A long-term favoured band are hanging on with several line-up changes had over the years, a strip down to two pluckers now the state of affairs and with many distractions in the way of full-on productivity par for the crumpled course.  Here the recipe is simple - an A-side original, a B-side cover, both played with MLTF's usual attention to detail and ear for a good melody.

'I Fear For You' punctures, twists, states and spirals before letting loose and dashing along in good spirit.  The lyrics come thick and fast, the state of the social play is laid bare with beatings, murder, distress and shattered lives all brought to the forefront of the examining cranial gunk and left there for one to ponder further.  The rapidity of the construction tests the player’s mettle, as per, they rise forth with flying colours.  The blend of all areas is exact, the message within the mix shows compassion and an understanding of a situation that causes concern.  Hate and a lack of respect gnaw away, become a prevalent predator forever on the make - what a bilge situation.  I like the pace injected here, the self-perpetuating momentum and the construction of the song - only one gripe arises - I feel that when the vocals enter the music gets pushed a little too far into the background and loses its wallop - or is it me?  Beside this, we have here a track I am salivating to see 'live'.

The opposite side of the disk is a cover, one originally carried out by that Irish singer/song writer Foy Vance, you know, the guy with a shit moustache.  Anyway the song was sent with a terse message -  'Another cover in the tradition of a MLTF single/cover release. Perhaps not the punk style many would approve of!' - well there ain't nowt wrong with that!  'Burden' is a soft meander with a thoughtfulness for the weight of worry others carry on their time-worn shoulders.  The subject matter needs a tender approach and an individual stamp - I feel the treatment given is precise and the beautifully harmonised chorus moments a sincere pleasure.  My eclectic taste-buds partake of this warm, pre-melted melody and knowing the crooner I can feel his caring attitude emanate from the spinning silver circle.  The string touches are more than apt, the drift languid and liquid - tis good to see people step outside of any safety zones.

I am an unabashed MLTF fan, if the two tracks here were absolute shite I would say so and still be a fan - the fact is though the job is a good un' and I am more than pleased.  The key now is to get these buggers producing more and to get them gigging - now therein lies a truly monumental task.



A band dipped in terror, a 13-track treat here not for the superstitious or faint-hearted.  Having been impressed with the band’s latest offerings I felt it only right to dip back and do an outstanding release I hadn't yet reviewed.  So far things have been hunky-funky-dory (with nobs on). Here, although tiptoeing to the embryonic stages of the band, I am expectant of more blood-gushing goodness.

'There's Something Wrong With Sara Jane' opens the latest jaunt as we prepare to trip the black lights fantastic.  We are given a warning, a brief intro that puts one in preparation for a meeting with more 'monster makers'.  The first tale deals with a family walk in the woods resulting in a vile demonic possession that is accurately relayed unto the mental receptors.  A young girl is seen to thrash and spasm amid this swirling and swift tune that is just a perfect start to a highly anticipated CD.  The layers all have space to breathe, the underlying mischievousness is subtle, the eye for the macabre more than obvious - a real treat for those who like devilish ditties.

Schizophrenic doppelganging dictations come next with an accursed victim forced to commit crimes and seemingly still wallow in a scenario of innocence.  'Invisible Simon' is a curse, an inner demon hell-bent on deviancy and casting the blame elsewhere.  A confused man goes forth under dominating commands and does many a dirty deed whilst the nebulous and nefarious Simon walks away free of guilt.  A cracking cutlet this, one to unsettle with cerebral doubts and those tempted to trespass into things deemed wrong.  The band capture all areas perfectly.  We segue forth on keyed tiptoes into the slow brew of 'Jacqueline' which is a neat change in tempo and comes forth with a glimpse taken at a she-slasher wandering forth in lamp-lighted streets where the unwary dwell.  A very cool stroll is taken via the tempered musicianship with the ambience carefully set and sending a creeping hand up one’s spine to duly raise inner concern.  This is my least favourite song of the trio sent my way thus far but it is still a decent listen - the band are operating at a very heightened level.

'Death Warmed Up' is the most straight-ahead concoction so far - lots of gumption, good pace, orthodox verse and chorus cuts and as per, lucid components all there for one's admiring lugs.  A cymbal splash, a plunge into the midst of what seemingly seems like pseudo-necrophiliac infringements with fear again a factor to be reckoned with.  This is a fresh and fluent movement that doesn't fuck about or waste one's time - it is a ruddy beauty.  The twisted love of 'You Are The Plague' is cutely played out with yet more keen-eared know-how and more well-oiled lubricity that reaches the easy access neurones and sets them all-a-tingle.  The obsession is recognised for the overpowering infection that it is and despite being caught hook, line and sinker, there is a trepidation to consider.  The whole while the backdrop of sound is strong and melodic, note must be made of the keys that inject layers of extra life into this and the other mixes - tis ruddy wonderful.

A quick grasp of 4 tracks - 'Intruders' asks a question, gets an answer, tub rolls the response around the deepest recesses of the sonic mind.  A maelstrom of noise unwinds, words spill from a body in suspended animation, visitors are not welcome, where is my one and only true love?  As a house is invaded and a haunting becomes all-consuming the band weave an observant path down many eerie halls whilst leaving a decent tune in their wake.  'Sound Receptive Crawling Hand' is a new twist on the killer-limb theme with the crew articulately developing a take on matters with a bionic appendage on the loose and intent on murder.  The quick thrust of the song enters on blue-light flashes, maintains its impetus and makes good to honest progress on a substrate of shifting stable melody and the usual cavernous under/overtones - the keys are once again major players and bringers of delightful depths.  'She's Not Of This World' is a pseudo-space age suggestion with great gumption and alien-based adoration.  A lady walks amidst the Oi Polloi, the radiation of beauty and threat is immense, the lead vocalist is taken aback and truly smitten.  The pop song delivered in homage to the extra-terrestrial beauty is melodious, smooth, to the point and easily digested.  When the band keep things short and sweet they thrive, this is an example of the musical prosperity exposed.  A bounding bass chased by sticks, more strings and the synth take us into the zippingly accurate call up of 'John Wayne Gacy's Circus' a gruesome sideshow advertised by plucking fuckers very much looking forward to the blood-letting spectacle by letting their feelings overspill into the highly relished sound-splash.  Heads will roll, vomit will pour forth but hopefully this finally slapped down number will help you feel better.  The chorus is an easy cut to follow and join in with - 'hip, hip' hooray'.

I creep into the back stretch and encounter the slow mysterious melodic trappings of 'Flies In The Windows'.  A zenith of the CD that carries a coolly controlled terror factor whilst laying down a foundation of reliable atmosphere.  The opening strains are from sable cathedrals, the prominence of the ensuing strokes is more than a little imposing and the tempo of the song is just ideal for the scenario set.  The graceful glide into realms where the clammy claw of Death may have claimed a new victim holds attention, it isn't long before we realise Death has been thwarted and a reanimated corpse is among us - enjoy!  'She's So Cold' has stand-alone strength, is a souped-up number that soars high from the off and with a focus on the end silence and getting the job done.  The opening thrust is inescapable magnetism, the verse and chorus cuts are sweetly fluent and all along this latter end ride I remain utterly absorbed and sonically smitten.  The sinister content of the crooning is mere icing on the cake.

The last brace, 'V. E. R. M. I. N' takes centre stage and what a stunning rodent of rhythm it is, gnawing away with ascended clarity that helps it scamper to the fore of one's attention and demand some individual note.  I gotta say that the verse is a strong contender for moment of the whole CD - it has just a fantastic appeal that glides into the stated chorus with sanguine solidity.  A sharp piece this that reignites all attentive sensors - just what the twisted doctor ordered.  We finally end matters with the cat-killing controlled spite of 'Goodnight Kitty' - a calculated and considered piece of malevolent scheming that sees another garden-crapping creature go under the spotlight and get lined up in the sights.  As per, the band do what they do with consummate skill and easy application - this last tinkle is laden with underlying dubiousness and a real sense of ill will with the scheming music a quite ideal arrangement that showcases a very good band indeed.

A healthy lucky 13 of darkened dabblings has been delve into and I have come out bloodstained, beaten and bloody well excited.  Das Ghoul need more exposure, more consideration and more respect - I am up to date with reviews, I demand more but want the crew to make sure they don't rush things and ruin a great collection of sounds - somehow I don't think they will! 



And from the midst of a nagging pandemic and a time when the rebels were exposed as unreliable, the social shits desperate and the rest of the Oi Polloi fuckin' senseless, I try and find some sanity and salvation in the confounding maelstrom of madness.  Being productive is par for the course and creativity endorsed, a bit of good music in the mix is always helpful.  During the closed months I have been more immersed in the realms of Northern Soul in between usual reviewing requests, here I go a trifle folky with a band I have always held in high regard (even when a tune is not to my favour) – I like to keep things varied. It has been a long a fruitful journey watching (and assisting) this lot, they have moved on into realms I happily leave to others (you will never beat level zero) and yet still keep me in their loop (very kind).  Here is the latest offering, take your time, I have listened long and hard (as per), there is a bit of sense in what I say (even if I do say so myself).

We open with the anger-infused regularity of 'Red Is The Colour', an anti-war raving that has a deep gut-grumble, a persistent skip in the sonic step and an unrelenting pressure applied to the inner button marked 'indifferent'.  The propaganda machine had its way, the blinded walked unto death, the ruby rivers that flowed were easily forgotten by a world quick to advance into pig ignorance and selfishness.   When I first played this song I was unimpressed and also detached from the content, with effort and patience the song has embraced me with its emotive value, musicianship and intentions - not bad at all but...a huge shadow is cast as the first moment of magnitude slaps home under the tag of 'Peace And Quiet'.  Headsticks have a prosperous array of classical set-list songs and here we have the latest recruit that will be vying for attention as the pen hits the paper before the band clamber up onto stage.  An environmentally alert number I hope aggravates many a soul into doing more for this precious planet whilst arousing their acoustic sensors with a quite magnificent outpouring.  The opening verse has a gratifying gentle oscillation that follows on in fine style from the initial doom laden vibrations.  The slip into the chorus is lubricated to perfection with a sing-a-long injection destined to please the sweating faces in the pit.  I play this one until the CD runs bald, I seek out blips and blemishes, I resurface admitting something rather immaculate has passed my way.  Headsticks at their best here - conscious, conscientious, thinking and using the music to relay a message and all parcelled and packaged with great affect - will you take heed and be the one!

'Miles And Miles' rolls forth, has a dubious inner core and radiates a tale that seems to have a distinct sourness.  There is an internal resonance of something country-fied, something almost from the backwoods where a couple go too far and the conclusion goes cock-eyed.  From the intense confessional verse we hit a chorus with a familiar she-shadow adding extra tonality to the oral arrangement.  Strong string shuffles and pepped up tympanics add energy and I travel on with the gist and let the final slap out leave me convinced - not a bad do.  'A Tear For Yesterday' is a treacly, wallowing song that is not my thing.  It is a jagged and ragged disarrangement devotedly determined to roll in its own cerebrally inflicted wretchedness.  The tears roll, borne perhaps from a guilt or of a need to self-flagellate and banish some demons.  The uneven surface to the sound reflects inner turmoil, a soulful upheaval that leads to an inner break of clattering cacophony.  The band, I suspect, are dabbling here and that is no bad thing, I recognise the aim and the relationship between the content and the music, I am just not rating this as a fave.

From a personal dip I rise up on high to marvellous majesty of 'Tyger, Tyger' - a song that is bordering on acoustic perfection and captures a feeling of those wounded, put upon and in need of a helping hand.  The game has been taken out of the victim’s hand, the trials and tribulations have brought one to blooded and wearied knees, what beckons is truly dreadful - sometimes we all need a lift, sometimes we can go beyond help.  This tragic and soulful sojourn into internal passageways of ticker-tearing transparency is a truly pivotal point in Headstickian time and one that shows this is one of the best bands on the block (like I have always told ya don't ya know).  From the first spin to the latest, this is a tireless acoustic edifice laden with longevity and respect winning ingredients - a true behemoth and one to take deep heed of, if you see a soul suffering go forth and help, be that listening ear, radiate that love.  'This Ain't Politics' is a neat follow-on, one that fucks the ego-soaked arses, shouts out for the opinion against the flow.  Shit times inspire shouted requests and if these pleas are done with erudite insight and sincere forethought then I for one am convinced.  There is a plucky spirit flowing here, the clarity of all areas is sharp and helps one get utterly involved.  I hear more lady lilts, I hear textures deep, I feel the effort and the ease - I don't need to investigate and elucidate further - this will do for me.

'Naked' has an earthy old school feel from the depths of darkened discordance where ill-temper duly dictated.  The preacher comes and raves and rants against the predators that take everything...including the piss.  The swift and jagged attack that comes is done with a precision not easily understood via one or two listens and again time must be invested to gain true clarity to the sonic subject matter placed under the lug.  I rotate, play low, play loud and come out yet again...won over.  A good injection of spunkiness - never nowt wrong with that, unless your arse is of a tender leaning.  'Red Sky' drops back to lighter tones, the more obviously orchestrated approach that the Noggin Twigs do so easily and adeptly.  The strings flutter and swing, the skin clattering timber tepidly keeps time, the front hollerer pours out an anguished oral flow.  Questions are asked, a certain sense of abandonment and a feeling of being lost arises - time is the enemy, the old Father who rolls on with disregard and detachment - what a bastard!  'Burn' is a choice cutlet carved out with an insightful talent and a knowledge for a good tune.  The angle has a defeatist desperation but still radiates a counterpunching uplifting that creates a somewhat acoustic oxymoron one can mull over and over and come up with repeated conclusions.  The swing of the paradoxical serenade is honey-sweet, the vocal overlay as troubled as ever.  The verse is angst-laden, the chorus deliciously easy and at times shadow-enhanced with caring she-assistances.  The abandonment of hope seems prominently intertwined with a need to rid the world of idiocy - I like it.

I enter the remaining three walking on a cloud of delight.  The sweet joy that is 'Opium' is poetical dignity striving to remain upright and august against an eternal feeding that sees the populace get drugged up on falsehoods and failure.  This is the shortest song of the lot, what a diamond it is, shining bright from a velvet underlay of supreme comfort and cultured shadings.   There are further avenues of exploration opened here - the band still have many great things to offer.  The jangling juxtaposed follow-on is borne from injury, nightmares and being a victim of a constant battering from both afar and closer to home.  'Speak Out' and 'Danny Boy' come as one for me, both raging against the silent, the acceptant and the ones taking a whipping whilst the world and the wankers carry on regardless.  A gut feeling arises, we hope they get theirs - the problem is, they may get off free of charge.  There is a viciousness in the mix, a tangible resonation of a carcass thrashed and having had enough.  The wordage spills like an ad-hoc current splashing and foaming over a rocky rhythmic underscore – it hits home with a mighty crash.  As a sufferer and an unsettled 'erbert for many a moon (since year dot in fact) I can easily relate to the inner machinations here and as strange and perverse as it seems, I uncomfortably enjoy this one.  The end verdict - fiery stuff and ruddy damn well effective.  Note to all - don't just sit and take it - 'speak - fuckin' out' and never let the demons take control.

So, these are the ramblings of a man trying to be honest, fair and in-tune with what is going on.  As a fan of this fan band and having done a small bit for them and reviewed all their dabbling to date this is a ruddy good do and displays a unit with a wealth of fuel left in the tank.  I will never claim to like everything by a single band, lying and kissing arse is not my way, I hope this adds weight to the word when it spills praise - it is done with complete sincerity and meaning which I think, in this instance, tells you how good this CD is - have it!



From the vast unknown swing in a band with an individualistic streak that bodes well for the future of the DIY pit and all its many facets.  The band are a 3-piece from London, apply to their output a grungey, sub-gothic cum garaged sound that copulates and collides and gives birth to something highly provoking.  My assessment comes on the back of a review that my good friend Eagle Spits duly coughed up and inspired my curiosity - DIY minds operate in the same way methinks.  Anyway here is my take on the 4-track tickle - have it.

The title track of 'Nouveau Bleach' is a delicious throwback to basics with a charmed garage-esque strip-down with the band tackling the current state of play that sees the land parched, the liars win the day and the world turn to utter sickening shit.  The spartan application is founded on a gravelly underscore of 4-wired trembling with the guitar adding nice contrast via light retro-alternative strums that remain sanguine in their simplicity and without need of becoming more orthodox and expected.  The skin work is equally light and confident with a persistent metronomic palpitation that has a verisimilitude to a ghostly reality.  The vocals are individualistic and complete a quite appealing DIY offering - nice!  'Pharmakon' sidles in from recesses of thought before rising against the big chemical business that sees the profiteers swallow the sweetest pill whilst the sufferers become addicted to bitterness and end up in deeper pain.  The barons of alleged cure-alls are mere vultures filling their crops on the agony of the masses - fat fuck manipulators they be.  The construct here plays it cool, shuffles and states with a certain anger bubbling under and helping clarify a quite sinister situation.  The musical creation is well-worked, avoiding the fuzz-fuck trappings and holding onto its own set style whilst the front warbler adds his chilling throat enunciations in brain-snagging sneakiness.

The 3rd track accosts me, comes under the tab of 'Kondonauts' and goes about its business in a now recognisable fashion.  The message - keep it tidy, keep it organised, and then shit yerself when happiness has duly fucked off.  The chill comes in many formats, the uncomplicated fashion of the stealthy music has more inner strength than one may give credit for and the questioning quirkiness comes with insight before you are left wondering where indeed the sparks of joy are best found - certainly not in the everyday bullshittery many indulge in that is for sure.  Another slice of approachable noise with a nag, that doth shag, the cranial bag.

The closure of this quartet is the unsettling account known as 'Thoughts And Prayers' a song that starts with a jumble clutter before almost insane oral repetitions come and a relaxed strum ensues helping things take on a more reclined posture.  The sticks clobber with a certain industrial machine-like quality, the collision of the cobbled and clean works and the somewhat sub-horrified throat warbles are borne from an observational stand-point that becomes more rickety by the minute.  The Bleach works continues in its own way - let the flow consume you.

I have this lot booked for a gig, I am intrigued and reckon the sounds here will reach a new level when seen 'in the flesh'.  I like hearing tremblings off-kilter, here is such an episode of DIY goodness that I hope many will embrace - I must stay sober though and realise there are some right old inflexible niches out there.  Hey ho, here's hoping and trying! 



Based in Oita, Japan, the band here play out some very convincing garaged psychedelia with a great relish in the groove and some good stomping action.  I am a lover of many sounds, this kind of shizzle, when done well, is a great uplifting noise that can energise the soul.  If not done just right though it can be a messy end result from which I will not run away and avoid stating my eavesdropping case - it is better to be sweetly cruel to be kind than be a fool who is aurally blind.  I duly don a multi-coloured, flower-laden shirt, a pair of funky shades and a kaftan for good measure before sparking up a bifter and indulging.

'Broken Goods' begins with big King-Kong drums before a strong dreamy blend of mind-altering vibro-matic sensations and colour-swirl toxins comes and takes full control of the senses.  The strident deliberateness of the marching movement is consuming and potent with one easily dragged into line and stepping along to the rhythm.  Every nook and cranny of space is taken up by a lucid and reverberating noise that increases in stature with every turn of the volume button.  The band exude an emboldened confidence amid this opening primitive and tribal escapade, 'Unga bunga doo-da' I say - tis a hefty and stirring commencement - yeah.   Crisp-crumple, tin-foil rumple and the strange light bending reflections of 'Society' glint and glisten through a semi-opaque gloop of sound that takes one back to doped up realms of yesteryear were fields of strawberries swayed and the diamonds in the sky became a little more blurry.  Add a dash of mechanised movement, a kinetic rotation that draws in the inner senses and a real liquid grooviness and I reckon we can time travel back, stay in the present and just enjoy the fluent laziness of this dreamy number.

A sub-pogo and bounce intro with some follow-on spunkiness via relished vocals and much precise dabbling. 'I'm Sorry' locates the zone, focuses with intent and wraps around a sturdy backbone of sound with full saturation of the noisy arena had.  The repetition trick is used, we begin with a snag and the snag continues to hold on tight as the energy comes in waves and the energy levels remain more than adequate.  A somewhat reliable offering within the mix.  'Mesmerised' tumbles down the opening stairway before twisting and twanging with a combo of heavy bass and acute guitar work that sets the senses to level 'intrigue' and keeps one twirling and swirling within the multi-coloured mush of tonal shadings.  The rippling movement of the rhythmic maelstrom draws one in, albeit in a stealthy and gently persuasive way.  I fall into the patternation set and become chameleon-ised - blending in and being one with the artwork. I kinda like the sensation it brings!

'Two Steps Ahead' bounds along over a healthy substrate of now recognisable goodness.  The intro continues for a while before the verse comes and blends into the chorus without actually fracturing any new ground and making for a refreshing change in the state of play. To be fair this is decent stuff but a spark is lacking here and just a hook to catch the listener and to make one instantly sit up is needed.  I listen, something suggests this is the albums 'grower'. I can feel myself warming to the hive of activity - one to re-assess in a couple of months I reckon.  The chorus is better than I first deemed, that's for sure.

'Blink Of An Eye' suggests a more bluesy feel coming from the initial grindings before a further recline is taken into the sonic clouds of 'dropped-out' pondering.   We float, are held aloft by almost ad-hoc rhythmic reactions whilst all the while a certain eased languidness plays a major role.  Again we have another midway song that improves with age, the opening gambit though takes the main plaudits, tis a groove that I feel should have been used to the extreme - what a meaty affair it is.

Down the back stretch, some rambunctious rock and roll muckiness comes via the live and fleshy 'Stonesy-sounding' emanations that clatter and batter away under the tag of 'The Worlds At Fault'.  An open-wound number that is bared, prodded and infected with an attention many misdirected meddlers of music will truly relish.  Like a thousand hepped up ants crawling around the cavern of your rectum this one creates a fidget-fest of inescapable excitement especially if you are of a perverse and dirt-loving nature. 'Leave My Bed' is a somewhat regulated number with the band brandishing all their finer points and mushing up into one multi-hued crumple of cacophonic goodness.  Taken as a whole the holistic saturation of the number works well with enough layers to reveal and enjoy.  The compression of the individual components needs adjusting to if the song is played within the mix of many different offerings, but as part of the mix here one can find no gripes.

Hefty heave-ho's tremble the inner gut-works, strange convolutions come within the cloying movements with the players now drifted out and perhaps beyond hope.  'Used To' ponders what was, has a built-in acceptance touched with gloomy overlays with the sludge-bucket kicked and much gloopiness spilled.  A sub-60's TV detective guitar lilt invades again whilst the slow, doped delivery goes about its business without distraction.  Definitely one borne from vaults of yore with sexualised essences, make of it what you will.  'Foot In Mouth' is the closure and is built on foundations of ramshackle pluckings, trash can tappings and couldn't care less oral offerings whilst working away to bring all components together into a recipe that leaves a pleasant aftertaste for the eavesdropper.  The word to describe the sensation attained is 'pleasing' - a mild but complimentary word to sum up this final placid offering that plays things somewhat safe and doesn't throw in any curveballs - is this a good thing?

So The Routes have much going for them, are a capable band with an especial niche feel.  I hope they stretch themselves and throw in some real big time riffage soon and some more 'obvious' licks to just shake up matters and add greater contrast.  This is decent material though and if you have a hankering to drop out and laze in the haze with a glaze in the days - do it!  



I knew fuck all about this band and when the CD arrived through the letterbox and I placed in the music player I went in a pure as the driven snow.  I listened, became entangled in the melee and after numerous spins was ready to spill out an assessment of this Edinburgh based band.  I took my time, as per, replayed each track several times and hoped I would get something akin to an accurate review, this is what leaked from my overflowing noise-nobbed noggin.

The CD begins with the remarkable 'Play It Loud'.  The song openswith electro wire-sparks flying this way and that before a quick respite is had and then a full-on molestation of musical celebration is borne.  The sentiments are solid, come, get hammered, drown in the noise and just fuckin' have it.  The gruff and passionate vocals demand action and a lively racket and that is just what we get with a hard-travelling throw-down taking no prisoners and just fuckin' going for it.   The outcome - a solid opener awash with strong vibrations and tight-assed musicianship.   The quick follow-up is entitled 'False Advice', another meat-mincing moment that brandishes the wire-work with fiery relish and sees the tymanic membranes clattered to fuck whilst the avalanche of oral heave-ho's come in great appetising slabs.  In the mix semi-metalised manipulations are exposed, an underscore of Motorhead-esque pebble-dashing aggression batters without apology and a certain undying energy is injected.  2 songs down, you should be well and truly awake by now.

'World Away' dabbles with things more cultured before slapping down a more orthodox verse that falls with ease into the swift and highly exciting chorus burst.  The impetus and the bubbling accents of the verses really snatches at my resistances and when the tumble-tongue-tripping speed of the chorus unfolds I am truly captured.  The band combine the facets of good quality mixing, hard chuggery, appealing tempo and an anti-war angst to create another utterly appealing song, I reckon the hat-trick is well and truly completed here - a top corner finish if ever I heard one.

The next two songs are equally top notch with 'Shit Generation' a finger-point at the obsessed mobile users who are so distracted that the world can (and does) turn to shit whilst they remain indifferent in a mire of digital bullshit.  The opening metal twists soon breakdown into a heavy duty mechanical meanness with the snarling frontman wound-up and spilling his vitriol in a controlled yet seething manner.  Many hooked up and sunken will be singing along to this or perhaps filming a 'live set' on their phones - fuckin' hell, what next? Punks in masks, jabbed up and saying fuck the system - surely not!  Whatever your views - think about the message here and enjoy the banging tune.  'Face Down' is a shit-curdling title-track with a no-nonsense 'fuckin' have it' style that places down its intent, sows many cerebral seeds before blossoming into something rather special via a chorus that is drenched with determined delivery and downright good-to-honest bone jarring music.  The band, within the mush of bowel disturbing music, hold onto a strong fist-raising chant and rant melody that breathes fire into the whole construct.  The greedy continue to take the piss, the controlling cunts roll the dice and the duped go forth and die - fuckin' wake up, music like this should be more than just a tune.

The second half of the CD, so far so fuckin' good.

'Accident Emergency' flashes in, lays down rumbling foundations and pushes on with a quite orthodox methodology that is given life via the now expected energy, growl factor and abrasive leanings.  Foaming with fervour and a love of the output what we get here is more of the same and perhaps the least impacting song of the lot so far (it has had a lot to compete with) and yet it is a solid effort that keeps the CD moving and full of meaty flavours.  There is no let up and I move into 'Genocide' still chomping for more.  Here we get are thumbscrew of sound perpetually maintaining the pressure and making one wince in perverse appreciation.  The content sees a tribe ripped apart by deception and manipulation whilst power-mongers no doubt wallow in their pseudo-victory, a victory built on nothing more than evil desires.  The irritation of the output is plain to witness, the head down and do it approach still pays dividends and if these songs are played out during a 'live' encounter, without any fucking about and in-between song waffle, then we could all be in for a head-melting treat - blazing stuff.

Suddenly the last 3 songs are before me, I am welcomed by a mammoth moment known as 'Religion'.  A stealthy start ascends, guitars glint, a consideration of where to go next develops into a rave against the brainwashing regimes that have been responsible for an endless age of suffering, torment and utter fuckin' lunacy.  The heat emanated from this steaming track glares with incandescent fury, the compact and enraged meatiness rams home its point, the inner break is class and the final holler emphasise the fact that the irritation is still alive and kicking.  I requested this track for my Fungalised Bandcamp page - I think that says how I feel.

'Only The Strong' refuses to fuck around, gets the sweating head down and races forth on relentlessly impaling machinations that make no apology and create a great foundation for the roaring frontman to fuckin' leather out the lyrics with tonsil-straining aplomb.  The pace continues before a pause, a bullet-spray and a shout out of the chorus comes.  The magnificence of a machine well versed and souped up with amphetamine fuel is a joy to behold and this slap-happy slam-dunk is a belter.  We fuck off on a high, 'How Do We Know' tries to initially play it cool but the temperament boils up, a speed increase comes and something special is posted into our cerebral mail boxes.  The verse is healthy, the chorus a perfect upsurge and as the song travels the disillusionment, the drive and the all-consuming impact grows and grows.  By the end of this momentous number, and indeed the CD proper, we are left with a touch of advice and we are left fuckin' overjoyed with a job well done.

10 tracks, 10 reasons why you should keep an eye on Cuttin' Edge.  The band provide ear-splitting noise, ill-temper and solid melodies amid a thumping mush of impacting animation.  Yeah, I am keen here, is it one of the best CD's of the year so far? You fuckin' bet it is. 



Snide are still at it - do you believe it?  Apparently you better had!  The lads from Kent are truly bent, on not giving in and still producing the tuneage - I am investing more time and looking forward to it. The band have tickled my tonal undercarriage many times in the past, I am a perverted bugger when it comes to good noise.  I delve in with eager haste here, I do have 16 tracks on to dabble with - by heck I am excited.

'Right Place, Wrong Time' is a beauty, racing forth on initial tones that are saturated through with old-school vibrations that still affect the inner spiky heartstrings.  The slightly rusted wirework is emboldened by a well-wobbled set of bass cables with the drums more than up for the task.  The energy exuded from this opening number is just what is needed as I am a great believer in CD's going straight for the jugular.  The brisk and fresh approach is energising and the accents from the sub-generic pit of favoured sounds is right up my street.  'Recluse' enters on good preparation with sticks and strums in adhesive unity and ready for the task ahead.  A guitar groove adds spice, the music continues with highly magnetic ingredients before old-school hollering enters the fray and states a feeling that I can truly relate to.  In these times of 'lock up and hide away' with so much entertainment at one's finger tips and the public arena showing itself to be madder and madder by the day, I certainly feel like bolting the doors and keeping the idiocy at bay.  The song swings along, sings the praises of the hermit-ised lifestyle and really has some guitar cuts that really get me bouncing.  Sometimes things have gotta be simple and delivered without fuss - here is such an example.

Third track to tackle and 'Disorder' travels without fuss, has a light and breezy feel without getting too steamed up.  The opening tones are laid back before the dust is kicked up and the band set about making a disturbance - albeit in a decent and orderly kind of way.  A quite clean-cut piece this that has a very comfortable feel that reminds me of some sub-early 80's noise that was usually found on an obscure compilation CD - the type we moochers in the acoustic undergrowth are always thrilled by.  'Idle Nation' digs a fist in the ribs of the couch potatoes who laze about immersed in a world of media mindlessness that they let stew within their lazy carcasses thus creating further inactivity - both mental and physical.  The avalanche bombards the cranium and creates a care-free crowd of crapulence that obviously disgusts the crew in charge of the cacophony here.  The song is an adeptly constructed and played matter with acute lyrics rolled out with observational accuracy whilst the string work is sweetly rusted yet hygienic, the bass lively and bubbling and the sticks tidy and prone to adequately timed machine-gun attacks. All this makes for one of my fave tracks - a right good slab of well-played noise if you ask me!

The next couple of songs are 'Last Night' and 'Miserable Bitch' - the former opens with a great casual lick and goes about proceedings in a stated manner that works a treat.  The chop and chug mid-paced movements are calculated and somewhat cold but all the while capture a scenario that has great aim and a need to be rid.  This is a song with a weight that grows, a strong pivot in a CD that is getting better by the spin.   The second song of this next couplet also has a similar approach with an initial stop/start promise that soon irons out and moves with more adhesive fluency.  The song has good animation levels and is in keeping with the standard set thus far but I do prefer other offerings, especially its near neighbour.  I like the easy way the band play out this one though and the acidic splashes that bring visions of a grumpy bag who doesn't give a toss.  The splashing cymbals and the direct lyrics are an added bonus.

Another brace to deal with and 'Don't Want You Back' is a middling kind of number that loses its dazzle against more impressive pieces.  I play over and over as a standalone and like the quick pep, the Snidey flavours and the fresh breeziness that blows throughout - my main gripe is that there is no real spark point and heave-ho in the mix and what we get is a rather flat-lined number, albeit a line that flows on a decent level.  I just expected a little more - greedy or what?  'Peace Of Mind' is more like it, a good bass grumble, some good choppy guitars, a lick and a thrust (ooh sexy) and into the meat of the melody we go.  The flow is uncomplicated and effective, all areas lucid and we come out of the other end singing the chorus and reaching for the replay button.  Simple sonica - ya can't beat it!  Now all I need to do is try and settle the brain and chill - I reckon I have no chance.

'Quicksand' comes next, a very capable blow-out with a consistent structure that keeps one in the mix right up until the last sonic thrust.  The effort poured forth seems easy, the band are on a roll and here they exemplify everything good about a unit in the groove.  The smooth segue from verse to chorus is well-oiled, the constant chugging of the noise and the incessant tempo is all-consuming and the sing-a-long moments are destined to delight many a pit-dweller.  'Invisible' splashes, rolls and makes its mark with a great groove that develops into a great snag-happy sharp-suited song that moves with great efficiency and well-rehearsed precision.  The move from the quickly stated to the easy chorus is spot on and the on-going niftiness of the whole arrangement has me utterly caught, hook, line and sinker.  I consider this a real pinnacle; those verse vibrations are utterly magnetic - wonderful. 'Hey! Mr Joseph' gallops along with a swift incisive sing-along liquidity and gets the corpuscles surging through the arterial system thus setting the framework into animation mode.  A speedy tuneful street-sounding spill-out that leaves me with little to add.  Good to honest gumption loaded sonica with the melody maintained and the appeal high - I move on in a good state of mind.

Into the last 5 - I inject some reviewing pace and tackle the bunch in what I hope to be one embracing and accurate slab. 'I'll Decide' clouts, rattles, keeps a strong consistency but fails to ignite any real spark.  A level-headed number with a relentless drive and a straight-ahead composition that is as tight as fuck but just lacks that killer hook - it is a fair song but nothing special.  'Hard Work' pounds, stick whacks with authority before looming large on chugged riffery.  The follow-on escapade is in opposition to the commencement and misses a trick - I feel as though the time was ripe for a good bout of heavy domination and throbbing intent.  What we get is more lightly whipped thrustings enhanced by a good meaty backline.  It is par for the course and rubber-stamps what we already know about a very articulate band - I was just tempted too much by the opening threats.  Onto 'I Believe', and a quick push, a light and thoughtful verse and over and out in double-quick time with all aspects as decent as ever.  Take stock, dwell, go forth with a better view and whilst doing so get this tune as an escort. - now how's that for a quick summing up?

The last brace and  'Get Back In Line' strums, Tommy-Gun sprays, repeats and cracks on through all aspects and angles with the simple rant and chant chorus a great winning aspect and giving this more than competent song extra life.  The inner chug and state may be orthodox but these moments work well and such is the case here.  It breaks the flow, but with the least disturbance possible.   A good penultimate track this and taking me into the finale of 'Go On'.  The closure welcomes on rust-bucket dirtiness before smoothing out and finalising the CD on a casual and unflustered moment.  No great shocks come, no severe dips take place, what we get is a comfortable departure with just enough gumption to keep one involved.  There are smatterings of the old-school here, they aren't overly obvious and there is a slight injection of bittersweet leaning which again, is subtly placed within the mix - not bad at all.

So, Snide deliver a fair portion of noise, and in the main, convince.  They just need to watch out the odd trick doesn't get missed and all numbers have a snag, a hook or something riffed up to buggery to showcase the bands high potential.  The are some smashing tracks on here though, Snide are a solid band and worthy of any rough and ready music listener's attention - have a ruddy gander and maybe check out more releases by Dammit Records. 



I know nothing of this band only that a fine gent (stand up Derek Eck Ruffneck Heggie) whom has graced my lugs with grand sounds in the past, is involved.  I have listened several times to the tuneage on show and have slowly developed enough sanguinity to have a go at capturing the spillage on show.  It is an eclectic mix, just the way I like it, far removed from the avalanche of expected noise I get bombarded with (I like this too) and has certainly kept me focused and listening deeply.  I do like a challenge (as does a guy called Nikolas Tesla so I hear) so here is how I face up to the task and what wordery I use to try and reveal the devils in the detail.  There is no hidden formula or warped theorising, what you see is, as always, what you get.

We begin with 'Clouds', a song showing an early eagerness in the riffing vibrations before a tumble cascade of rap-esque verbology comes in confounding heaps, each line rolling into the next with great haste and thus leaving me standing.  From this overfill of oral activity that needs a slight ease on the accelerator comes a stroke of beauty with she-lilts drifting along, posing a question and showing a distinct inner belief.  All the while the players react and roll out the goods with jazzy reactions and lofted articulation.  The drums are indicative of a movement resonating with almost off-the-cuff creativity whilst the strings follow suit but maintain a semblance of rigidity and end purpose.  I play this one over and over, it needs time and my only gripe is that there is no lyric sheet.  Other than this Fungal niggle this is considered nice work from different spheres - it is needed.  'Together' decries the formulated regulation which sees many accept, take it on the chin and do fuck all.  It also calls for a harmony, a unity that will take us forward helping each other and the natural essentials of life.  People indulge, fuck themselves stupid whilst leaving a world of waste for their offspring to struggle in - it doesn't come more selfish than this folks.  The band play it cool here and get their point across.  They have style and substance, ooze a classy flavour I am happy to partake of.  As I sip more deeply the essences reach certain parts lesser lilts cannot find, there is nothing flimsy or throwaway here, I suggest the band have worked hard to nail these gems and the content is more than a little pertinent and appealing.

Next up and 'Before' exudes an immediate relaxed classiness that comes from sanguine tub thumps and acutely twisted guitars.  The chilled vocals deal with life wasted and a certain indifference to tragedy as many flee in desperation and many sit back and duly ignore with ease.  The verse states the situation, the reactive chorus reinforces the mess things are in whilst all the while the crucial point is made and, I hope, heeded.  The whole tonal situation is awash with emotion and a thoughtful edge which is more than what a lot of noise out there contains.  I am liking the stylish slant, the manicured movements and the intent.  We see a band here carving out their own niche, the inner rapping trappings add to the individual essences with the whole shebang a rewarding effort. 

'Cursed' is the most difficult acoustic wriggler to grasp with a scatter-spread drum intro, phantomed mutterings tumbling in confounding fashion and many shadowy guitar touches making for a cacophony not easy to get into.  Patience pays slight reward, the conundrum of the content offers up brief glimpses of the solution but things remain a little too murky in many ways and with an overdose of reactive minstrelisation I find myself left a little left behind.  Almost too experimental and too indulgent for its own good, I can see the aim, I just am not in-line with the end target.  I play over and an epiphany is had – the song is now on my Fungalised bandcamp page – I am keeping things moving. 

'Destiny' begins with fresh and active tones, open-hearted verbals that neatly slot into position and bring a free-floating feeling that continues beyond the 5-minute threshold and so will surely test the patience of the 20-minute pop/punk song lovers.  I am more than happy to stay the course, run the distance and dwell within the lively tones that ask that we all believe a little more and trust in ourselves.  This is a cool number, it has retrospective touches of the 80's with a funky deliciousness that pervades, picks one up and gets the inner blood of hope coursing.   A sunshine number to start the day, we all need these little pick-me-ups.  The wise rapping is sound and already an ethos I follow - bonus!

The penultimate track is 'Scorched' and a 4 splash, a tumble down and then some environmental facts and warnings come via a funked and fruity movement fucked off with the lunacy of the foolish human race.  Ad hoc resonations, statements and an almost 'Pearl and Dean-esque' back susurration that has me wondering where things will go next.  Within the weft is an almost sub-capture of peoples 'la-la land' head state - smiling away whilst all turns to shit.  The band refuse to go for straight ahead riffery, I think it makes a refreshing change whilst getting their point across.

'Fingers' is a quick thinking cascade of words that I can't keep up with – again, note to band, include lyric sheets ya buggers.  The opening tumult is salved via a dreamy chorus that saves the day.  The band are very distinct with their individual tonal contributions but it is crucial the wordery is relatable so as to keep the listener enthralled.  I am both frustrated here and pleased - it is a well-constructed track I want to get closer to but despite a verbal distance the driftings and guitar sequence keeps me out of sincere turmoil.  I finalise matters here before I talk myself into hot water.

A very interesting CD that has taken me some time to review.  I never rush things anyway but here I have had to readjust the alignment of the sonic sensors and concentrate.  What I have been given is a mini-album cum EP with many facets, some I immediately fall in line with, some I have to have patience with.  There is a lot going on, the band have not totally found their feet but the potential is huge.  I am on their side though, have recognised a few choice moments, here is to a future to challenge many lugs and take them away from their comfort zones. 



Bombs Away - cover your heads, dash for cover or simply await the assault and bathe in another crash-down of quality laden tunes.  The sonic pilots have taken to the acoustic airwaves again and, of course, Fungalpunk has been kindly asked to cough up some thoughts.  I have been a long-term lover of this band, I have scribbled considerations on all full-length releases thus far, in the main, I have had much to gush over and little to gripe about.  Will this sequence of assessing bear any change here or will the band feel the brunt of the Fungalised honesty that has shrivelled many a pecker of ambition and deflated many testes of progress (not deliberately of course).  I plunge in, striving to be fair and get the best out of bands whilst paying homage to their efforts - I really should know better.

Track one, 'Blue Sunset' slowly bubbles, carefully leads the way despite the instant groove and lick that shows the band are continuing from where they previously left off.  The initial verse is controlled, sub-whispered and laden with emotive passion.  As we progress the thermal energy is subtly increased, the intensity of the rhythmic radiation kisses the listening epidermis and brings the first initial blistering of interest. Action levels increase, tight-assed riffs come, drum scatter splatters arise amid more orthodox slappings with the verse held aloft on an intro of promise, a promise that blossoms with great belief in encouraging one to get the most out of this thing called 'life'.  The touchpaper has been lit, the intrigue piqued - let's have it.  'Be What You Want' revolts in a quiet but assured way, it has a sincere problem with the many shades of grey and the conveyor belt crowds who think they are different but are in fact, all of one mould.  Where the fuck has character, individuality and expression gone - welcome to the age of the diluted and defeated.  The cool zephyr that blows forth here breezes through the digital-deadened wank waves and gives a welcome flush of reinvigorating encouragement for those under pressure to fall into that rather pathetic and restricting line.  Rather than blow a fuse and adopt the usual holler approach the SB sagacity takes hold, erudite and sanguine souls do what they do and, if the truth be told (as it always must), they do what they do very well indeed.  This is more cultured and creative music making, a stealthy creeper refusing to groom an easy vote of flimsy confidence – it deserves more than that.

In a world of misery and unthinking behaviour we are posed a question and left to consider if there is 'Another Way'.  For me there is no doubt, the downward spiral into a controlled corruption built on inner unhappiness is increasing apace - be bold, refuse to swallow their distracting designs, focus on life's true reality instead and defy the dream chasing damnation.  The song here inspires further consideration, the fluent liquidity sees a band in a choice mood and flowing with generous beauty, a beauty I am enamoured by and one that is still retaining my fandom.  The SB crew are coursing along a set route and are masters at their game, the opening tracks here prove just that!

'Sleep Street' has a thriving and salivating hunger, a wafting drive with the sensation of falling into an inescapable void dealt with viafoot-stamping authority.  The fuzzed guitar work and whack happy sticks combine above a sound bass-reinforced terra-firma where rhythmic life abounds and an inner defiance pervades.  The vocals are fluent and unstoppable, savouring the task at hand.  A sub-emotive guitar break comes, a second ascension and an end cruise.  The band are flying at lofted altitudes and zoom into the CD's zenith with 'aces high' glory.

Regular guitars, a solid skip in the step, a tale of school-time uncertainty comes.  'High School Low' is a lyrical jewel in a very studded and ornate crown.  The song-writing deals with the matter at hand in exemplary style with opposing emotions and viewpoints cutely combined and delivered with the usual SB finesse.  This is a real contender for the CD's highpoint due to nothing more than the wordery but, the healthiness and spanking subtlety of the music should not be underestimated either - we are witnessing the masters of stealth do their thing.

Track No 6, 'Dwelling In The Past' charges in, soothes and soars with all areas tight and alive with no trouble had.  The verses are breezy, concentrated but of a light and fluffy texture that is soon foamed and frothed with a good whisking regulation that leads into a quite gratifying chorus cut.  Again emotion is tangible, pensive verbals add depth and the bands ability to dart with determined power and yet maintain a certain delicacy of touch is utterly admirable. 'Sin On My Mind' is a slowly brewing number, salted with considerations and played out via twilight introspection when cranial questions come, collide and slip away into the transient realms of Nod.  There is no rush here, no desperation to get any defining answers and certainly no easy way out of a sticky cerebral situation.  A personalised number, one that keeps on a low flame but still manages to char the attention of anyone getting too close.  There is a placidity and a paradoxical comfort within the somewhat sable-kissed designs, don't overlook these facets.

2 more folks, 'Cheats Prosper' is a mean-driven ass of rising resonance.  A 2-slap, a quick setting of the stage and some whisky-scorched oral utterances come with the verse hitting home and rubber-stamped by a sub-chorus of relished deliciousness.   There is a feeling of rule-breaking glory and a pride in not following any given guidelines.  The crew are at their cock-confident best here with a billowing swagger and full-frontal exposure had, especially when the big 'hey, hey, hey' show pieces are thrown our way.  There is no shame here, the full-blooded conviction races red, I actually replay to make sure hearing is believing - rest assured - it is!  'Rise Of The Underdogs' is right up my straight, well-walked street, a thoroughfare I stride down with pride whilst striving to fly the flag of the gutter dwellers, the overlooked and the downright unfashionable.  The band chant, rant and rave with passion here with the musical escort both fleshy, flamboyant and fuckin' magnetising.   We have perhaps the most obvious sing-a-long snippet, from those opening tribal tub thumbs, through the unstoppable pulsations to the closing flag-flying spirit.  Yeah, I am fuckin' having this one, the machine-gun is loaded, tis time to make some bother for the bastards who have it a little too comfy due to playing the game.

'Storm The Castle' is bang up for the fight, blisters in, challenges and grooves whilst keeping the toe tapping and the doubters crapping (silly bastards).  The ramparts of resistance are blown down with direct hits of determined deftness that sees bricks of potential perplexity tumble and a certain sight of victory had.  The pace is swift, the aim accurate, blast those doubts and devilish demons that cause so much cranial consternation.  The flourishing gale that races through the architecture of the CD at this late juncture is utterly refreshing and by heck, when the band apply pressure to the accelerator they really do thrive.  'English Dreams' is a sound slap of advice across the mush of those who have that strange instinct to be 'Country Proud' and usually use it as a disguise to hide away their xenophobic ideals and tribal needs.   I have never understood the need to belong, the desire to divide and to try and be part of a snarling pack.  This could easily have been an all-out-attack, a foaming kick-back against misdirected thinking but the band have more nouse, more faith in what they do and produce a sub-spoken whisper that is just a fuckin' massive moment of caressing magnificence with a great point made.  A look at a situation, a call to think, a hope made that things may just move on and not stagger backwards.   The holistic gathering of tonal artistry comes together upon a well-prepared canvas laid out by an alert and considering group of creative bandits sharp-shooting their way to greater acclaim - fan-fuckin' tastic.

Last 3, ‘Satellite’ comes on emotively crumpled compressions before a lucid and compassionate oral tone blesses sound surface with thoughtful musings and observant ponderings whilst all the while giving one the impression of viewing things through rose-tinted specs and just striving to be hopeful.   The arrangement is another example of a crew blending gentleness and power with great aplomb and producing an end result that is void of generic tagging and is pure ‘Bomb-Tastic’ goodness.  The band are cultured, have worked hard to achieve their current level of play, I am hoping they just continue forever and ever.

‘Lake’ is a modern-day horror story that leaves us wondering about a life lost to the liquid realms, a place where peace is found leaving behind many unanswered questions.  The crafted construct of the song is articulately dealt with, from the first rippling of the sonic waters to the final kiss of the sun on the secretive surface.  The sublime touches, the limpid questioning, the steady aquatic waltz blessed with a distinct honesty of tone all get my jowls salivating whilst a tattoo of sadness runs through my sold and smitten skin - marvellous.   We finalise matters with the sagacious advice spilling of 'Coaster' - a ‘been there, done it, please learn’ moment, with those in the know realising there will be much wasted breath along the way.  A funky cur of sound humps along here with a critical tip of lipstick bared by this reviewer just to keep these buggers, and all those reading, alert.  My gripe is that at the closing point of any CD I like to see a real good thump out with many obvious licks thrown in. Here we get something subtler and in some ways, textured and testing.  This is a personal viewpoint, this should not detract from the fact this CD has been a gem but I do find this the weakest and least magnetic moment and so finish on a note that could be deemed as typically awkward of this assessing fucker - by heck!  The content of the last croon is to find the track, maybe I have just taken a detour - the story of my life.

After 14 tracks I am done, I reckon the job here is special and of an exemplary standard with a great warmth radiated from a unit I know well and who show that there is no reason to give in and always a way forward if one has belief.  My praise has justifiably gushed, the odd prod has been given with good intent - the fact remains, The Senton Bombs have been neglected, put down and carried on regardless and proved many doubters and down-shouters wrong - here we have proof as to why the band are valued by a growing horde and why we need them to keep doing their stuff.



A trio of twiddling deviants and a scenario where psychedelia freely copulates with the ever-spilling jacksie of grubby chewing gum pop punk. Add in a fuck-up of diverse influences and what you get is some throwback/throw forward music done in a style very much the bands own.  The Eye Scream Men fouled a Fungal showcase whilst in their embryonic stages, I was aroused and have them booked once again.  Here is a full-length release laden with horror/sci-fi tones and some sinister wavelengths it is advisable not to get too close to - alas I am a passionate and foolish man, music matters, I jump in and come out...transformed.

The opening credits come in a strange and submerged kind of way before, 'Judy Jetson' is paid homage to as the guys at the helm of the noise pay a flying visit to Orbit City and serenade the animated darling of the space-age skies.   The ticking clock of metronomical rhythm has an unstoppable focus whilst the pluckers and syntho-strainers move with decent pace and create one solid opening gambit.  The repeat chants inter-fuck with salivating warbles and smitten lip spurts come above a groovy underscore that never lets up.  I duly hop in a spaceship, give Astro the Dog a kick up the anus and zip across the galaxies to meet the girl in question.  'Donald And The Gorilla' takes a cartoon pseudo-Poe-esque horror situation that sees a zoo escapee on the loose and a quacking nut job get all of a flutter.  The heavens open, a radio-warning comes, the souped-up sonica that follows is frisky and takes us into a drama that is neatly unfolded.  Whizzed up circus spirals turn with interchanging colours whilst the momentum is maintained with nothing more than lunatic enthusiasm and a desire to deliver ditties that delight and uphold a certain fun-time B-grade beauty.  No fuckin' about here - a quick quack off and nothing more.

'Grapes Of Death' hammers home the wonders of the crushed fruit and the fermented outcome.  As a sherry swiller I can relate to the hazards of gulping toxic trouble and the resultant head-hammered feeling that usually ensues after a glug too many.  The relentless irritation at the damage of the drink never lets up here with stated facts interspersed with enraged title bursts that give the song that extra boot in the alco-swollen bollocks.  I am sure this song will create a reversal of the message relayed and many will be overdoing the Vino and tasting the consequences - and why the Hell not?  Next up and woodpecker drums, a quick question, a driving thumbscrew nag and 'Nasty' debilitates with its incessant push and indulgence into the world of video terror where the tape rapes the realms of decency and turns one into a walking murder zone.  A unhinged relish is exposed here, a journey into hearts blackened by cinematic overdosing and having a desire to do some damage.  I should be appalled, instead I am aroused - fuckin' hell.

'Catwomen Of The Moon' break the stratosphere, enter our worldly arena and are duly paid homage too.  A bewitching takes place, from the stars a sexual encounter shines with effulgent erotica whilst gently disrobing one’s resistance with sinister digits of thermally invasive oddness.  What we encounter is an intergalactic acid trip vision that bounds along and keeps one utterly enthralled, especially if they are a lover of cheap thrills and pseudo-sultry spills.  I examine further, feel the saturated vibes pervade, I skip on beautifully unsettled.  'Santo' is a really spunky villain, a masqued grappler from darn Mexico way.  We bound along here, the head-grip of the song is strong as the tribute paid to the silver masked saviour is laden with upbeat enthusiasm, nerdy adoration and just a fizzing joyousness that really is inescapable.  The motif of the movement is almost singular and repetitive but interest is held by the goonish gumption and obvious insight into minds absorbed by pure wasteful distractions that more of the world should indulge in.  Fine comic book cacophony if you ask me.

'Wolf In Me' is a lycanthropic lilt that sees a man cursed, bewitched and eventually with lipstick aroused.  The claws are sharpened in double-quick time, the metamorphosis from a rational thinking man to a prowling horned-up beast of lust is rapid, the band refuse to cower in the woodlands but come forth and strut their stuff in garish style with no holds barred.   The chorus is the zenith of the vibration and shows a snarling passion for the job at hand - lock up yer daughters folks, and keep yer pussies secure.  'Satan Is An Acid Head' is a fuckin' peach, a veritable damning trip into the darkside where eerie emanations permeate the innocence and long-haired converts wank off in a world of deviant dabblings where no-one is safe.  The rabid impaling madness is all-consuming, with the masses we become infected and join the blood-drinking throng - here the blood is the noise, the blood is the shady going's-on from minds disturbed by too many visual wallowings.  I play over and over, I feel a need to eat a dead rat, to sever a limb, nay to kiss the embossed anus of the dark one himself - help meeeeeeeeee!

Onwards and down the uncertain backstretch.  'Veronica' is a tale of a lady hell-bent on mischief and chemical highs.  She sounds like a right feisty bugger!  The construct of the song is built on a perpetual bounce that continues from first to last, akin to a humping imp juiced up on very strong hormonal injections.  The reflections created are of a stable snippet that courses with good endeavour and has a leak-proof design that this pernickety fucker can't find fault with - oh darn it!  'Psychomania' is a song that deals with a film I saw when I was an horror-saturated nipper and really didn't rate.  I watched again in my teens and remained unimpressed, especially as Beryl Reid didn't add the true horror touch and flash her leathery nipples (cor blimey, what a shocker).  After playing this delightful track that reminds me of the death-seeking bikers I am gonna seek out the said flick and re-indulge my efforts.  This tuneful effort is regularised ESM output with nothing new splashed onto the eavesdropping table although it is an easy ditty to embrace and just join in with.  The problem is the follow-on track takes all the back-end plaudits with 'Teenage Cannibal' a certain speciality that clubs its way to the fore of your attention and has one instantly singing along with and pondering hairy arsed Neanderthals with a penchant for human flesh.  The charming lilt, the 'ooga booga' injections and the general idiocy of dealing with such fantastical subject matter is right up my street and the contributions from each player, the tub-thump sub-layers and the relish of the chorus make this a cult-classic from the vaults of time-wasting titteration where many a fine bugger is found dreaming of things not of this earth - magic!

'The Return To Gynn Video' is nostalgic pop-shit longing, a creation that harks back to the days of video rental when all sorts of dubious cinematic creations sat on buckling shelves awaiting the grubby mitts of some eager pimpled terror seeker.  The array of titles and vision inducing wordage all tempted one to rent and indulge in worlds of torn flesh, tit-glimpsing Heaven and shabby ham acting.  Here, the purveyor of these escapist articles brings further vibrations down below - we are taken to a realm where a sensation-seeker is in his sordid element.  This is another great ditty, one so gorgeously unpretty (paradoxical hey) and one that really does hark back to simpler times - where did we go so wrong?

Interruption - crazed phone call, pseudo-frog belches and sinister utterances - what the fuck!

At the bottom of the pile we finally pick up the closing number known as 'Budweiser Drunk' - you can guess what this one is about.  The band bid us farewell with a straight-ahead trudge into the drunken state of languidness.  The roll over the rhythm is soaked with anticipation of a thirst-quenching blow-out,, the theremin quivers with intrigue and is akin to a pre-binge buzz, the trio of twiddling twats are on it and bidding us farewell in a safe and steady manner - and breathe...!

I think the Eye Scream Men have done a ruddy good job here and this album alone will put them in good stead for a fair while yet and hopefully get them a few gigs here and there.   There is an opportunity for peddlers and promoters to spice up their offerings and throw in a new angle here, they would be darn fools to miss the chance.  I await my next fix and have them booked for the Blackpool Bastards Invasion No 5 - I am in for another treat it seems.

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