on this fine CD.  'Visiting The City' grinds matters out and after the opening hollers and exposure of inner pride this creation travels on well-perked heels and with chest swollen, duly gets on with matters.  The swish of the sonic sabre cuts the attentive flesh, forces a bleeding response of sanguine acceptance and as we nod along it is safe to say the band are in a sound comfort zone here, not taking any risks and doing things of a solid and reliable standard.  Not the best song on the CD, not the worst, one of those moments where one just thinks 'yeah, safe man, safe' - tis no bad thing!

'Lord Sugar Will See You Now' begins with a soundbite, jumps in and then indulges in a Rainbow-esque eruption that perhaps is a moment of inspiration or a sign of aging heads getting generic values confused.  It is a nice moment and kick-starts a more than adequate song that makes one consider why we should wait 'on the man' and not get up and just keep on doing it ourselves.   The movement here is once again, well-muscled and fluent, the switch to the mid-muso break is liquid, the blend of all components highly meritorious, the more I rotate this one, the more effect it has - the A OK sign is sincere!  'Movie Star' rolls in, pulses, softens the impending blow with some soothing ghostly whoo's before the chug comes, a first verse and a sub-chorus take the reins and we are left in the midst of a very reliable song.  The undulation of the emotive touch is spot on, the effort in the chorus equally so and this for me is a strong penultimate piece that gets better and better with every play - a subtle grower for sure.   We close this intriguing collection with 'Sunshine Every Day', a marvellous uplifting spurt of defiance that travels hard, travels true and finishes the CD on a very assured and measured note laden with good music-making talent.  The 4 count, the focused and pushing verse, the blatant refusal to buckle and the thermal sanguinity that blesses the bonses of the confident all win my favour.  This is a sinewy showing, a solid punctuation mark on a CD that has met the expectations and given some nice surprises.

That is that, Mr Higgins is a gent, a talented man and a thinker - it ain't no bad way to be and here these qualities pay fine dividends.  For me, this CD needs seeking out by all and sundry as it breaks away from the regular punk strain, brings an earnest quality to the stage and all I need do now is book these buggers for a 'live' show - Mr Higgins - nudge bloody nudge sir and well done to all involved.



From Zagreb in Croatia Trophy Jump and create a new-school noise that is now old school and of a very certain sub-strain I have heard many times over.  The release is on Horn and Hoof Records, another small label doing its thing in a scene with many strains, many fractures, many individual webs of acoustic intrigue.  I am happy to flit here and there, do my bit when I can and piss off somewhere else.  Here is what I make of this 5-tracker, like it, lump it, love it, loathe it - it will be straight and without sway anyway, the script is always set that way.

First up, 'Comfort Zone' is an accomplished article of well-blended music that trickles along with a savoured sanguinity emanated from players very much in the groove.   The message is one I adhere to, I hate people who play it safe, especially in  the musical environment where mix and match should always be the way.  The band turn many a tuneful trick and seduce the passing customer with an array of charms dangled with precision and necessary clarity.   The guitar reacts to the substrate of support and is allowed to roam free and flutter with the song whilst reaching decent levels of success from the opening hollers to the final strums.  Along the way the emotive slant is posted with conviction, the arrangement of the overall instruments is precise - yeah, I am liking this.

'Not That Kind Of Guy' is lighter, fluffier and of a strain that used to really piss me off.  That technical twattery that tries to fit too much into one slab of sound rather than sticking to the basics and getting the job done with naturalness.  I have become more tolerant over time, but I still don't like this song.   It does too much not doing anything (paradox) and for me has no sturdy backbone around which the players can truly operate.  I know this is a style unto itself, the sub-generic values are maintained in many ways but that is no excuse for me to bullshit anyone and say this is an appealing song - because it isn't.  Tis a shame because the band play it well and have good production values on their side - hey ho!  Next and we jump onto a 'Bicycle' of sound that starts with a ruddy great intro I suggest should be extended and used as a fine 'live' set starter to get the juices flowing - I think it makes sense.   The following mush of sound is perhaps the most pop punked so far and of a whipped cream texture many mellow heads may eagerly lap up.  The song has an easy sensation, a construct without intricacy and over-indulgence - it is all the better for it.   I play the opening sequence again, I think my previous thoughts are justified - jump on it!

'Chicago Kid' plucks and fucks inward, struts down a groove and keeps things somewhat cool and minimalized, that is, until the chorus comes.  The tale concerns nothing of note and therefore keeps things without convolutions.  The song skips outside the set route, indulges in a bit of reacting rhythm as far as the flow goes and comes across as another clean cut piece for those of a certain ilk.  Alas, I am not of that 'ilk', but I can reach deep and find much to applaud in this one.  The best way to describe this and other offerings is 'neat, tidy and inoffensive' - is that a good thing?

We close with 'Remete Hills', a ditty that almost whispers in, shows sanguinity in the output, brings to the table a summer eve feel of retrospective comfort that indicates a securely fitting sonic skin.   Again all things are scrubbed up, lacking barbs and not liable to gob in your face - there is a place for this kind of music dear mucky ducks.  The vocal style is well delivered, the general gist rather cheesy and of a slant that has all been done before but, different generations, different times, different opinions - make up your own mind ya bastards.

In truth (is there any other way) I am not overly taken by this 5 track offering but that is merely down to personal taste.  The band know their onions, have talent and compose a nifty tune, there is an obvious circle who will swirl to the vibrations and bloody well love it - alas I am on the outside again, but with enough nouse to offer my applause!



A new band, a punk rock band they say and one keen to get on with matters and not fuck about.   There is a McPoopshutian in the mix - I am suddenly all wary - will this mean an over-indulgence of filth and waywardness - there is only one way to find out - penetrate!

'Epidemic' is a raw wound, left to bleed in natural terms and comes from a production line working on rickety rusted legs and in need of a good old oiling.  For me though the oil can is best used as a sexual lubricant thus lettinhg this natural and coruscating fucker spill its contents and get the message, as regards homelessness, out there at your feet.  The song is straightforward punk - an ideal tool to relieve the player’s inner angst and to get doubters awash with the strain enthused.   No thrills, no unnecessary spills - just good fuzz-fucking and plenty of clobber - tis that easy and effective.  'Feminazi' kicks back at a breed of womankind that seems to get on the players tits (pardon the apt expression).  The song is a mere gob off, relates a tale about a man looking for a woman, ends up throwing one off the wrist in utter disgust and contemplating the holier than thou stance adopted by many.  I get the gist, can see where a piss take comes from and where hypocrisy takes place - I just wish people could get on and behave!  The song is an average effort for me, neither outstanding nor shite.  I can play, throw away and play again and enjoy as a matter of course - I want something more though, I go in search of feeding this need - wish me luck!

'Facebook' is a wound up release of frustration, slamming along and berating those who are always wired up and wanking away with self-obsession.  It is a social device that is taking more hostages by the day and is highlighting what lack of freedom there actually is - both verbally and cerebrally.  This is an uncomplicated bout of ball-bashing.  The open repeat wastes no time, is counterbalanced by a slow finale that decries those with heads stuck looking at screens and talking twattery.  The song and the message remain simple - wake up.  'Lucky Luke' rides roughshod over the shitted substrate, creates ramshackle sound best likened to the Beverley Hillbillies travelling over corrugated iron whilst transporting a caseload of dung. A tale of sexual deviancy, bad luck and a short fuse all combine to make this a double ended explosion of irritated spikiness that doesn't hang about and gets things done via purely earthy tones.  If you like a quick pogo session whilst the noggin is filled with dubious images then this is for you.

A few taps, a fuzzery and then an admittance of something nauseating and ultimately cerebrally diseased.  'Growler' is the terse work of devil-assisted hands, my willy duly shrinks, my sphincter muscle tightens - I'll leave you to discover, disbelieve and grimace.  'Stuck In My Teeth' is an upset, a tune borne of a niggle that has suddenly become out of control and all-consuming.   It alters its attack with a warped naturalness and shows that the band have more up their sleeve (and trouser leg) than you may give them credit for.  I explore and re-spin, I reveal a song that has DIY depth, a song troubled by embryonic failings - I love that feeling.

Next and a bout of 'Anxiety', a song that doesn't seem to know which way to turn and lacks a true direction.  It is a sweetly scuzzy fucker but just needs a little more determination in the arrangement with clarity between verse and chorus as well as the individual components.  I don't know, I just can't get to grips with this one, if the intention was for the song to be as unpredictable and difficult to diagnose as the said mental disease than I truly get it - I mean, I am on pills don't ya know.    'May Already' kicks over a bucket of pissy rust, pollutes and progresses. Tis another dirty slag of a song, humping and heaving with raw and untamed emotion, clattering around and getting itself worked up due to our current leader being a useless sack and in many ways, taking the piss.   From the chaos we get a chilled moment to contemplate ones navel or the wicked waywardness of the bint at No 10, it works, the band are thinking, the result is a song that improves with age (unlike the PM).

Last 2, 'Invade' is a short beauty - no bullshit, no trimmings, no reason - isn't that lovely.  The song is a 16 second wallop of repetitive raging - in, out and fuckin' done.  Of course there is always one left standing - he gets exposed - what a twerp!  The last song of the lot is a war hating spillage of irate intent, thrusting out its belligerent jaw and gobbing forth a frustration borne from flashbacks.  'PTSD' is a robust bout of pertinent political passion with a sing-a-long sincerity ideal for those who are victims to the cerebral curse - it finishes the CD in niggled style.

# There is still work to be done with this band, the ethos may be DIY, the outcomes raw and ready but I think there is a whole lot more to come and this CD is a mere foundation setting piece to get the ball rolling.  At times the band give glimpses as to what will come, throughout they appeal to the dirty side of my listening leanings and throughout they keep things natural - I am keeping a close eye on these buggers - watch this sonic space or piss off!

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