A horror-fied band from Oxford, parading their rock and roll fiendishness before the Fungal assessor for the first time and hopefully not the last.  I begin with a 4-track EP, a mere small serving of teasing proportions to give me an inkling of what the band are up to and whether or not it is worth my time (and yours) pursuing further productions.  I tiptoe in and play with the ears on high alert - the noisy nutrients feed my soul and anything not sitting right will be shat out, hopefully with decent and considered critique - we shall see.

'Behind The Cobweb Veil' is gothic majesty slowly drawing in the listener's sensitivity via a keyed orchestration of charmed simplicity and emotion.  The scenario is beautifully set, the ebonies and ivories duly pull at the attentive sensors and I for one am gently bewitched.  The final depression of the keys is firm and preparatory - but the question remains, 'what is to come'.

The answer to the aforementioned teaser is had via the very polished and highly enjoyable rock and roll 'Video Nasty'.  This articulate and well-versed piece flows with accomplished tonality borne from obvious hands who know their curdling indulgences inside and out.  Despite the coruscated and clattering opening and dark edge to the thematics the song is utterly uplifting and played with an obvious relish and rhythm-soused accent.   The vocals are crucially given room to stay lucid and flow in perfect concurrence with the under-flowing noise.  For me, the blend of matters smooth and yet 'DIY rough' is perfectly captured.  This is a mightily impressive burst and has good zest, appealing source material and as said, a feel-good factor not to be doubted.

'Formaldehyde' is a smooth mover with that 'terror-slant' nicely incorporated.   As a fan of books and films from the horror genre I am in my element here and the fact the band are making such good vibrations only ensnares me even further.  This beauty deals with a love beyond death, an adoration preserved for all time and reflective of a mind gone more than a little askew.  The band nail what they want to do, within 1 minute 16 seconds the job is done and we are left with visions of a pimpled pervert gleefully self-abusing as he gazes at his liquid dipped doll of desire.  These mental aberrations and the overall acoustic goodness work a treat - thanks dudes, I may be having one or two sleepless nights.

'Porcelain' is a superb finale to this quality EP with matters found to be dealing with a woman unhinged and of fragile temperament.   The overall lilt expresses itself with slight sable shadings whilst the rhythm pulses and flows with qualified expression.  From the opening skewer twists to the somewhat casually warning of the first verse to the sonically stamped but still melodically effective chorus, this one is an undoubted winmner.  All components come together to create yet another marvellous moment of terror-tinted tuneage, the cathedral keys add an extra layer of intrigue and I am more than happy to play this EP over and over again.

I love these small excursions into the workings of a band and EP's are just perfect ways of being tempted and left wanting more.  The crew do just that here with a well-produced blend of character-filled tunes that really do create mental pictures - I like that, it brings one closer to what is going on and of course, causes some quite disturbing slumber - ooh where's me sleepers.



With untold spirit, an ascending quality and an honest charm to seduce the most ardent spiky soul our young lady at the helm is still weaving her merry way along acoustic avenues of many varied flavours.  Over the years this lilting lass has dabbled in many musical melting pots, each time throwing in her all before moving on to her next venture.  Of late there is a settled state of affairs and the creator of many a fine ditty seems intent on concentrating on solo aspects (in truth, tis the only pure DIY way).  Here we have a considered and cultured release that I have digested many times over and am now in a position to hopefully assess with a certain degree of accuracy (well, one can only try).  As per, thoughts will be upchucked with personal strains whilst taking on a certain objectivity - it is never an easy task.

We open with a delightfully crisp strum, a lucid water cascade of keys and a vocal overlay of thermally embracing stature that really does convince the listener of a DIY artiste reaching to lofted echelons.  'Stop Worrying Baby' may be a message easier said than followed, especially in these times of plummeting madness and detached regression into pastures foul.  The theme though is pertinent and is cruised one's way via an oral snaking of quite gratifying and impacting proportions.  The languid consideration helps one recline to the rhythm and absorb what is being said.  The keyed touches are gentle but assured and of course, it goes without saying, that the oral overspill is slow, steady and of an standard lofted.   This is a sanguine start from a composer both erudite and eclectic.

'Waving Not Drowning' has more theatrical opening tones with a certain jazzy-blue shading as well as something slightly windswept from classical soaked moorlands.  The touch of each and every key is purposeful and done with a languid ease, the oral addition tattooed through with emotive clarity and an inner fear of solitude and, maybe it be said, the future.   There is a certain stand-alone feeling pervading the thread of the construction, a distant exposed between those that know and those that don't.   The tempo is below middling, this enhances the emphasis of each section of a somewhat lengthy song, a lengthy song that has many meritorious aspects.  'I Still Love Me' may seem a self-appraising piece of throw-away indulgence but strikes me as a moment to take heed and make sure your inner belief is humble but assured and helps you to be a better person and a damn sight more productive.  This is a strong mover from a fuzzy uncertainty that soon gets going and rides high on a crest of music found in the higher and more commercialised layers of the sonic arena.  There is a certain sub-stadia feel, something perhaps borne from 80's rock chicks (ooh I hate that term) who strutted with pride and who delivered the goods in strong, emboldened fashion.  There is a thumping arse-kick in the strums, the skin work is sanguine and of course the fresh and sinewy vocals do the business.   This isn't music I would necessarily reach out for and play but I am no fool and recognise a good do when I hear it - just a shame I had to make such rather insulting similarities - I do apologise.

'In Case of Emergency' advances with trepidation with the vocals almost hesitant.  The application is prepared, tranquil and as good as it gets for this kind of waft animated music.  There is nothing new arising, nothing that will bowl one over and the output is both well-prepared and well-produced with emphasis lain on getting across the emotive content - which indeed it does.  Of course I have heard it all before, of course it goes through expected wallowing motions but...the quality runs deep and the care taken is blatantly obvious.  'Magic Bullet' is shot forth with more gumption, calls upon more acoustic assistance and uses methods adopted by many a pop star who likes to keep things squeaky clean and rocked up.  The rise from the initial oral donations to things more lofted is executed with eye-widening brilliance with the switch in elevation utterly gratifying.  Throughout all components are audible, ripe and living with a pellucid heart ticking with passion and rolling around thoughts with a reactive passion.  The range covered by the warbling lady is tremendous, the hint at 'bedroom recording' gives hope to DIY dabblers and we finish with an assured sign off - grand stuff indeed.

On into the meat and the start of the back stretch.  'Send Me Someone' is a bare basic, stripped down exposure of a solo artist absorbed, reflective and purely at one with her instrument of choice.  The old Joanna is caressed with motherly care, the heart is opened with caution and paradoxically mixed with something quite unequivocally transparent. Situations in this world cause deep thought, suggestive regrets aide the learning process and from the offering that ends rather abruptly, comes a flickering beam of something that could just be...hope!  'Semi-Colon' is a more rehearsed number, a more deliberate and polished creation with austere adhesion to classical guidelines created by popstars looking to create something heartfelt and emotively saturated.  In some ways it is a lethargic sounding number, a creation offering guidelines from a place of seeming sagacity whilst in truth, stating the obvious.  It is a song of life, appealing no doubt to those caught in an explorative mood or feeling a bit introspective.  It is a quite attractive concept but has been whipped ragged by less believable folk playing a game - I like what Ms Hodge does here but am too worn, cynical and wired up too offer a verdict of appreciation - I'll leave that to less warted wankers.

'Virtue Signals' is back to the pastures of more popularised produce from where essences of the 80's invade along with dabblings of pseudo-ballad-ised bollocks that, when penetrating the radio airwaves is duly switched off.   Here I am entrapped within the weave of a review and so am forced to abandoned the one-flick escape route and have to listen in before tapping critical keys.   The verdict from this scuzzed sonic shit is of something harmonious, gracile, deeply cleansed and very polished - I respect the artiste and the effort but cannot bring myself to say I am a fan of this one - so I won't!

The penultimate position falls to 'Stopped Believing In You' – a song that begins with fleeting atmosphere washed over with the expected tones and now-set pronouncements.  A simple song, one with pseudo-synthed suggestions, an utterly disinfected feel and with production values very much considered.  This one is again overly processed to me and has a bit too much popularised cheesiness to make it an ideal sonic snack for this ever hungry DIY dog.  Maybe if it was earlier in the CD I would have been more convinced, who knows, at this stage though I nod in acceptance of work well done but refuse to tell a lie and hail a Fungalised charmer.  The closure comes with the more captivating meander known as 'Let Gravity'.  The final soul purging expedition comes with honesty, hope and advancement with the future pondered and a reassessment of where to go taken.  There is an acceptance of the ultimate finale taken in the slow swinging stride but still a fresh determination seems to be underlying the whole raison d'etre and for me, therein, is found the most winning aspect.  This is a perfectly positioned full-stop and I switch off convinced - maybe I am mellowing in my senior years after all...then again!

So, Ms Hodge has come, delivered the goods and produced a fine piece of work.  Of course I can't claim that I am fascinated by the whole shebang and will be singing along and jigging like a whizzed up jerk any time soon but, despite not being in the groove I can still appreciate goodness when it flows and here it gushes by the bucketload.  We have a quality laden artiste at work here, this 10 tracker is an example of the talent on show - I leave it up to you if you care to investigate further.



Well here I am again, given a 3-track CD to review by a band I know fuck all about and am happy it is that way.  It keeps me neutral, fresh and without any sway be it kinky or corrupt - but please keep the bribing cheques coming, a man needs to wipe his arse now and again don't ya know.   So, what I have here are 3 tracks, a trio of ill-tempered tunes mixed with a patchwork cuteness so as to make a final blanket of sound one can get comforted by or suffocated by.  I jump in, tear up the fabric and see what noisy needlework has been accomplished.

The initial  invasion is slapped down under the banner of 'Pathetic Twisted Fruit'.  Yet again, the mechanics run to their own time, misfire with deliberate gratification and keep away from the usual 'boom-tit' groove of orthodoxical restraint.  The sinews of the sound ripple, undulate and then judder - there is a spasmodica apparent, a somewhat ad-hoc pseudo spunk-jazzism that somehow creates a wormhole to the soul.  I am intrigued, I know not why, the out-of-sync slavering is paradoxically regulated but regulated to an arrangement not fully understood (by me at least) - this is a good thing.  The crew are screwing with the senses, they are filled with an ill-favour for many situations, what comes is a toxic puke-out of retching rhythm that makes for an end splash down worthy of closer inspection.

Lesson one - observe, make contact, prepare to upchuck.

The second rip-up exposes the temperamental disarray known as 'Gammon Love' - a severe jabbing jaunt of sub-sexual teasing that spitefully rams home a discordant digit up the rear end of the right wing fuck-wits who bear sexism like a medal, hold opinions dear with great overwhelming obdurateness and contribute to a scenario both warped and prejudice.  The accents used to fire this damaging din-digit homeward are angular, vicious and suspiciously alluring.  A point has been achieved where tolerance is worn thin, a reactive response is borne with writhing abandon with a need to fuck the fucked and after making the 'pigs squeal' send them on their way to ahem - 'Fucks-ville'.  The song has a prowling hate, a seething perspiration and a very magnetic drift that entwines around the spine of the attentive eavesdropper and brings about, albeit very slowly, a crippling submission.

Lesson two  - tune in, think, oppose and do things in your own style.

The closure of this Micro EP (a term stolen from the lead oral donator) comes via the rather sexualised 'She Who Thrusts'.  This cat-walking whore of needful operational posing struts, shakes the booty and licks the lips with a twinkle in the penetrating eye.  Seduction, threat and blood-letting promise appear as one untrustable acoustic shadow, a shadow that lurks, offers and somehow...takes away.  The tension rises, the strings are scatter-screwed, the drums slapped with mean authority and suddenly we are left...abandoned and perspiring.  Was the climax an anti-climax, need we repeat the process to fully get the gist, or are we guilty of indulging because we just can't help it?

Lesson three - admit your perversion, do not be afraid to be nonplussed, go get head-fucked.

Time has been invested, I have opened a pornographic sample of irregular tuneage that does the business and offers my clattered head something off kilter to consider - it is a blessing to a situation bombarded with many things...predictable.  This kind of sound will not to be to everyone's taste, I think the delivery here is enhanced by the fact it comes in a 3 song package as it gives one the opportunity to focus and zone in - and of course, taste the goodness within.  I think the band would be best advised to offer another 3 track treat next time around too - I am taken and my loins are girded - and perhaps...highly anticipatory – watch this space!



Having a political point, thinking on one's feet and then creating music with a veritable snarl is a very important aspect of music, well for me at least!  Proud City Fathers tick-box all the criteria mentioned and present it with a solid, impacting aggression that is both controlled and very fuckin' irritated.  The band have played 2 gigs for me so far, on both occasions they did the business despite the second one being very poorly attended.  I like the attitude and the output, I am expecting much here, perhaps I am placing myself in a position to be let down, only the following review will provide the answers.

'General Ludd' foams over with steaming passion, a passion held aloft with bone-jarring wire work, heftily slapped skins and a throat delivery doused in fiery fury.   The need to break the silence, smash the framework of control and to question is exposed with a thoroughly convincing attack not designed for those of a nervous disposition or those with a fondness for the safety net.  From the off the song has a 'believability', has a surging anger that races from the speakers into the listening flesh and sets off a spark of hope and energy.  To open with such a potency sets a standard to be maintained, I am ready to partake.  'Veneer' is granite, pure unapologetic granite.  It comes, batters and crushes and rips away the upper membrane of all areas and exposes the profound shittery beneath.  Do not be fooled, read the sub-text and then ping and pogo to this one with a paradoxical mix of revitalised hope and despondency.  From the quick string flick to the paced-riddled trampling to the final sonic punctuation, this one is highly irritated and bursting with a need to shake-up the shit and expose the false-fuck-flimsiness.  Too many are shown to have no substance, this short explosion is all fuckin' substance.

'Cunt' is a spiralling 'shroom of furious emotion rising from a substrate of incendiary feeling that sees all areas come together to make one real hurtful bomb-blast that sends discordant debris flying this way and that and shredding resistant epidermal layers to absolute fuckin' tatters.   The production levels provide an exacting scenario so the violent fury hits the mark and leaves many a bruise - I love this one - fuckin' have it!  'Organised Crime' is a smooth moving bulldozer with a clear, bloodshot eye on the mission set and the mission to be achieved.  The thieving fuckers who create severe misery and add to an already lopsided system are put under the spotlight.   The fuckers amass, the rest stay as a lower class - the situation is shit.  Bankers are wankers, the bastards steal -, victims pile high.  The song here rattles and races with a pulse on fire, a pulse kept beating with passion for the sound and a spirit needing to spit back - fantastic.

Onto and into the 'Sewers' - a great shout out for peripheral kick-back artists who refuse to be told what to do.  On the outside of the circle, in the mire with the characters, foaming with a failing flamboyance whilst not swallowing shit - tis the only place to be and where true soul-saving success can be found.  This gravelly, shit-stained groover appeals again, due to the content, the defiance and the hard-hitting vibrations emitted.  That bass grumble is alive, the sticks roll and ravage with reactionary reality, the guitar chops down the final limbs of resistance and the gob is truly all imposing - smart work lads, smart work.   '1.34' is a stunning moment, a real fist in the flatulent far-away thinking face of the nostalgic soaked nut who needs to get with it and take a sincere dump on those rose-coloured glasses.   Zipping along with a chorus to scar, embrace and join in with this is a short fist-fuck and is a mighty powerful heave-ho with many barbed components - I love it.

'J ‘Accuse' spirals with machine-like affect, snarls with foaming rage against injustice, war and downright idiot murder.   The cables of cacophony are pulled taut, the tension forced is dangerous, the tonality threatens to snap at any given moment, when it does we are granted a reactive chorus cut that is raw, hungry and basic but, mightily effective.   The offering repeat rises, bubbles with desire and delivers with comfortable aplomb.   The mix is spot on and gets the best from another tetchy snippet.  A pacey start welcomes us to 'SRA' a song that refuses to procrastinate and self-indulge but instead rattles along with a blue-light urgency and a blatant thirst for getting the job done in double quick time.   Fizzing, incessant and restless the tempo and timing kept creates a whirlpool of life with the general swirl sucking in one's attention and all round good favour.   This is one that may get overlooked when generally praising the album - it shouldn't, it is a choice inclusion.

Simmering, potentially upsetting, utterly menacing.  'Crucify' is a disgusted deluge of anti-religious raving built on a disillusion with those absorbed with no reason why.  All areas are covered, no bigoted stone left unturned, the hate is directed all ways and avoids any PC prejudice - I respect that.   The slow and threatening stance is collided with quick thrust of head-wanking emotion, the contrast works and works mighty well.  Prepare, pace the pondering floor....pounce - and let the holier than thou fuckin' have it!  'Summer Of Hate' is a theme tune for all those troubled, discontented and forever kicking back and asking questions.   The wonderful open honesty of the state of the cerebral play is refreshing amid a world of plastic smiles and well-rehearsed happiness and the 100mph mad rush attacks that expose a jumble-ised belfry bursting with reactive thoughts and frustrations is an ideal moment for those equally distressed – think and fuckin explode.  Again the song gets things done in sharp time, refuses to suck the shithole of self-indulgence and leaves one reaching for the replay button.

2 left, there is no let-up in ill-temper and quality.

'Allegiance' skewers, rises from smouldering ashes and comes across as a Zombie of Reaction, pissing on all flags, walking a line against the grain, stating its case in simple fashion and showing a forceful spirit that will not be denied.   The orchestration is mechanoid is some respects, the bass line is machine-like and functions with great appealing tones.   The whole concoction is well blown through and takes us to the last port of call without any snags whatsoever.  'Skin' is a work of art, a touching beauty of gothic caresses tattooed with deep-rooted episodes of thoughtful hurt.   The passion, the alarming ambiguity, the final bow-down to a situation all dominant is inspiring.  Escape is sought, tension is high, the need to flee seems critical.  A smothering and all-invasive creation is eventually cast aside as the tonality is allowed breathe a little more freely.   The outcome is a finale to a fuckin' marvellous emotively sodden expulsion.  We are left with a perfect punctuation mark to what is, a very impressive CD.

PCF have nailed this one, proven what a fine band they are and I hope many more people now sit up and listen.   Here we have a minor classic, a burst of angst, a collection of songs to be blistered by, to take heed of, to promote further - this is my little nudge!



Following on from the delightful debut album known as 'Trotsky Waltz' Red or Dead continue the folky anarchic weavings with a 9 track album that I was expecting a great deal from.  My appetite had been whetted, I was in a 'Twist-ian' position to want and expect more with the band in the precarious situation of having that all important 2nd album feedback to come.  These Welsh warriors wear their hearts on their sleeves, display their arts with much to believe in, I go in, as per, looking to neither flatter nor deceive be honest and fair.

'Zombieland' has a stubborn heartbeat overlain with a verbal incessancy.  The opening string flicks and tympanic slaps lead into a desirous voice that aims to highlight the dead-head acceptors of media messages and the overseers rule.  Those with 'Eyes Wide Shut' fall victim and march onward, going through the motions making sure that those at the top stay comfortable.  The song is both acidic, sweet and cuts to the core of the assessing taste-buds with a multi-pronged attack of contrasting and complimenting proportions.  It is an opening beauty with good clout that duly winds itself up in tidy style - remember folks - please fuckin' think!   'Take The Streets' is majestic glory, coming from considerate hearts and musically talented souls.  The poison delivered is done so via a firmly strummed verse that wonderfully falls into a thinking-man's chorus.  The call for action is a call well-heeded, I am active, the question is 'are you'.  Comfort breeds complacency, if the gut is full the grit is negated and so the masses are kept at bay and never ask any questions whatsoever.    This is a sinewy and bold bout of encouraging music that really sets off a spark and enthuses one to maintain the 'get off yer arse' stance and to not rely on others to do anything - the message is simple - listen in, absorb, 'do it yourself' and stop being a lazy fuck.  A complaint on social media, empty words without physical input is pointless - get moving folks and what better way to do it than with this classic cut as an assisting soundtrack - cracking stuff.

'In The End' is another beauty, kissed with a Rut-ified lick and pushed forth with genuinely magnetic spirit and passion - that will do for me.   The arrangement is both calming, fidgety and motivating with questions asked that we should all take heed of.  'Have we done enough', 'have we stood our ground when it mattered', 'have we tried our best'?  This may niggle many (I hope so), be ignored by an equal number (ignorant bastards) and may get a few more trying even harder (God bless em') and whatever the outcome for me the song will be used as a kick up the arse and keep me doing my awkward and hopefully positive bit.  'Greed' follows and is a morose sounding episode with cymbalised seas crashing on shores of 'take, take' shape-shifting.  The opening verse is filled with trepidation and a somewhat fear-filled transparency.  From a desolate place of despair, a haunted cadence trips forth whilst the usual consumers ignore and fill up their reservoirs of useless trinkets and over-bloated bellies simply because they can.  The she-droplets that fall from the oral cavern are precise, touching and utterly laden with good intent.  I am a great believer in music having a message and if that message is both from the ticker and utterly pertinent then I am aurally alert - again I am absorbed here, the foreign textures and influences are a mere added extra.

The streets are quartered next with 'Calles del Delor' a tale of misery soaked procedure created by hard living, the need to survive and the draw of gang culture.   The tonal qualities are varied, vibrant and awash with romantic realities many take with a pinch of salt instead of digesting in its utterly raw state.  An acidic delivery opens, a kick back against the power urge comes, a spittle-soaked onslaught rises about the well-pronounced strings and the chorus is relieving acuteness related in verbals from distant shores - it makes for a listen that needs further discovery!  'Fall Down' opens with a delicious wire friskiness, is escorted by sobered verbals before a quite wonderful bout of simplistic chorus charming comes.  The warning within the weave is taken, the magical embroidery of the folked up weft is inescapable and although this is perhaps the most simplistic song of the lot it is an uncomplicated winner.  I can't help adopting cerebral visions of a Bagpuss-ed sing-a-long though with Madelaine the Rag Doll and Gabrielle the Toad at the helm - I apologise to the band for these mental pictures and duly blame a youth of glue and Zoff combined with too much TV - the song still has me hooked though so all reality is not lost!

'Limited Vision' has good pep, skips with a controlled fervour, a fervour kept on a leash by an adherence to the sub-tribal rhythm that points out restrictions and shackled outlooks.  The sharp edge is counterbalanced by a sweet serenade and so we get a combination to be utterly hypnotised by.  The short term thinkers who wear their blinkers and think only about self and the instant fix are a menace and the more niggled, exposed and hopefully embarrassed they be - the better.  This song has a good invigorating zest, it calls for us to take stock, assess what is important and what is not - I am always keen to think.  The next track, 'UK Publicity Machine' continues the quality, deals with the rotten monarchy aka parasitic filth, leaching bilge, examples of social imbalance.  The output is delightfully ill-tempered, a snippet of Pistol-ised hollering comes (cute touch) and the firmly struck tonal elements hit home with strength and sincerity from folk considering the corruption and blatantly refusing to accept the obnoxious procedure.  The main theme here regards 'equality' an area of life that needs constant attention with too many looking to create layers and divisions and keep the whole human force...diluted.  There is a certain authority of acoustica, a reiteration of the passion thrown and sincerely meant whilst all the while the band use the simplest yet most effective tonal qualities to get a most pertinent point across - I for one am convinced.  Feel those harmonies and solo desires - tis all beautiful stuff folks.

We close with the delightfully attracting portend that is 'A Storm Is Coming'.  This 'sit down, join hands, be as one and rebel' is an ideal punctuation mark to keep the cranial juices flowing, the soul inspired and the thought processes on the cusp.  The time for a kickback is slowly rising, idiocy, we hope, has had its day and a deluge to wash away the madness is at hand.  We have here a creation built on the barest of musical touches with the he and she croonings and the leading accents left to win the heart and sway one into a position of greater aspiration.  The ascension to the final embracing sing-a-long is perfectly done and certainly a moment not to be shied away from.  Inclusive, absorbing and giving the outcasts a glimmer o

hope - I like it, there is a great conviction here, that is all anyone can ask - thank you. So, Red or Dead, have upped the ante and have trumped their opening releases (which were mighty fine may I add) and have produced a 9 track beauty I for one am totally smitten by.  The opening hat-trick is something else and the standard set is maintained throughout with great subtle variation and caring folks exposed.  I like the style, the belief and the fact that the band are politically alive - you would be a fool not to be of the same ilk and to overlook this genuinely fine CD.



By crikey, it must be some time ago now since I put Born To Destruct on a gig, surely at the time of writing (April 2020) it is 10 years ago since the band came in its original format and strutted its embryonic stuff.  More gigs followed, change came, one punter told me that these were 'surely the worst band I have ever put on' - and yet, now they are a beast to be reckoned with and have a good old fan-base with many folks singing their praises far and wide.  You see, taking a chance with decent folk is the key, I have witnessed ups and downs and heard tunes that I like and hate but I still consider myself a fan, an awkward one at that and one always liable to be honest - I think that matters.   Here I am dealing with the bands umpteenth release, I go in with a new found freshness and the usual appetite for the sounds - here is what I think!

The commencement to the cacophonic avalanche comes under the tag of 'This Is The Sleaze' an unabashed sing-a-long sonic snippet designed for a certain festival no doubt (and beyond).  The pissed, the partying, the easily persuaded can all be envisioned hollering along to this opening gambit with smiles on their faces and in many instances a blank look wondering what the fuck is going on ha, ha (you know the ones I mean).  The mix may not be spot on and a certain decisive clarity not achieved but the effort is well-taken by this fussy old fucker and I like the swing in the ass of this opening effort and the target aimed for will be certainly struck!  I like the positivity radiated too - it is very much needed - never give in!  'Real Deal' has good bollocks on show and swings them with good gumption.  The growl factor is, as ever, effective, the opening tumble buggering is strong and we are soon off on a sturdy footing with the song looking to be a real impacting inclusion.  The promise is fulfilled although the fluidity is not utterly convincing and the slight dips in tempo and swing towards things more 'rocked' and 'cocked' do leave me a little in their wake.  Fans who love the band will lap this up, fans like me who are awkward cusses will be as fair and respectful as ever when they say they are 50/50 - I think the chaps understand.

'Destructmania' is the better song of the 3 so far - feel that liquid diet of loud noise, the pushing relish, the lunatic fringe desire to inject, infect...and encourage many to 'get wrecked'.  The essence is straight ahead ploughing, the frills are lacking and the running time is short - look, I make no apologies for flying the flag of things that get on with matters and do the job requested - suck on it!  'Hope For The Hopeless' is similar in style to the aforementioned track but has those extra bangles, has a sharper feel and just feels more accomplished.  The title of the track immediately attracts my 'underdog supporting' nature and I find this a real grooving chomper that gets me all aquiver. From the first command of 'get down', through the spiralling 'Sub-Esque' guitars to the thirsty vocals that are spat out this one is the leader of the pack so far and hey, with less gravelly vocals and more rock and roll emphasis there may be 2 good reasons why!

'Destructageddon' next (there seems to be a theme here) - and what we get is emphatic enthusiasm shown from the lead lilter with a guitar weave best likened to a Subsy moment when we were told that we didn't belong.   The verse is posted forth with a great open lung-ed appetite and as a consequence the song flies the highest thus far.  I like the drilling lick of the wires, I like the freedom in the oral donations and I like the solid swing that really gets the hips moving.  'It's All In The Reflexes' begins with an 80's sounding soundbite before clobbering along with a certain BTD throwback accent.  The boom-tap and straight forward thrust and push methodology is perhaps too reminiscent of other tracks the band has produced over the years but then again, if you are an indulgent and submerged fan, this may be a good thing.  Certainly the band show great clout and progressive touches (and so they should) with the log-lumping slog done with bollocks bared and impetus high.  I listen over and over and get snarled up with indecision before finally getting drawn into the mix and acknowledging a decent dig.  I suspect this will be a real winner 'in the flesh'.

'Rock And Roar' leaves me a little flat.  The ditty begins with great promise and accentuated activity that suggests a really good tear is to be had.  The verse is repeatoid and gets by but the stuttered follow-up hinders the flow and I get a little disorientated.  The rest of the journey just seems a little tame and however much the crew try to reignite my attentive soul I feel the flames diminishing and the thermal interest cooling.  Reviewing has these moments, this 'out of sync' shit happens - all I can do is hold my hands up and nail this one a Fungal 'No-Go' zone!

We begin the back stretch, '31 -10' grabs us by the conkers and takes on a mystery tour into melodic realms darkened, threatening and somewhat pseudo-cock-rocked.  The shadows darken, the byways of sound traversed keep one intrigued with moments of acceleration accentuating the listening factor.  This is a nice moment and a different tonality is adopted by the dabbling minstrels.  I think more could have been made of this episode with full on Halloween soundbites and creepy cacophonic cutlets thrown in.  The demons that finalise matters perhaps feel the same way - I for one would like to see this generic area tackled again.  'Cats Don't, So Why Do You' crashes and crawls, walks through treacle and pounds away with tympanic tempestuousness.  The gobbery poses many questions set to prick many a nerve, the incessancy of the niggle is perhaps done a little too much without any variation in the angles - I shall be quick here - I am 50/50 on this one again and I don't like cats - have that!

'No Shame Boogie' begins with unfinished mutterings before scooting along in fine fashion with a good vibration to absorb my eavesdropping senses.  There is a good upbeat defiance in this one, a defiance against the aging process and the downbeat drag that sees skin wither, balls drop, tits sag and the joints creak.  The homely guitar touches warm the cockles, there is a deep-rooted gentleness and positivity here despite the acknowledgement of time passing.  The holistic comfort of the sound, the ease with which it is deliver and the inner promise all make for perhaps may fave track of the lot - nice!  'M. A. F. cock-waggles in with metalised brandishments flashed before your disbelieving ears and escalating 'whoa hoas' deluged against your ever-eager lugs.  The composite blooms proper with sonic stamens blown in the melee and the productive pollen cast forth with a certain wild abandon that soon gets reined in and brought into some semblance of acceptability.  The outcome is of a good roar-fest that once again refuses and demands a reaction.  I get snagged, whipped up and forced into a position where I have to make a decision - do I run for cover, cower beneath the ruffled sheets or fuck it all and just get blown to bits?  It seems the choice is not mine, the inner soul says go for it and so I do - I suggest you do the same!  The final disjointed wire wanking kinda sums up the state of one's mind come the end.

Back to the BTD basics next with 'Rock And Roll Destruction'.  This is a celebratory number taking self-pride in what the band have done and continue to do.  It has been a long journey with many miles clocked up and many cacophonic conquests had.  The ethos is simple, without sub-text - 'go, play, enjoy and hopefully...enthuse'.  Some get it, some don't.  Some will be conformed, some never will, who cares as long as the effort is there!  Music should have many flavours at the DIY level and no rules to the rhythm - this will do for me, it all adds to the mix and match pattern of my eternal playlist - lovely.  The closure is a repeat of an obvious statement some of us (including me) need to pay more heed to.  'Fight Fire With Fire' says what it is and despite being strong-willed, passionate and as tough as old boots we all get down days, self-doubts and have times when the mental health hinders any sort of flow.  This is not my favourite musical creation but it saves its ass with the intent and final firm-footed stance that we all need to be reminded of.

And that is that - I have survived another Destructive frolic and have come out in one intrigued piece.  The crew are still creating in their own recognisable way, the productivity levels are admirable and the content utterly appreciated from this end.  This is a good cementing release, I still think there is a whole lot more to come and let us be fair, if there is enjoyment had all round then let the music keep on flowing.



The joys of being in the DIY scene are many, as are the pains, but along the way one meets some good folk and a friendship builds.  Sean and Dave of MLTF are 2 fine lads, a joy to know and are music creators I am always happy to do my honest, fair, critical and hopefully helpful bit for.  Here I have been given 5 tracks to listen to before they hit the airwaves, it is a privilege I do not take lightly but will review with the usual ethos and the usual considered way.  The band are now stripped to the basics but seem to be producing some real progressive tuneage with appreciable productive values.   I listen, re-spin and listen some more - here is the lowdown in my usual verbalised style - if you don't get it by now you never will.

'Fake' quickly bursts in, pulsates with pace, moves with a groove before the first verse is delivered.  Matter-of-fact vocals do the business above the live-wire guitar sequence with the drums pounding with good effect and ideal timing.   The blend of all components gets the best from a band who need to get the cylinders sparked up and firing again.  This is a refreshing propulsion and to be honest, it is a complete package that shows how the band have retained their crafty quality laden music but now added the extra sheen I was very keen to see happen.  From point A to point B this creation impresses and finalises in such a way to make for an absorbing listen - and the fact that it realises the amount of frauds out there are plentiful is icing on the acidic cake.  

Next and a strong strum, another pulse, a cold, icy matter-of-fact opening verse of the tersest kind.  This intro though does not reflect what is to come with a 4 minute 24 second episode to be had with subtle twists and turns taken via tale of debt, idiot spending and reaching for things that really don't matter.   The fuckers tell you how to live and you duly follow - and for what - just so the neighbours and shallow friends think you are a success - embarrassing isn't it!  The song here flies by with middling pace, alternates the textures and holds onto a very strong inner core of quite efficient music.  The tonality is in-line with what the opening gambit set, the blend of all components is clear and the job, as they say, is a ruddy good un'. 'Subject To Status' indeed!  To note – post spins prove this to be a genuine grower – I am in a chokehold and have no complaints!

2 down, so far so good, I plough on and throw in my attention to the synthed up 'Square Hammer', a snippet that moves in with intriguing authority and with a tonality out of the band's usual sphere.   From the fascination of the opening sequence comes a stripped naked verse built on firmly stated vocals and restrained string flexes that operate above a regular stick beat.   All looks and feels good until we are elevated into echelons dazzling with a pronounced and somewhat all-consuming chorus that does indeed have a certain majesty, sanguinity and over-all completeness.  The maturity within the weft and weave of this song, the emotive textures and the feeling of a creation complete make this the pure top choice of this Fungal Fan.  I am impressed, tis a shame it is a cover song but the band tackle it mighty well nonetheless and for me outstrip the original version by 'Ghost'.  Oh PS - fuck the Freemasons!

'Live Before I Die' is smart work, an easy going song with languid tones and adornments well calculated and neatly blended.  The creators are settled in their sonic realm and are tossing this one off the wrist with hardly breaking sweat it seems.  This is the toughest song to fall in line with of the lot, it has a bleak edge, sobered tones and a mid-paced acceptance but, within the composition a determination arises and a hope is generated from a seeming despair.   MLTF, over the years have used this 'hope/loss/despair/defiance' 4 trick methodology to a very convincing standard and as I stick with this one I can honestly say, 'the lofted level is maintained'.  Yes patience is needed but the end prize is worth it - I hope!

The final push is a beautiful snipe at the pseudo-punk religion done in double-quick pop punk time with bright sunny energy focused beneath a very attractive lens and delivered with utterly singeing intent.  'Get Outta My Way' shows worthy intolerance for many missing the point and playing the game by the numbers and rules set.  This short closing snippet is spot on and full of upbeat freshness whilst making a pertinent point but...the band miss a trick and should really make another longer version of this complete with a really pop punked middle 8.  I think it could be a real winning track - in the meantime this will suffice!

Are MLTF back?   Is this a one off dabble before distractions dictate?  Can the band build upon this latest taster and repeat the trick?  For me it’s a 'who knows', 'I hope not' and 'most certainly' response and, as time presses on, we all grow older and each day flashes by there is no room for indecision or procrastination.  To the band - get on it, to the potential listener - indulge in this 5 track offering - to myself – re-spin and keep the buggers encouraged!



I am fuckin' way behind on many fronts and so this review is rather belated.  Some may be frustrated whilst I have melodically masturbated but it is better to jizz up a review with thought rather than have a rushed back alley tug and leave the thoughtful seeds splashed against a wall where their lack of insight will fail to bear any provocative fruit.  So, at last I have rubbed away and eventually yanked the plank to 'Opinions-ville' - the destination reached, when metamorphed into descriptive passages, goes something like this!  I could add that 'I hope you like it' but in truth I am far from bothered - all I can do is listen and throw one off the textual wrist without sexual sub-suggestions - tis all up front with me, suck on it!   Oh by the way - Knife-Club are an hotch-potch gathering of various musical contributors from here and there within the DIY niche - I should go into details but as I say, I am in need of a good catch-up so please feel free to do your own research you loafing gits.

The opening sub-scrunched tones emerge from the nether layers before a holler comes and we get the first criss-crossing of sex-swords with snarls and spittle battling away via a sinewy verse that leads into a simple but snagging chorus.  The clatter factor of 'Making A Big Deal Of It' has good gumption and finalises itself with a resonating chant ethos - there ain't nowt wrong with parting the butt cheeks and curling one down on the sinister commodity of 'selfishness.  There is a good lick going on here, a fair barb that has many fundamentals to inspire my soul and a vocal violence with good snot snorting effectiveness.  Remember folks - the world doesn't revolve around you!  'Schnitt mit dem küchenmesser' reaches into the kitchen drawer, pulls out the appropriate blade and brandishes with orthodox and simplistic affect.  A quick burst done with all the trimmings of fast-action tersity and the double-ended gob delivery doing its thing.  This is a style well-whipped, will be continued to be flogged by bands of this ilk and it comes, goes and leaves little impact as a result.  It is played well, mixed to a tee and has a fair wallop but...ah those fuckin' pernickety buts!

'Remember The Gold Dollar Sign Hoodie' is a well-composed song with a concrete underlayer of chanting desire vandalised by a forcing urgency that hurls one back in the face of the penny-pinching gripers and general tossbag takers.  The DIY approach and ethics are obvious, the gritty fuzz flow and snapping oral chomp all combine to give the song life and the pace and precision are aspects one cannot really find fault with.   Again we have good join-in and sing-a-long devices operating with convincing clarity and destined to give the 'in the flesh' onlookers a chance to holler along and be included - tis no bad thing!

A swift knuckled bunch of 3 with 'Artex' a restless free-flowing primal sonic scream filled with nervous energy and self-doubting problems.  Having an itchy brain due to thinking about what one has to prove is no good at all - fuck proving anything, just do what you do with good focus and let the buggers think what they will.  The song here is wound up, self-destructive and inflamed - what is needed is a kick up the arse, a harsh word with oneself and more zoning - other than that - I like the fidget-fuck vigour.  'Tibby Tan Tiger' is a sing-a-long snippet many will undoubtedly embrace - you know the ones, the swaying serenaders who holler and then go home and do nowt (I am a cynical bastard).  This one is neither here nor there in my opinion and comes and goes without leaving much of an impression.  It is neatly played and has a good bouncy accent with some tidy, encouraging back hollers but it does little for me - I move on.  The finale of the fleetingly reviewed 3 is the paradoxically entitled 'Working Class Tories' - yes, the mind boggles.  There are many of the blue-soaked shits as well as many reds who vote one way and live the other - you know the ones - a tick in a box and then out chasing the coin, status and the trimmings - silly cunts.  Stepping down off my acidic horse (a horse with a big nob I'll have you know - as if that matters) I find this snarling puke up of agreeable venom a very appealing number with much ado made about something.  The times are trashed, a chance has been lost and a chance to improve the lot of the many (no, not your own life - you gotta think bigger than that) has been missed and now we can duly suck shit and think about where it all went wrong - the answers seem clear, but are they?  Yes, a good flowing burst this and the chanted episodes really do liven up the ticker - job done!

'The 1%' bass grumbles, pronouncements come, a straight double-ended fuzz onslaught comes arrives with an elevated stance taken and a typical noise attack had.  The same can be said for 'I Mean I Probably Would Take An Adidas Endorsement' which is of the same strain that is all well and good but already in danger of being rogered ragged.  Both tracks come and go and leave me unenthused despite being mightily clobbered and having genuinely effervescence.  This is a mere personal viewpoint, it may be a minority judgement but there ya go - I am not paid to tell lies and even if I was...I wouldn't.  I know many who will love this, I know a few what won't - I have said my bit!  'Killing Two Birds With One Stone' completes a hat-trick I fail to be thoroughly inspired by but here were have some good chopping arrangements with the gobbage allowed to expose a fine hunger and further clarity.  I play umpteen times, I feel this one growing on me, my resilience to things hammered is weakening but the following track ups the ante and I am smitten.  'Do You Want A Knife With That Salad' snarls with imposing need, requests the blades of destruction and just gets on with the task at hand with superb barbed relish that entangles the inner sonic core and keeps it snagged right through the cracking finale that is, in truth, repetitive and chanted.  I like this one nonetheless, it works, it triggers an inner applause and hits the right receptors - solid.

2 left, '27% Of Statistics' jumps straight in, wants something more than being just a number, it perhaps asks for the impossible.   The style is as set, the sword of duo edge is cutting and sharp and the rapid-fire action is what many will absolutely thrive upon.  Machine-gun rolls invade, a gnawing accent consumes and the early structure sought is adhered to.  The end comes quickly and we bass-fall into the delightful chant along 'TNSClub 7'.  This closure is a fine episode of hope and resistance with the swiftly nailed verse being a perfect partner for an instantaneously catchy chorus.  This is a good way to end the CD with positive vibes aplenty, an acceptance that all things may not go to plan and the need to dig in that may arise.  There is a good energy in this end punctuation mark, it may be one of the most 'obvious' songs on the CD but I care not - I like it so there ya go.

Not a bad do this, a good consistent blow-out from many well-versed fiddlers still with a need to twang and twiddle in the hope of creating some tonal goodness.  I can see where the band will fit in, I can see many who will love the spillage and, as per, ruddy good luck to em'. The more music being made the better - we should be grateful.



I like The Bordellos - they confound, confuse, create with home-made flavours and, more often than not, tickle the Fungal senses.   They are a highly productive DIY band and have had me absorbed over many rotating circles.  Here, Brian Bordello goes alone, a lo-fi immersed bugger who won't sell out and who is more productive than a council estate lothario with swallows on his neck - ooh those semen-spitting demons.  This time, we have two acoustic tracks from the perpetual purveyor of sonic experimentation - I am happy to donate some time sharing my thoughts!

'Boris Johnson Massacre' has a light skip in the strum despite the utterly factual content of the song.  The mop-headed comedian voted into power by people not-thinking has made a mess, another contributor in a long line of donators to the crap-heap of life.  The sweet serenade has a somewhat beaten acceptance of a situation best deemed as farcical and ultimately hopeless.  The lilt is soft, lightly applied with the vocal style 'as-a-matter-of-fact'.  It stinks to buggery of The Bordellos accents and that is no bad thing.  There are no frills here, no heart-stopping thrills but just a sobered observational flat-line that, duly does what it sets out to do and, in the process, appeals to my earthy desires and political disgust.  The Tory Jackanory Story - tis a comedy still unfolding and destined to inspire the disgruntled to keep on creating.

'Laughing' is the better song of the brace with a slow repetition coming to a tepid simmer that remains easy, caressing and highly considered.  The question asked is delivered with a soporific slant, we are on the cusp of slumbering sonica where eyes are lidded and we are left at the final silence to drift off and ponder.   Some music is made to provoke physical activity, some is cultivated to promote cerebral consideration - this song is an example of the latter and is a nice counterbalance to the flip-side product.  I play this ditty over and over and am absorbed - it is a great contrast to the rowdier tunes I get bombarded with.

So two somewhat monochrome tickles from a prolific plucker and keeping the misshapen ball of cacophonic consternation rolling forward.  Tis a flavour of DIY some may spit back out, some may swallow in greedy gulps but something I am happy to sip at and roll around the assessing palette - make of that what you will!



From northern shores comes a band who have always been appreciated by this Fungal git due to creating a cacophony that is quite individual, of varied flavours and with a distinctly quirked, hard-worked edge that has a concrete level of nouse and talent.   The crew are a good bunch, have a deep doofing streak that I thoroughly respect and when they play 'live' deliver the goods and maintain their amiable approach - which is a real vital aspect of being in this, and any, scene.  I am up-to-speed with Litterbug reviewing duties and am faced here with a 16 track task - as per, I am up for it!

Scrunched and somewhat nostalgic strings open 'Push It Away' and before we know it the LB louts are delivering a very confident, spruced up, but still raw tune that has all the hallmarks of the bands very own sub-pop-punk sound and somewhat off-kilter chiming.  Bass and guitar collide and operate as one efficient unit, the sticks react with regularity and a certain naturalness whilst the recognisable oral donator does his ever-reliable and effective stuff.  There is a good buzz going on here, a hove of gratifying activity I am happy to poke a stick into - oops, I think I have been stung!

From the opening assuredness I progress onto 'Confused', a verbalised start is quickly swept with vigour under the table of tonality before a full on clatter of noise comes with the usual keen and all-consuming vitality.   The construction glistens from a multi-faceted lump of loud and colliding gusto with the impetus unstoppable and only broken by a quick holler out and a reinforcement of the zeal shown.  This is a grower the self-obsessed will cower at, the few may consider, the odd one may use as a tool to become a better bod - the song however, still works.  Next up, a groovy bass and guitar contest, a push into the meat of the melody, the usual oddments of acoustica are brought together whilst the band emphasise the fact that we are all just test-dummies for many a big plan.  'Guinea Pigs' is a cute mover, a reactive sound that seems to have the players instinctively bouncing off one another and making for a very comfortable and natural sound.  Having listened to more than my fair share of LB produce I feel the band are playing within a very rewarding zone at the mo with evidence proven via these opening 3 tracks.  As per, I replay just to be sure and reckon this latter effort has greatest style and a fair darn wallop - ooh me cacophonic conkers.

'Time Machine' next - twisted cables come, a sweet well-manipulated bit of bass bothering leads us into a pinging ditty with the usual heavily scrunched sound and forever advancing arrangement present.  There is a good clash of that which is perky and that which is persistently progressive here with my favour leaning towards those bits that really have a fruity feel.  This is a continuation of all that has been and all that is to come - I have little extra to add (which makes a change).  Sharp electric shocks follow via 'Getting Fined', a rather piercing song that deals with the taking of cash from folk not following in-line and treading on the pages of the easily overlooked 'rule-book'.  The construction of the song is a trifle messy for me and with escalations, discomforting discordances and a somewhat patchwork feel not really hitting my sensors of appreciation.  I don't know why this is, there is some good musicianship going on here but something seems just out-of-sync.  I think the band try and do too much with what should be a proud-to-be simple song.   The end wind down fails to inspire.

The next duo begins with a craftily manipulated bass-line injected with the odd neurotic string twinge before the opening oral gambol comes with a fine angular snag offered.  'I Don't Want Anything' sees the Litterbuggians at their finest with that oh so identifiable lilt combined with the tonal qualities that always seem from a place of opposing melody and sub-awkward timbre.  The arrangement is, as ever, deliberately off kilter - I like that!  'Let The Night Unfold (Part 2)' begins with a dramatic horror-tinted pseudo-explosion before rolling along in the pre-arranged manner with the wheels of the song seemingly on the brink of leaving the rails, especially after the sub-chorus yellings.  This is a severe patchwork of sound, at times jingling, at others jangling, it is a real test of the reviewer’s temperament.   The opening verse is bouncy and easily grabbed, the swift chorus is somewhat elusive and needs time - it comes, goes, jumps around in spasmodic fashion and leaves me at least, somewhat confounded.  I need to play over and over and duly do - I am gradually falling in line - the bastards are having me.

As per - a quick assessment of four to keep the textual oils flowing.  'Alienated' is a 1 minute 50 second semi-sing-a-long inspiration to keep the toes-tapping, the hand-slapping (on the chest if you are one of those trendy fuckers) and the fingers clicking (if you consider yourself ‘cool’.  Lots of gumption and goings-on are paraded in and around our aural receptors and I for one am taken by the active little snippet.  'Midnight Dream' briefly flashjacks, indulges in a great fluent and eager progression with the gobwork incessant and the melody at times reaching a new found liquidity that the band really do need to harness and use for future cheese-pop chunks that may see them produce something unexpectedly wonderful.  Here there is much to entertain and perhaps frazzle the brain but man, those sub-chorus driftings take things to a new gratifying level - think on chaps, Fungal expects!  'Too Late' gallops with little patience and a refusal to 'fuck around'.  The initial pace is without wayward weaving and forces the cacophonic vehicle through the delicate silence of your soul.   The chorus cut is warped, to the point and done with great haste.  There is a rush in the rhythm, an assured and buoyant uplift of energy that is borne from players almost wanking out the vibes without thinking - the band are certainly accomplished and comfortable with what they do and are still in the musically fecund groove.  The last of the fertile and evanescent assessments is the disgruntled and the partly disjointed 'Cut Throat Capital'.  The song starts with a bright and breezy clarity and something akin to a routine considered 'orthodox'.  The creation works well and is an efficient mover with all cobwebs left in a rather bubbling wake.   The chorus de-escalates down the tonal ladder and adopts that expected 'slanted' style that really is a perpetual curveball I am still striving to grasp and duly puncture.  This one is par for the course, if you are out of line already you will stay that way, if you are on the right track then the journey continues.

'Not A Real Person' takes us into the last five that I will deal with in one great fistful.  This opening thrust is a great ditty and one destined to be thoroughly enjoyed by all those fucked off with the idiocy of the populace, detached from the flow and striving to piss against the wind and ultimately failing.  From the opening starburst a revitalising chant-a-long verse comes that is a great source of energy for the outsider.  I love this one, those spiralling verses are pure quirked poppery of the highest order and the spit back against the consumer shittery is icing on the cake.  'Sludge' stutters, hesitates, tumble tosses before shouting out and striving to escape the cloying and confounding mud that makes life, at times, a fuckin' grind.  The descent into the cacophonic maelstrom is done with oral hollers and proclamations of sub-despair.  The composition is simple enough, is played on a tight wrist and has a certain low-slung rock and roll slackness that appeals.   The song ploughs on and the band instinctively know when the job is done - kaboom.  Next and glass shard tones open 'On The Table' before a scuttling roll over the tympanic membrane is had and the 'state and shout' first verse is upon us.  The angled tones are there once more, the merge into a nebulous chorus comes before we jump back in the loop and continue with the total clashing and bashing incessancy.  Politically alive, kicking with spasmodic serenades and sonically progressing with the standard set, a standard maintained.

The last 2, 'Straight Edge' moves with a sawing action, cuts to the sentient bone and clears the picture for us to progress forward.  The clarity of all components and the final blend is most effective with the end parcel and packaging still done with the tight security and certain tilted style that the crew manipulate oh so well.  I am at a stage here though where I am in need of a really disjointed surprise, something out of sync with the bands procedure - as a result I merely assign this penultimate mover and shaker with a tag of 'OK'.  The last blast sounds, the title of the acoustic escapade is assigned with the appellation of 'Waiting For Something To Happen' - in we go folks.  What we get at this closing juncture is a lively clatter splatter of undying energy and colliding donations that develop into a frisky sing-a-long piece that is very much of the strain set.  From first to last the band have maintained the quality levels, have remained industrious and have hammered away at the cause with efficient insight and application.  Litterbug do what they do, if you are not in sync now I think you never will be.

What is there to add - the band have delivered what was expected and proven themselves over and over but, for me at least, there needs to be some strange and challenging angles thrown in and some new sonic sub-areas explored - the crew have mastered their art now they need to stretch themselves - this is no time to sit on one's posterior or indeed ponder one’s navel - I am still in a state of expectation - greedy noise-loving bastard that I am.

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