The first Dirty Water Records release of the year, another outfit for me to discover with a 15 track deluge offered to get my assessing lugs around.  Here we have some multi-media meddlers putting their hands into a juice filled melting pot and helping it bubble over with a garish collision of confounding angularity.  I am intrigued by all things challenging and off-kilter, I like to step outside of all boundaries and even if I hate the outcome it is, in many ways, far more gratifying to have rifled the rhythms rather than remain aloof and stuck in the same old cycle.  Too many in this world remain within their own sonic straitjackets, it is not an healthy thing to do, it restricts the bloodflow that gives birth to adventure and wondrous discoveries - think on, take the risk, indulge.

I step off the precipice of that deemed 'normal' and plunge into the opening gambit, namely 'Octopus No 1'.  The shapeshift begins, the stage is set, we have a mere preparatory piece of haunting indulgence that shadow suggests, lays ambiguous and uncertain foundations and then...we are done.  'The Magic Fruit Of Strangeness' pounds in, stamps its forthright feet before dream dancing within a tribal-esque billow of insectoid activity that gives a substrate of security over which the drifting vocalist can levitate.  The general feeling picked up on is of a retro psychedelia that multi-copulates with varying influences from here, there and who knows where!  There is a fascination within the weft as well as a certain abandon that  cultivates a deeper interest.  I jump from the clashing boughs, lie amid the leafy lilts, slide do the inner truck of tonality and consider this not a bad structure sound, I suspect there is more life within that maybe discovered over a longer period - tis all food for thought!

'Octopus No 2' prepares, drift dreams and perhaps schemes - it is a chilled spectre arising from the silver substrate of metamorphing magic - something very sinister is had.  The chaser, 'Μελανιά (Bruise)' is more straightforward, a song that begins with a regular routine of rhythm whilst emanating easternised pulsations on a recurring basis with the exotic and simmered sweetly coordinated and delivered.  The approach is still borne from minds aloft, cerebral areas unsettled and looking to create visual sonic gratification via a blend of sub-generic aspects.  At times I slip into slumber, at others I am kept alert, in-between I have a middling judgement to throw your way which can take on many forms dependent on the swing of the mood.

'Octopus No 3' is a pseudo-fog-horn warning, a cry from misted depths with a repeat message confounded and preparing.  'Trouble And Desire' comes, chops in with grinding groove, has a wonderful psyched in sound that comes from shape-shifting departments in a swaying towerblock of 60's design.  The windows blink and glare with eternally swirling hues, the uncertainty of the structure is never in doubt as the under-quake of tectonic tonality moves and creates sound animation - I am taking up residence, this is a fair groover.  A bonus track cuts a swathe next with the dirty waters of 'Same River Twice' flowing with polluted porridge effect and yet more tremulations and titilations from lands sand-blasted and scorched.  We have a repeat patternation to nag the sense, a pseudo-echo arrangement within the cloying approach that duly sucks us in and keeps us sinking and sinking until fully submerged - there is something sinisterly satisfying in the immersion, I feel as though I am losing my grip on reality!

'Octopus No 4' - caresses the senses, holds the stages with a 'Warlords of Atlantis' type preaching - why on Earth am I making this comparison.   The opening bars that follow ring true of something 'B52-ish' with 'Mirroir' another strange oddment from a band blending essences from who knows where!  As the tonal creation progresses we are kissed with sub-erotic whisperings, sobered by deliberate repetitions and then some deep-screwing enthusiasm that cuts into the epidermal layers and leaves untold scarring.   Not a bad inclusion this, dark and tuneful and noticeably odd!

'Octopus No 5' - flutters in on wings of metallic texture before uttering words of nebulous definition.  'Πετώ (I'm Flying)' thrums on a precipice, is awash with nervous tension before indulging in a pseudo-prayer that grows in stuttering stature before adopting a full-on angularity of gait that causes, this listener at least, great eavesdropping discomfort.  I am on keen on this one, it is sombre, melancholic and moaning with a deep-rooted pain all too obvious.  The gnawing and nagging of the entire construct turns me completely off, I jump[ forth in another tentacled titbit!

'Octopus No 6' scythes deep, creates a nuclear glow, reveals underlayers of throbbing promise, the simple question offered is saturated with threat - I am disturbed.  'Acid Books' gets into matters without pause for thought.  A determined march comes, tramples through the awaiting silence and replaces it with a highly animated chameleon of cacophony that shits garish colours and smears your listening walls with more than a suggestion of uncertainty.   All the while we fall downwards, get tossed this way and that and end up in a heap of agreeable disccomfort.  This is a song that exemplifies the most acute and profitable aspects of the artists - I listen in and try and absorb the deeper qualities - ooh me mind!

'Octopus No 7' - a scenario suggested, an observation with more questions placed at the front of your cranial gunk - there are no answers waiting.   We walk into the finale with heads bowed, a pulse determined to uphold discipline.  'Γλυκιά μου Όμορφη (Sweet and Beautiful)' plods along, wades through thickened gloop and leaves one utterly unconvinced.  I would have preferred an nice quick paced swirl of clashing and thrashing experimentation, I was unprepared for something to similar to what has already passed.  This isn't a bad track, it still pervades with an overseas policy of awkwardness - I shouldn't complain.

Over and out with a head full of doubt, I suspect this is what the cultivators of this obscure and puzzling montage wanted.  This is very much 'Marmite Music' of a flavour this will leave some retching and some licking their lips with curious glee.  I like to step in and out of varied pools of sound, it is rewarding to be baffled, bowled over and buggered - I have experienced all three sensations here - make of that what you will but please get out of your comfort zone and keep your neurones of noise...challenged.



From a Danish DIY label who claims a non-profit approach we see 2 bands get further exposure and do their nasty, noisy stuff.  I am not fuckin' about with an intro here, let us get into the musical muck proper and see what my thoughts are on more arse-tearing rumblings.

Political Spit cough up the first trio of acoustic globules and propel them into your face with the opening gambit slapped down under the tag of 'By Af Beton'.  This rusted fucker of sound abrasively rubs over the listener's membranes with deliberate cruelty and dirty dog effect that expels the DIY strain the band are obviously very much immersed in.  The underscore of sound is put through an unhygienic mincer, is escorted by a smoked throat emittance straight from the dustbin society where real life pervades.  This is a somewhat sludgy number in need of a little more pace perhaps but it still trembles my receptors for all things unwashed - onwards.  'This One Is For You' is far more like it, a quick-travelling abuse of terribly scummy proportions that I very much enjoy (when in the mood).   The savagery, the snarling, the relentless simplicity and attacking voracity all moulded into one shit-ball of stinking passion, an excremental sphere to be bowled over by - is there any other way to go?  Both these opening gambits compliment and clash, they are also terse and to the point, this is the essence and life-blood of making dinnage such as this - I hope it continues.

The final lump of rattling gunk to be expelled is entitled 'Them'.  We begin with a military tympanic procedure with the membranes lightly rolled over before giving way to a wildman surge that dictates the pace of the presentation and gives us one pure chunk of scabby noise.   There are no delusions of dynamic discordances here, no con-tricks to try and make you believe this is top-notch artistry.  No, what you get is an upchuck by restless folks 'having a go', straight out of the gutter into your lugs - therein success is found.   From the hat-trick of offerings this packs least spite in the punch but it still ain't half bad - ooh aye!

Grassat come to the spittoon of sound next and donate 'Lad Mig Nu Holde Fridag'.  The initial splutters and seeming hesitation are soon overcome by a free-wheeling up-throw of fast action that is over quicker than I can get the assessing words tapped down.   I replay, feel a hunger, an 'ants in your pants' need whilst the pure nervous energy batters away and as me labelling this as a 'not bad' expulsion.  That bass is on fire man and perhaps with a few minor adornments we would have had a sure-fire sizzler - like I say though, this ain't a bad do.  'Koncentrationslejlighed' praises the joys of having big conkers before setting down a substrate of fuzz and bass.  A brief moment in tonal time is taken, a preparation and then a full-tilt panic dash is had.  The players gallop and grind, thrash out a burning bastard that blows with fury, takes respite and then billows some more.  There is a youthful hunger within the weft, a bumbling bass line and an unstoppable thirst to get the job done in double-quick time - I have no complaints.

The closing blast is 'En tatovering er en Buffalosko, du ikke kan tage af' a song that fuckin' melts the mind with its opening glut of riffing goodness that I for one turn up, play loud and fuckin' ping to.  A stagger and a grind out follows with all intensity high but it is the verses that make the greatest impact albeit with the second one too short for its own good.  This is a fair holler-out, the best yet - the old saying of 'save the best til last' certainly rings true here.

A solid coming together of two bands who like to get the job done quickly, with much noisy effervescence and with great impact.  Tis two new bands on the Fungal Radar that is forever bleeping even though the receiving aerials are somewhat drooping these days.  I think this is another occasion when I suggest you have a mooch into the murky world of hard racket making - the beating your ears will take is nothing to complain of.



A multi-international gang of thrashing bastards all brought together in a Berlin-based outfit zoned in on turning your guts to mush and making your undercarriage leak foul-reeking emanations.   The heavy attacks are old-school, the aim to piss on machismo morons who perpetrate the scene and make it an unwelcoming commodity - I fuckin' like that - a pity they haven't got a track called 'Muscleheads Die' to make sure their point sticks and stings.  I jump in here having heard all what goes on a million times before but still as keen as a humping rabbit when another sonic sex-carrot is dangled - 'What's up Doc'.

The first violent vegetable of vibrating goodness to be rammed into my assessing lughole comes under the name of 'Determined Law' and if songs had vitamins here you would get your daily dose...and some.  A wonderful hot-wired, hard-fired fuck with the bass work and six-strung serpent all venom-laden and creating a scorched substrate for the tympanic tyrant to crash over and allow the highly aggressive vocal spewer to spray out his intoxicating verbal virulence.  The whole concoction is over in 1 minute and 29 seconds, the effect left behind is impressive and once again we are witness to a raw-assed escapade done in 'fuck you' style fulfilling one's inner H/C desires.

'Griefcase' briefly clank-wanks, finds a wondrous riff and explodes against the inner cranial walls with quite gratifying gumption.  The blend for this type of music must be spot on to capture the madness, the power-violence, the fuckin' thirsting desire made for those willing to be abused.  The flames reach high, singe, sear and leaves us spluttering.   A brief switch off and then a real solid drive comes with the band radiating a white-heat to be beautifully blistered by.  This is a fuckin' stunner - from a band frothing at their hollering mouths, let us continue into the molten maelstrom.

'Reanimator' is a mad-fuck film, the song here involves equal lunacy.  The initial chops to the eavesdropping throat disarm, the savage glory of the beating issued is a sonic sadomasochists delight that pulverises any resistance and makes sure the whole attentive framework is kicked to fuck.  Hard grafted chugs, incandescent flares, weighted uppercuts all combine and keep one reeling.   An inner switch-off prepares for the final attack - we are backed into a corner and pummelled - oh yeah, hurt me baby, hurt me!

We close with 'Body Fidelity' - a song that quickly tumbles in, roars, moves the heavy duty shit with great deliberateness before once more making great stinking manoeuvres and bone-jarring advances.  This is my least favoured fuck-up but it still makes a bold impression and has many worthy Hardcorian merits to make it a viable listen.  Again big explosions of sound arrive, more effulgent gobbery blazes a trail and we, the humble listener, are left torn asunder - it feels mighty good.

In summing up, what we have here are 4 red-hot eruptions from an offensive creative volcano letting off enough steam to burn one’s conkers clean off.  The key to the success is that it is just a 4 track release, nothing more, nothing less, and the fact that the band have the blend of thrashing merchants just right.  I hope they stick to this strict 4 track formula - anything else would be vulgar and, to be fair, fuckin dangerous.



Dystopian distress is carved deep into the recording substrate as this Swedish hard-hitting band ply their trade and lash out with utter disgruntlement and unapologetic passion.  There is a language barrier that stands between myself and the bands aggressive output, this is no excuse not to tackle the proffered racket and give a thoroughly external review.  We have 5 power slams to absorb, the thermality and utter spirit poured into each is not lost on this assessor, I go in tooled up and ready for battle.

'Dödens maskineri' just comes in under the 5-minute barrier and emanates a feeling of great unrest, heaving intent and a need to bellow and billow to ease the inner disgust.  The opening vocal violation is, as expected, raw, livid and utterly nefarious.   We have a two-ended attack, rising from a conflagration utterly incandescent, completely incessant.   The blend of these fiery components as got to be exact to make sure the ultimate impact is made - I think the band make the standard sought.   An inner switch off is brief, a slight change in the nerve-jangling journey is made, it is a delicate and yet hefty touch and showcases the bands ability to react to the flow and feel the vibrations within their trembling bones.  This is more than a thrash out, it is a cultured creation with some very good musicianship enhanced by a blatantly focused unit - I walk on into track two expectant of the same quality levels.

'Stad i Ijus' stamps and throws a fit before kicking its way into a blazing spaciousness where the players can make a thorough impression onto the cranial substrate of any passing punter.  The methodology is to take one’s time and make sure the overall spillage is dealt with in a prolonged vicious assault that pushes the perpetrators to the brink of their art.  I listen several times over and am convinced of a very capable band punching their weight and in-keeping with the rules and regulations of their specific pit of sound.  The inner instrumental is well-earned with  time taken out for the ferocious front gob.  The song continues in an unstoppable manner and come the end of the 4 minute 38 second attack we are left, shaken.  'Leviatan' is the shortest song of the lot, grumbles inward on scuzzy bass and agitated skins before adopting a general tone and then stripping down and allowing the roar-maker to rise.  Like an incessant storm striving to drown the listening lands the downpour comes, gets thrown this way and that by energetic wafts and creates a tear-up of controlled and authoritative dimensions.  For me, the terse timing of the song accentuates the power shown and gives us a swift thrashing to remember rather than a longer hiding to be a little numbed by.   It does what it sets out to do although it seems a somewhat incomplete creation - there is something missing and further investigations are needed to find out what - I shall kindly leave that to you.

'Patriarkatets siste faste' is another elongated onslaught which tests my eavesdropping mettle.  We enter on a glowing knife-edge, slow stew in a melting pot of fuming and foaming liquid life.  The oral orifice breathes fire, we suddenly fall in to climes 'chilled', something akin to a dream sequence is served, the contrast complete we are soon rising again with tongues of fire lapping at our doubting rears.  The song fails to warm my inner cockles, I find myself in a nowhere-land of missed opportunity, a place where I feel the band miss my personal radar and yet do themselves thorough justice on a wider scale.

'Röda stugor med ruttnande knutar' closes, comes in on hepped up skins, twinges and then goes at matters after a short preparatory shout out.  The avalanche that tumbles down is Discharge-esque broken by minimalistic moments so as to offer a clash and collide aspect.  The surges are where greatest effect is found, real blistering white-heat explosions that show a band who know their artistic abilities in many, many ways.  The precision, the alternating brandishing of sound and the final mix all prove the merits of a thriving band, it may not be fully to my liking but man, what they do they do fuckin' well.

#So, as per, I jump in, jump out, take time and come up with an assessment built on the usual building blocks of honesty, objectivity, personal preference and fairness - some may like the approach, some will spit out their dummies - hey well, here's hoping.  In the meantime - just investigate the wide world of sound out there and do your bit!



The Wants create from darkened recesses were rhythmic meddling occurs and Frankensteinian results are offered.  We, the mere passer-by, are left to contemplate, examine this post-electro residue that oozes from the overhead gutters where dreams ascend and duly descend.  Within the acoustic rain-fall we encounter emotions both cold and detached through to that which is warm and involved - we are in the midst of a strange mix and as a long-term punk bastard I am happy to spill some honest feedback from a place outside the circle.

'Ramp' revs up, tumble tones, splashes onto the awaiting canvas with abandon before placing down orderly touches via a pulsed rhythm that works might well.   The arrangement that manifests itself exhibits a certain amount of control whilst trespassing outside suggested limits.   This is a mere underlayer of sound that comes and goes in the flick of an artiste’s wrist but what it does is leave untold promise and many questions waiting to be answered - nice!  'Container' has a sterility and excitement built into one conveyor belt package of sound that is clean-cut, regimentally executed and generally appealing.  The simply-stated vocals are utterly lucid, the main spine of sound robotic, the rise to the technological kick-back perfectly done so as to gradually draw in the listener and slowly bind and gag them with a quite hypnotic creation.  I am convinced here - not bad for an old punk bastard hey!

'Machine Room' functions behind steel-doors before a pulse escapes, a dance-inducing emanation grips the senses and an industrial repetition hypnotises the framework and has one reacting.  The surge is soon over, we are given the therapy of 'Fear My Society' as compensation.  This cool 80's reminiscence comes on slowly sated tones kept on ice throughout and maintaining a certain 'straight-backed' attitude.  This doesn't detract from the rhythmic artistry, the underlying mystery and the throwback state of play that would be perfectly accompanied by an 'ambiguous' video escort.  A veritable snippet of yore, not my musical beverage chosen to warm the cockles but one I can still appreciate for its very clean and clinical execution.

'The Motor' is a vehicle of vibration that confounds, clanks and careens with the end destination always stuck to and the same spine of austere regimentation followed.  The opening thrust is akin to an old video game, the following electro-hybrid is sub-funky, tattooed with fidget life and almost scientific in stature.   The opening tonality is calming albeit with a surreptitious threat that always seems to dictate the direction.  The route taken is looped,  the same ground is covered and the sonic scenery repeated but, I tip my titfer for the exacting methodology and the fluid machinations of the inner engine.  'Aluminum' pulses, throb-waves, moves through metallic caverns of reflective sound whilst catching subdued shades and echo-emitting complimentary tones.  We find ourselves in a labyrinthine conundrum of surgical cleanliness with a minimalism of life borne from the merest refractive glimpse of energy.  I find this automated offering too cold, too synthetic and too distant to make any real tremulations within my attentive soul - these things do happen with such sources of experimentation.

'Ape Trap' has rhythmic rumours of B52-esque embryonic offerings with a certain stripped down beat reliant on the basics before adding the merest suggestion of sci-fi advancement.  A certain cavernous residue drips from the ceiling of this somewhat enclosed song with the rhythm taking a little time to permeate the attentive epidermal layers.  Eventually the outer membranes are invaded, the assessing neurones gratified and a song of growing structure and accomplished blending comes - nice.  'Waiting Room' is a quick journey into skew-whiffed oddness with an instrumental burst neither here, there or...any fuckin' where - I completely miss the point of this one - how strange it is!

4 to go, 4 quick assessing flicks.  'Clearly A Crisis' creeps in on well-timed touches before taking on a sub-suggestive 'Fashion-oid' hint.  There is a very aged creative flow here, dragged forth in spasmodic style to the here…and the now.  The shimmered opening takes us backward, the tonal touches give a nudge towards times when faces were heavily made-up, ornate posturing was the rage and up-market videos were aplenty.  I remain on the outside.  'Hydra' is an aloof movement with diluted shadings flowing through the membranous skin of the creation.  The initial beat is stamped down, the automaton cum conveyor-belt delivery as expected with the mechanics of the song both shuffling and highly efficient.   There is still an unorthodox production line at work with many tonal packages produced of the same set standard - a strange one this, onto 'Nuclear Party' we go, a fidgeting number of unsettled intentions.  The opening strains are coughed up with digital effect before pre-cooked statements come and a twisted vision is flickered across the screen of your attention.  A certain spiral into repetition is deliberately created via dabblers determined to keep things 'awkward'.  We are now at a stage where the strict generic rules are dictated and as we stagger into the last offering I can't see much changing.  'Voltage' spends its time wallowing in a heap of blown fuses, severed spitting cables and a confusion of electro-haywire.  It is merely a signing-off death knell, a musical abhorrence destined for terminus 'silence' - it kind of sums up what has been and what will be.

And what a weird journey that was!  It started well, ended in a place not to my liking and in-between was rated as a hit and miss affair.  The band have a niche noise for what I suspect is a niche market but what I have heard is done to a very exacting level and will meet the needs of those futurised and digitally plugged in.  I think the first 2 tracks are the best though, here is where further success will be tapped methinks - we shall see!



I recently saw this lot play a gig in Manchester, they came, threw together a quite accomplished set and exhibited a social conscience that is never a bad thing.  A few of the songs were absolutely outstanding, several highly intoxicating and one or two thoroughly jig-tastic.  Messages were spilled with fervour, some I agreed with, some I didn't (hey that's life and David Bowie is still a dubious character) but all in all I was very much taken by what was transmitted my way and was quite happy to accept a CD and scribble my thoughts.  Here I have 3 tracks to tease my tonal taste-buds - come the end I may be spitting back the sonic offering or duly swallowing like an eager beaver - either way this twat will be true to the cause and try his best to make a pertinent assessment.

'1 In 6' hollers in, has a coursing lifeblood borne from a copulation of scenes gone by, accents from different angles and a caring interruption where the end sound is considered.  There is a wholesome honesty within the weft of the rhythm, the opening vocals accentuate this fact with their lucid ease and easily embraced openness.  The backdrop of sound smoothly moves with regulation pushes and skanked moments sweetly blended together and making for a quite appealing listen.   The inner waltz around I consider a faux pas although it is tidily posted and enhances the wander to the final silence.  Yes, I am more than a little convinced here by a band who have many layers to still reveal.   A neat and level bass-line opens 'Burst' before pronouncing strums come and a casual lick draws us gently by the hand into the folds of the musical escapade proper.  Tonal thermality is lowered, again the oral offerings are clear and progress with little fuss whilst retaining a certain ambiguity within the poetical labyrinth.  The strolling song has a somewhat disillusioned and 'fuck it all' comfort that really gets beneath my eternally troubled and questioning skin.  It seems a moment in time to reflect, take stock, admit the fight is uphill and then carry on regardless - oh aye.  Overall this is a minor song of accomplished proportions that really drops back to pre-punk and post-punk times grabbing elements from both generic pools and then adding some - nice!The finale comes via 'Greatest Man' and after the initial snigger and stage setting strums we get a mild melody to absorb whilst taking heed of a tale regarding a fucker fading, an ego now falling into the realms of nowhere, a passing trend now destined for the filing cabinet 'has been'.  A song of change, a mellow creation of hopes lost, of times too difficult to keep up with, I find this a complete construction from first to last with the band sanguine and sure of what they want to achieve and how to go about it.  I think this one adds a firm punctuation at the end of this 3-way statement - good work fellas.

So, I have delved further, examined a few more episodes of WR goodness and find myself still in situation 'convinced'.  I am no fool though, all could turn to shit very soon and too many slaps on the back and false words could easily corrupt the focus and fuck up the output - White Ribbons, my challenge is simple, carry on in your own style, fuck em' all and keep the thought processes behind the output flowing.



Released on Blood Records this 5 track sonic shifter comes from a Sheffield-based band who certainly have things to say and a musical flow to be quite taken by.  The crew move with incessant desire, create a full-on saturation of sound that wins some appreciative favour from this end.  The music has a notable bite, a commercialised style and a certain punk-esque disillusionment that appeals to my eclectic sensors.   Without further ado I take the plunge, this is the result of the usual scribblings.

'Thinking Out Loud' expresses itself with a certain honesty slammed forth on a robust substrate of sound not to be underestimated.   From the off this powerful episode of saturated and imposing noise is a real treat with the inner flame glowing bright and certainly burning the retinas and eardrums of this passing partaker.  The industrial beat begins; a spiral sensation ensues with a strict regulation dictating all.  Frustration with the growing populace, the imbalance and a skewed situation getting worse comes, the verbal donation is clean, lucid but activated by deep emotion and is an ideal partner to a climatic cacophony that blows mighty hard.  The resistance to the dumbing down, the final kick-back and the whip up of the sonic storm is done to a tee - yeah man, Fungal is convinced.  'World Is Falling Apart' is a mid-paced roll out with equal disillusionment and equal musical prowess.  The pace may be just lacking but the band do themselves sound justice with a sawing and gnawing escapade that sharply cuts and moves and with a certain muscular grace that avoids being overly vulgar and exhibitionist.  There is something sinewy and embracing here - all that is needed is just that little extra kick, hey ho, one can't have everything!

'Total Vanity' is a pertinent piece of music with a message to all those conned, beaten and chasing one big self-indulgent lie.  Within the thrust of the vibrology the cause and effect relationship of a social pit gone skewwhiff is exposed, the players hit a point of realisation, wake up and smell the shit being flung – they kick back with a song I hope many take heed of.  Too many are self-absorbed, too many go through motions demanded - I hope they use this tune as a kick-back starter.   The gumption oozed, the momentum and the pace all combine to win the day - onto the last two I go, highly expectant of the same standard!

'Shopping' deals with a theme that I am highly frustrated by, namely the fucking society that spends, spends, and spends on things not needed, on things used as a booster to a self-confidence that is utterly and desperately fucked.  The world turns on a mass of tumbling coins with consumerism a faux-therapy for problems severely deep-rooted.  No wonder change cannot be made and the world cannot not improve if people are stuck in some shopping centre spending for the fuckin' sake of it and somehow...justifying it.  The approach of the song is perhaps the coolest yet and tries to ease an inner stress by keeping the foot off the gas and making observations with a certain aloofness.  It is my least favourite snippet so far, I would have liked the emotions too have multi-culminated in an explosion of virulent rage – despite these personal desires though, the song is a decent do.

'Care Less' pronounces, goes for it, and travels with the now recognisable tonality that really does encapsulate a band in a winning groove.  The liquidity of this closing escapade has a complete authority, moves to echelons higher and exudes a stamping demand that squeezes out more than just aural attention.  The message is avalanching, it builds and builds with a thick-skin called for and a certain focus required.  The backstabbers, down-shouters and fuck-wit doubters are everywhere, always looking to feed on the positivity of others, swallow it large and spit it back in a globule of negativity that indicates another sad sac who is better off dead.  There is a certain uplifting value here and the louder one plays the greater the effect it has.  A fine finish if ever I heard one.

And yes, you better believe it you bastards, this Fungal pig is convinced and I would be intrigued to see where these dudes go with a very promising sound.  The 5 track treat passed my way via Prescription Press and has been well received and I hope I have given a good insight into what has transpired - one tries one's best!



Via Dirty Water Records comes the latest Lucy and the Rats single, a band I have reviewed on 4 previous occasions and, in the main, a band who have brought much listening pleasure to the rhythmically hammered belfry of yours truly.  I am hoping for something equally gratifying here and at the same time keeping the fingers crossed for something new to challenge the cranial gunk - the people tell me I ask for too much, hey ho, the people can say what they want!

Side A brings about a ditty entitled 'Dark Clouds' and almost immediately we are beneath a light rain of gently melody, inoffensive ease and of lightweight accents.   The crew cultivate this kind of sugar-drop sweetness without effort, the strain is unassuming, subtle but very appealing with the twinkle-toed guitar supported by some steady bass lines and necessary sticks that flutter and roll with a natural presence thus giving the song that extra punch.  The vocals are as expected and are simply ideal for this kind of popsicle parading.  The heavens may be losing light but the glow from the rotating circle of sound is enough to keep us all awake.  A nifty number of a tonal pleasantness almost from when times were a little less complicated - I for one, appreciate that!

The alternative side is a more mellow and somewhat dreary number and roams along under the tab of 'Get Down' - how appropriate!  From the off things are listless, touched with a verbal admittance of feeling on the brink of sheer hopelessness.  The song is given some hope via the strains of the wintery sunshine tickles and the melody that is perhaps a little too slow for my liking but one that has all the elements the band blend so darn well.  The undulations are ambiguous, the pulse of the song chilled and the end mix perfectly lucid - I do prefer the more 'smile-inducing' stuff though but also appreciate the need for contrast!

2 songs, 1 I like, 1 I am not keen on.  Lucy and the Rats have a nice vibe going though. tis nowt new but they do what they do well and I am always keen to listen in and scribble a few honest words - I can't say fairer than that!



Another compilation - No 5 in a very admirable series put together by a long-term doofer who knows no other way - there ain't nowt wrong with that.  The aim is to expose sounds, make some dosh for street kids and to keep many caring balls rolling in every which way you can imagine.  Many bands sit under the radar of many people's receptors - there is where the most glorious sounds are found, as per, Fungal expects.

The Dyin' Flies make the brave step of opening this 15 track journey with the more than adequate 'Leave Me Alone'.  The song begins on regular punky resonations, continues with a relatable pissed-off feel that is 100% reflective of the songs title.  The blend is honest, the pace encouraging, the verbal content borne from a pecked head in need of some peace and quiet and a little less of the emotional riot.  The band play their cacophonic cards in a simple manner, at such an early juncture this is no bad thing.  Hummer jump into the fray next with a more modernised style of punk with all the melodic elements of a sub-generic pool where many thrive and do their thing, it is part and parcel of an area of noise that has a good swathe of pluckers.  I have heard much of this tonal product over the years, it is usually well played, of the same barbless character with emphasis always lain on the musical output rather than the attitude.   This is solid song with no real fault but it will never be my everyday listening matter, am I being 'Unreasonable?'

7AM are next to go under the spotlight and plough forth with a dirty dishrag of discordance waved in your mush and left to emanate its stinking sonic stuff.  This is low down and nasty, utterly raw and done with a certain abandon that I for one appreciate.  The appeal of the riffery, the scorched substrate of sound and the overall natural noise that tingles my tits of appreciation without fuss all make for a genuine highlight I shall duly ponder further.  What we have next is a sincere faux pas with a good band like the Cryogenics getting the shit end of the stick due to a subdued recording of a song entitled 'No Escape'.  The effort is not given enough balance to hold its own and therefore allowing a good, spunky, orthodox snippet of punkery to slip down the drain.  I take time, the song is as said, straight-forward and bollock-clobbering but, why oh why wasn't the mixing levels of the CD brought up to scratch so that all songs were of equal volume - hey ho, such is the DIY realm.

'Fool Me' by Samuel Hornsby is an acoustic tickle from a man nonplussed, a mere bloke with an overspill of thoughts on an abundance of areas and always seemingly coming up...discombobulated.   The strings and the tonsil wires are forever fluttered with an incessant flow of thoughts and observations coming so fast that one can barely keep up with what is going on.   The talent is more than obvious, the accent approachable but by heck you need a few spins to capture the gist.  We follow with a sub-80's flicker with Cookie doing the business via the quite surprising 'Orgreave'.  Away from the violence of the clash the song takes a position and analyses, it does so with sharp semi-folked authority and a cold calculating eye that sees what really went on - the power of the people wins the day!  The glittering touches and observance of real-life situations collide and give all potential 'Ragged Trousered Philanthropists' a chance to take further stock.  A choice inclusion.

Shackleford are quick pop punk sprinters who play with a chipper accent and keep things crisp, clean-cut and with lively, heartening energy.  The style is from the middle era of the punk movement when things became master-skated, more baggy arsed and may it be said, more bubble-gummed.   The players stay within the confines of the sub-genre and tickle along at a very nice pace thank you very much.  Inoffensive, a pleasant jaunt, it is important to keep compilations diverse ‘Smile Again’ seems a quite apposite title.  This Is Not A Drill glisten, grow, grind out the acoustic activity known as 'Feels So Right To Me' - a corrosive song that blends many sub-layers with the orthodox arrangement of the song and football chant-esque chorus almost reminiscent of something Euro-Oi-ish.  There are no real frills here, the approach is head-down and simple and this is one of the first tracks that undoubtedly sticks in the noggin.  Alas longevity may be the lacking ingredient - only time will tell. The main winning aspect is the dirty overlay, the somewhat grubby upper layers to the whole delivery - I do like a bit of crud!

'Talking Road' by Ahia is scuzz-surging sonica built on the fundamentals of DIY dabbling, urgency and contrast.   The song sprints from the off, eases on the accelerator and throws in a cruising chorus before repeating the rotation and making for a somewhat complete song.  The production values are crummy - I am wondering if this helps matters or hinders them - it certainly breeds character.  The band do veer a little off track and become a little too 'cock-rock' during the midway point - sometimes these musicians just get carried away.  Ache jump in next and offer a bit of 'Steel', a song that has a lightweight feel via the thoughtful vocals that merely caress the substrate of sound and leave it to get on with its highly active thing.  Glass-light refractions, hard riffs, pondering moments and robust rushes all clash and collide and leave one in the midst of 'indecision'.  The song never fully realises its potential, comes across as an unsure indified offering that fails to ignite any true passion within this sonic soul at least.  There is great movement amidst the writhing melody, there has been some thought put into the creative process but all the while I find myself just on the outside looking in.

Unwashed fuzzery comes with an almost mock-grunge number striving for attention and just falling short of the necessary grade.  AFK donate 'Call To Arms' and attempt to combine emotive threat, cool ill-temper, explosive frustration and billowing bomb-blasts.  All aspects arise from moments of consideration but this is a song that needs pure, exact recording standards and here, the end blend fails to deliver.  The song tempts one though, I reckon in a 'live' situation this one would be a stunner and reflective of a band set to attain greater heights - we shall see!  The Luddite Collective kick up the dirt with a sub-techno, pseudo trance chant known as 'Refuse, Rise Up, Resist' an interesting upchuck of experimental rebellion with wired and wanked weavings making for a mush of tonal twiddling that starts with good preparation before dissolving into a repeat-slam of rant-o-mania that is a little too basic for its own good.  The style though has great potential, there is room to build and hey, the message is very much needed in this day and age.

The last 3, Before They Are Hanged shake their 'Clenched Fist' and give a sweet touch to the CD with a neat little number tattooed with melodic nuances, harder angles and an escorting vocal abrasion that gives the song extra character.  The band go through the mid-paced motions with a punkoid erudition very much exposed.  From the opening drum flutter and bass layer through to the shout outs and well-arranged segments of the song I think this one works with a slow simmering subtlety - I suspect the band have a lot more in reserve.  Ferox Fucking Ferox come next, spill their guts with 'Digging Two Graves', a song that pounds in, races along with amphetamine urgency and gets the job done in a time longer than expected.  The length of the discordant dongler is down to the crew taking time out to sonically strut, pronounce with greater deliberation and indulge in some typical H/C posturing - and why not!  A decent upchuck of noise this - right from the realms of a certain slamming and bamming genre.

We finish up with 'Truth Untold' by Chain of Dissent, another raging inferno of sound, this time with sinews seared, muscles pulled tight and the old sonic sphincter adopting a vice-like clench.  An unapologetic roar-laden song that emanates a potent disgust and finalises this CD with an incandescent punctuation mark that many will surely find difficult to disagree with.  The band remain tight and stay true to the structure of sound.  The offering may be of a certain ilk but hey, what isn't these days?

So 15 tracks of vary violence, 15 tracks done for a very good cause.  Some of the offerings I love, some I am not keen on, others I can take or leave dependant on the mood.  This may not be the most impacting collection of the series so far but it is the most varied and unexpected which, in itself, is perhaps far more successful.  Now I have done my bit I expect you to do the same - get this CD, simple hey!



A relatively new crew on the scene with a post-punk accent hollering from their general base in South-London.  This hopeful release comes via Council Records and as fallen my way via Prescription Press.  There is a certain retro-independence going on within the weave and with only 4 tracks to analyse I am hopeful that I can get to the nub of the noisy matter and, with due honesty, give a true impression of what goes on with my usual Fungalised opinions.  

'Stress' has a great cut-glass introduction with tonal light refracted in many ways before being channeled into the opening verse where the bass is allowed early exposure with a flicker skin accompaniment making sure things are kept agitated.  The vocal style is dark and rinsed through with mystery whilst the underlay of sound grows in stature and, may it be said, authority.  There is a general weight to the movement, a movement that is of an obvious period in time when many generic pools crossed boundaries, blurred into one and came up with some quite interesting songs on a hit and shit basis.  Here the song culminates in many hard-hitting, emotively fueled moments when the leash is severed - it ain't a bad do at all and over time, just gets better and better.  'Atomica' has a somewhat agitated jazz-esque construction with an early off-the cuff feel not really satisfying my eavesdropping soul and leaving me somewhat out of sync.  The song eventually starts to find its true raison d'etre though and builds itself up with a vice-like intensity laying on the pressure and squeezing out more positive critique.  The emotive edge cuts deeply, the musical urgency is blatant and all the while the band whip up a good flourish of thriving noise.  When placed next to the previous quality laden song this follow-on effort shines even brighter - time though is much needed with this second track - think on.

'Banshee' is a song of nervous irritation, chest-relieving therapy, wishes, hope and loss.  The song has many refractive angles, each one contributing to the end kaleidoscope of cacophony that, when adjusted to, has many pleasing sensations and numerous uplifting power-surges.  The opening falls in with a staggering uncertainty before confidence ascends, a vocal need is exposed and a superb glimmer guitar appears.  The song moves with a distinct awkwardness, it fails to fully achieve the levels gained by the previous outings but it is by far from a duff do - perhaps time will reveal further layers of pleasure, who knows?

'Petrolhead' is a solid closure with a growing presence looming, threatening and then delivering the goods in a most doubtless manner.   Even if this music is not your thing, even if the vibrations shake out a critical response surely the acceptance of artistes in the know is still obvious.  Again we have great waves of post-punk irritation all cooked up with concrete production values and a certain degree of passion.  From each pore of the acoustic epidermis perspiration is seen to form, soon a full on sweat is blatant, the entire possession is taken.  The full stop to the CD is pronounced and adequate!

4 tracks partaken of, 4 tracks tossed around the assessing palette and I have come out the other end quite thrilled.  The opening track is the 'killer', it is a beauty and exemplifies everything captivating about the crew at the helm and for me is destined for a 'Song of the Month' choice.  Overall this CD is a pip, it ensnares a moment in time, expands and adds some - I have no complaints and good on Council Records for a fine discovery and Prescription Press for asking me to review.

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