A new band that includes a couple of pluckers that have graced a Fungalised stage on a couple of previous occasions.  I didn't know what to expect which no bad thing.  There were only 4 tracks to tackle which is an equally pleasing aspect and so I distributed the rotations over a few weeks and finally spat out the following words.  The keyboard was a trifle sticky after my vulgar expectorations.

'Find Us' stops, starts, seizures with noticeable bass aggravation before a flourish is had  and the song gets rolling.  Tense vocals, shadowed backing and with a zoned in zeal that puts matters in good stead I find this opening gambit highly appealing.  We repeat the general motif before an inner release is had with sticks and strings allowed to flow and give the listener time to take stock.  A final push comes, the job is done with no fuckin' about - nifty.

Track two and a cover version of a song committed to vinyl by a right old self-indulgent slag. 'Like A Prayer' is neatly done with good impetus and fast-track urgency although why anyone in their right mind would take the work of a trollop and rehash is beyond me.  The original track is a good piece of work though and to shred it and offer up a new take is perhaps a challenge.  The band take, reproduce, keep it tight and deliver a competent piece although it just isn't my thing.  There are many closet Madonna fans who may love this, darn their cone-shaped tits.

'Seeds Of Doubt' has good direction, a drum incessancy to keep all players on their toes and moving the right way.  The switch in tempo is neatly executed, the skatey cum poppoid feel is indicative of the creators and comes across as a noise that can traverse the age barriers.  Both young and old can ping and pogo to this and keep their kudos intact.  The band are both sharp and moving, not a bad do at all and perhaps the most accomplished song of the lot methinks.

The final fling out and 'You're The Worst' breezes by, throws multiple jabs and pummels away with an unstoppable energy that real attracts my attention.  If the band are as active as their output then any 'live' viewings must be a treat as this song completes a rewarding quartet borne from players well versed and knowing exactly what they want to do. The mix of all components is complimentary and effective and the fact that all tracks work as one and maintain a consistent rapidity is a key to their success.

So there are my thoughts - one gripe I have with any CD is when lyrics are not provided - I like to know what is going on and here feel as though I may be missing something.  Other than that - a fine EP and I reckon another 4 tracker (with words) will be just the right follow-up - I am waiting!



A reliable band on the block and one that pleases the crowd everywhere they play (is this a good thing wink, wink).  They are lovely blokes and add a nice essence to a one of my mix and match gigs.  I wouldn't dream of putting them on too much, over-exposure is a crime but when I do put them on a=I consider a treat for all.

The opening track of 'Rise Up' continues with the essence of things unwashed and grubby and I find it refreshing to see a band soil matters rather than go for a route that could have easily been to cabaret-esque, believe me the latter option could have been easily taken.  The construct of this grimy puke out is orthodox with a certain bleak and straining modus operandi that will see the band win a few new fans.  The musicianship is regularly chugged and tight, the front expulsion gritty and perspired - this will be a fine 'live' piece - watch this space.

'Who Needs Enemies' is the best track on the CD with a dogmatic persistence and semi-sing-a-long leaning that is far from blatant.  Dark edged, the sword of sound is brandished from sable, thoughtful recesses where an epiphany has been attained and no more shit is going to be taken.  There are some meaty bollocks bared here but held in a jockstrap of control which makes for a solid track rather than a free-swinging waltza.  Thank fuckin' goodness.

'Rage Inside' is a tough track to get to grips with but after several listens I reckon a chainsaw attack is unleashed with a repeat motif the order of the versed up day whilst the front git snarls and spits out his fury that I hope a few pick up on instead of jigging like detached goons.  The song is basic but cutting and in the midst of more creative efforts this fits in nicely.  Angry and having it - come on folks, piss on the party and throw a fuckin' brick.

'We Love Our Scene' is pure corn and made for the pissed up pogoers and those looking for easy tuneage.  For me this is the rotate and bin it moment - one f those that causes no consternation, no profound reaction or any offense.  Simple music with many 'obvious' touches and a chorus that is reflective of many similar ditties.  MFP I label this 'Music For Punks' - fuck, that's me buggered then.  Easy listening for when the head needs something melodic, sometimes we all need this shizzle.

'Phoenix' has a dark edge, a shit-mean streak that pervades all that happens.  The track deals with times when the workers took a whipping and employment was taken away by the uncaring fuck-wits in power whilst the ones cast aside were left to struggle.  The song has depth, emotion, a good texturisation with a meaty undercurrent and something very 'off the street'.  The odd nuance and twist in the tones adds interest, the defiance and ability to rise up is appealing  - I do like this one.

5 tracks, something more grimy than expected and throwing off things over-processed and too polished which is always a good thing.  I have this lot booked on my first gig next year - I wanna see these tracks played 'live' and in order - I reckon it could be a treat.



The shaft of sonica is still being tugged with great gusto and many a tune is being ejaculated forth by a band clinging on to a scene gone festival crazy and with a limp-wristed ethos.  In the days of selling out, grabbing what you can and with everyone's eye on the coin and kudos all I can do is stay clear and scribble my thoughts on splashings that come my way.  I am a sodden old soul and perhaps am overly battered by noises but I still get aroused when the odd CD is pushed through my letter box (well it's better than the postman's nob I suppose) - here is such a case.

With the wrappings removed, the CD is inserted into the rotating device and I note that the first emanations are to be borne under the name of 'I Am A Capsule'. A gruff and forthright explosion of self-appreciation and self-reliant sanguinity spat forth with a certain clobber-fuck rage that is allowed to do what it does, this is a healthy start.  A very fiery piece that exhibits an intolerance of everything and everyone.  The poisonous mix, the final sing-a-long gob off sets the CD alight, from here I expect one long conflagration.  'Knackers Yard' is a confession, a sincere admittance to the aging process with the use of drink and pills the only option found as the carcass falls apart.  The song, unlike the players frameworks, holds strong, and is belted forth with leak-proof efficiency and big time wallop bollocks.  Again we have a combo of the blazing to the slightly tempered and fine moments that will allow the onlookers/listener's and pissed up twingers to embrace and shout along with - the jobs a good un' folks.
'It's All Kicking Off' has familiar tones, a reliable first verse and a quite simple but wonderfully effective chorus.  I find the make-up of this offering utterly clichéd in many ways but the animated drums, the eager wire molestations and regular chuggery and the 'off the street' mouth vomit all combine to pick up the everyday rough and ready subject matter and throw it in ya mug - fuckin' families hey?  'Job Opportunity' continues the pace and impact via a song with a culpable cunt caught red handed and forced to put something back.  There are many twisting twats within each and every community, contributing to its downfall and yet adding a bit of colour (shit-stain brown I'll have thee know).  The winning facets of this fourth song are the wholesome and unpretentious vibes, the slamming bursts and the unstoppable momentum - I reckon the band have completed a killer quartet - they are rather good at what they do tha' knows.
'Madhouse' pounds in with great weight before taking a brief pause and ploughing away with a mind bewildered and a focus undeterred.  A nut-job contemplates with a subdued angst always bubbling away beneath the upper epidermal layers of emotion.  This number I consider a ship steadying occurrence with a liability to spill serious guts at any moment.  Sonic threats comes but never truly materialise but the ditty holds its own and winds out with a good refreshing open-hearted confession.  'Menky Man' flies in and fucks off whilst slamming punch holes in ones senses and leaving one sweetly battered. I enquired of the lead lout what this song was about and it transpires that it is a tale of a bloke who used to take pictures of kids, popped his clogs whereupon it was discovered his house was plastered with photographs of nippers.  In days when minds were perhaps less suspicious and naive we have a glimpse, with an aggressive onslaught suggestive of an inner frustration at not having sussed the dubious click fingered fucker.  The wind out to this assault sees a mind almost melt, I kinda like this - once again it keeps the CD alive and kicking.

'Mordrake' begins in spartan fashion with a slight flicker and a vocal style that is abandoned and allowed to expose one's inner thoughts and fears.  A struggle ensues, a fight with one's own mental and physical state and of course the on-going people problems.  The tone of the song rises and displays a warming thermality that draws in the listeners.  Cerebral trouble is reflected by the sonic spillings - this is a definite grower.  'Pit Bull Facelift' is more obvious in its approach, it blatantly lacks subtlety and any form of genteelness.  The balls are grabbed, the ugly mushes of those insecure and happy to become are parody are slapped about with relished abandoned and something akin to hardcore raving is had and brings the CD a whole new lease of idiot life.  A CD full of this savagery would be way too much, placed here and rammed home with such precision works a fuckin' treat.

From the previous explosive intrusion the band show their willingness to mix and match the styles with the pop slush of 'My Tears Get Washed Away'.  A soft and sincere song that is easy to pick up, play, enjoy and toss to one side.  Pure throw-away poppology that always has a place close to my heart.  The song has darker edges, these embolden the brighter tones and what we get is a  Chiaroscuro construction that is a sweet pip.  Simple hey?

'Morphine' is far from a pain relieving moment with the harsh and unleashed tones quite readily torturing the lug drums in lovely style, especially when the volume is racked up.  Fucked up and addicted, the soothing medication takes away and gives relief but one step too far and you are buggered.  This is another solid lash out counterbalanced crash and bang noise-making with the fear-laden crawl of 'Dead And The Mirror', a chasing song that is sedate, laden with trepidation and softly placed before your attentive ear-holes.  Anxiety seems to be the dominant master, a life of being scared is how many live, very few admit it.  We are in a nuthouse with the lunatics at the helm and the end result is never one that promises much.  This is a subtle shadow that stands at the latter end of the CD with great presence and a certain depth not to be passed over.  A quite meaty touch.

We fuck off with the pertinent and spotlighting 'Shit Stirrers And Scaremongers' - a reflection of a time when the foolish human race showed itself for what it was and then gave vent to great opinions based on who knows what.  Fear was instilled, the weak suffered, the bigoted got off on matters and the selfish fucks just carried on and contributed to the shitshow.  This is a fine sign off with the band as tight and tetchy as ever, pissing forth a good wealth of power and letting you know they re thinking on their feet and not diluting what they do – fantastic.

Well, I fuckin’ fine CD if ever I heard one and proving the power and promise of a band I have always had faith in.  A break in proceedings is coming, get your fix in the meantime and get this CD to keep your collection to to date and your sonic erection up to standard – spunk away dear enthusiasts.



The guys who run Deadlamb Records have been stout supporters of what I do and I am always happy to do my bit in return.  The chaps are in a band that I have followed since day dot and I have reviewed many of their outpourings - I am rarely disappointed.  Here we have a good blend of noises familiar and a few new explosions - I am keen to get stuck in so here I go.

'Myopia Uniform' thrashes in with scuttled urgency.  A development comes and a quick stop and start shuffle leads us into the damning verse that nails the fashion and those dressing up to the cross of disbelief.  More electric writhing action comes with a disgust laden globule of seething spit launched into those diluting rebellion and just creating another social club.  I am excited by the wired up intro, it has the bands essences tattooed throughout and is laden with defiant spirit and good scuzzy-fuck noise.  Short, loud and fuckin' havin' it - yes.  'We Are Fallen' sways in before hammering along with great purpose.  The pace and precision is a joy and the elements of things local and from beyond works mighty well.  As I listen I am bewildered by the fact that Nomatrix have not done bigger and better things, this song would fit ideally on a US big band compilation and if the song was labelled under another name many would be lapping it up.  I care not for who are the creators and if a big name backs up an output - if the racket is good then it is good, if not for me then it never will be - this is a cracker. 

A bass line, a preparation and then an onslaught.  'Vanity' is a pertinent piece in a world of self-absorbed madness.  The song initially looks in control, the topic chosen becomes all too much for the players and emotional overspill comes via a 1 minute 6 second defecation that leaves a nice shit-stain on the walls of your eavesdropping areas.  Short and sonically aggravating is the way I like things - kaboom. 'Weekend Life' is a quick follow-up punch, it wastes no time in doing what it needs to do before fuckin' off into the great realms of 'job done, fuck you'.  Sharp, regular and rapid this is one of the more primitive songs on the CD and one taken for what it is, enjoyed and tossed to one side.  I enjoy the chasing swing of 'Music Of Merchandise' more, a waltzing number that packs a meaty punch and leaves one doubled-over.  There is much meat on the bone here, great dripping shreds of flesh waiting for the hungry tonal chompers to snap at.  An irritated edge, a scuffled and skanked hybrid, a toxic spill of energised music played in the bands very own style - what is not to like?  And once again, terse and impacting - smashing.

'Fool' has a fuckin' mean and spiteful edge with an opening throb stutter not to be trifled with.  I know this song well, it is a real ear-worm and drills home its intolerant vibe with unapologetic intent.  A bewilderment at the low-level intelligence this searing incident showcases the bands spirit, reactive approach and all round ability.  I love the gear shifts, the aggression and the general orchestration - it is a very invigorating number.  From the sand-bag thumping to the more fluent we go with the excellence of 'Fight' absolutely lapped up by my Fungalised self.  A fast-rolling routine with all components as tight as fuck supporting the overall encouraging vibe.  There is no reason to lay back and take a kicking, no excuse for letting the bastards walk over you and get away with their shittery. Get up you gits, play this loud, recharge your batteries and get out there and stand your ground.  This is wonderful moment backed up by the runaway train of 'Throughput Will Be Down' - a muscular number charging with unstoppable force and just reminding me why I asked the band if I could add it to my Fungalised Bandcamp page so as to help showcase what this lot do.  Acute, unsettled and happening but all the while totally focussed and nailing the noise.  I listen to this song quite regularly. it is one of those that blows away any cranial cobwebbery.  Tis' fuckin' choice racket making don't ya know.

Charging on with the key-tapping digits ablaze and 'Struggle With Momentum' comes next.  A bag of clutter-buggering cacophony, it batters the belfry in a fine fashion with the following onslaught foaming and thrashing in the ocean of turbulent tonality.  From nowhere a brief moment of respite is found before the violence continues and we are kicked to fucked and left to wallow in the wonder of some solid passion.  'Clown Parade' follows, has a bubbling bassline with a good lick that dictates the modus operandi of the track.  Initially more subdued before a fracture of the mental and musical restraint is had and all words are spilt in a bubbling blood spit of eager necessity.  A track that needs more time this one and one that doesn't grab any dangling and loose foot-tapping strings - it comes and goes and no matter how much I play it leaves little impression - the rhythmic runt in the thriving pack no less.

'God's Not Here' is a demo but nonetheless it is a ruddy good song with a feet on the ground approach and a wake-up and realise stance many may be offended by.  A general anti-religion outpouring, a finger poke at those with heads in the Heavens rather than at level tangible.  The desperation in the delivery is borne from a disbelief and it works mighty well.  'I Don't Care', in some ways, conveniently backs up its predecessor with a grinding primaeval release of 'fuck-free' passion that coughs, splutters and staggers along in a satisfyingly disjointed and unorthodox style.  Almost free-hand fuckwittery with a jammed edge that is in keeping with my hammered lugs and wayward approach - from the mush a manky melody comes.

'What Are You For' may be a question to aim at 99% of the idle headed population, the ones who talk and yet never walk, who encourage but never do, who take it and fake it but never, ever make it.  Look in the mirror and ask the question, see what answers you get.  This is a real wake-up racket with a wind-blown junkyard feel back-shadowed with a dynamo of angst that keeps matters moving and on the edge.  Just below the upper surface of racketology is a sub-epidermal layer of great control - it gives the song presence.  We close with 'The Scene' - another song that sets a few posers and rips up the overlay of 'everything’s all right Jack'.  A cosy veneer doesn't tell the whole story, we must tighten up below and recognise the need for solidarity.  The band gravel kick their way through this closing number with the now recognisable flavour and much lo-fi gumption.  There is an obvious passion here, a deep-rooted system of faith in something real and so easy to keep alive - the key, as ever, is to just get off yer arse and do without thought of self-gain - simples!

I like Nomatrix, I like what they do and this CD would be an ideal introduction for anyone not aware of the band and their style.  By support folk like this we have a chance at keeping things varied, exciting and challenging – the choice is yours!



With Deadlamb Records there is no profit, no pomposity and no hidden agenda.  The label is a pure stalwart of supporting underdog noise and does it in a fine and unassuming way.  Since day dot I have been on their side, I will continue to be so, labels like this are the lifeblood of music - the art is in the doing and doing for the utter love of it.  This latest spilling is a mere 12 tracks, I invest good time as per and produce the usual honest, and hopefully, encouraging review.

We begin and 'No Choice' by Attestor is an affair that begins with crummy guitar grumblings and much agitation.  The development takes us into a nasty tumble-fuck affair that has a fine ethos and kicks back at the fascists bastards and downright idiotic.  The violence of this opening thrust is both obvious and controlled although when one comes out at the other end, one feels nicely roughed up.  A decent start to a CD with much promise. 'Piece Of Meat' by Backstreet Abortions is wonderful action filled rabidity with a real snarling shit spew that has a delicious chorus desire that is neatly broken by some highly appealing guitar work – it sets my soul aflame.  From the opening bee-fuzz frenzy through the marvellous counterpunches the song works a treat and I fuckin' love it.  Foaming, fiery and not fuckin' having any of your shit, this is a minor zenith. Proud City Fathers follow, they are a solid unit and have a vicious edge that once more comes to the fore.  'Summer Of Hate' is a seething molten mass rolling your way with control and intensity before exploding into a gratuitous fountain of searing rage and hatred.  The band play it remarkably tight, have me on the edge of my seat and ready to go throw a brick, shake someone until they wake the fuck up or indeed holler for all I am worth with utter disgust at a planet turning to rancid bilge.  A fine band completing a fuckin' fine hat-trick.

Bass bumble, string statements, a skid and then into the hollering.  In Evil Hour have a good reputation, 'Build It Up' proves why with a feisty and highly organised slap of sonic power-mongering.   The lady at the helm may be petite in stature but she doesn't half let it gush forth with good gumption and is backed by a concrete unit of noise-makers who all contribute to a highly convincing eruption.  This latest explosion shows why Deadlamb Records do what they do and how they have their lugs tuned in to many flavours - on we go - salivating.  'This Hating Nation' by Diaz Brothers has a more euro-feel to matters and a more technical edge with my only gripe that the vocals are too submerged for their own good and so lose some of their clarity and effectiveness.  I hang on in there and put in some perspired effort - the outcome of my ponderings is of a song with sharp and sweeping guitar work and some rigid stick stabilisation but with a lack of snagging melody that grabs my personal receptors - these things happen and I am sure many will disagree with my verdict (I hope so).

Eastfield come next, a band that never fail to delight my sensors and once again, they do just that. What a fuckin' beautiful song this is and oh how it sums up the DIY spirit, belief and downright tenacious attitude of many folks out there.  I love the light and breezy delivery, the transparency and the understanding of something that matters.  The song is an immediate foot-tapper, a real joy - what a good band these lot are.  Kicked In The Teeth come next and provide a nice tensed up counter-punch to the previous song. 'Dead Air' snarls and seethes whilst bashing away at a world of apathy and head-wanking idiocy.  The strait-jacketed sensation is given a brief respite via shimmery nebularity that eases the pressure.  A fair offering, reminiscent of many things I have heard before, but who cares as long as the bollocks are bared.

5 songs left, Zero Again stampede and rampage in that recognisable mad-as-fuck hardcorian way so many love to indulge in.  'Husk' is a shatter-clatter splat-fuck of unleashed mania and is the quintessential 'acquired taste' music.  Like a dish of many flavours served, my hungry salivating senses need a peppering of spice to enhance the whole feast.  This, if part of a slumgullion of similar spillage, would be too much to bear but here fits in just right and makes the overall meal taste mighty fine.  Knife Club join the fray next with a positive product that encourages one to never give in and just keep on trying. 'You Can Only Try Your Best' has a good feel to it with a fair melody and some good vibes.  The song may lack the true welly-wanking 'oomph' factor but the vocals work well in unison and there are many who will love this.  Knife Club do what they do, they are certainly not out of place on this CD.  The Hoors donate a strange and quite obvious song next with the swirling montage of filth and fuckery making 'Dirty Old Man' a difficult song to take to.  Simple in many ways, crass in others, short and scurfy with a distinct completeness lacking.  I don't like this one, it needs work but I suspect after a few beers, in the pit, I would be joining in with the spillings - daft ain't it.

The Sentence are a band I know well, they started off their journey in fine style and were lapped up by many faces.  They have many good songs to their name, I am finding though (like I do with quite a few bands) the early stuff is outweighing later releases.  There are many reasons for this which I have no time to go into here and I stick to the song under the spotlight.  The guitars have a roughened edges, the bass provides meat on the bone and the drums splash with good muscle.  The vocals are utterly raw and honest and the mode is perhaps typical of the genre but still does what it does with magnetising belief - you can't ask for anything more (or could you).   We close with a feisty kicker that I love.  'Pink Bits' by Last Reserves takes a situation that has gone on for far too long, grabs the knackers of the patronising perpetrators and squeezes real hard whilst hollering out a sure-fire reaction.  A gentle and deceiving start, a young girl watches, tries to get involved and gets labelled.  The explosive action that comes is unruly, natural and laden with a frustration at a state of shittery all too rife in this so called 'normal' society.  For me the song says 'piss on their expectations, defy their judgements, put a fist through their grooming guidebooks' and a make a fuckin' noise whilst doing so.  A smashing full stop.

And once more Deadlamb delve, dabble and deliver an assortment of ditties that showcases the goodness found beneath the more blatant radars and where good life breeds good sounds. I hope this lot, as well as the bands, just continue on and on and keep pushing the boundaries - it needs doing don't ya know.



Formed in 1981 the Omega Tribe came, went, briefly reappeared, buggered off again and now are back with us to stay. Everyone knows the name, does everyone realise what culture has been created and what wonder the band are now bringing to the crooked tonal table. Having recently booked them to headline a gig I was left both impressed by the bands presence both on and off stage - nice people, nice sounds and with something to say, that will do for me. I picked up a CD, I have spun to buggery and have been totally smitten. Here are my thoughts:- 

'New Peace Movement' is a glorious sing-a-long title track. It opens proceedings with a good upbeat defiance that, rather than yelled forth, is delivered with embracing encouragement and a certain degree of determined will. The bounce in the tune is matched by an equal positivity fed your way via the lyrical content - lyrics against bias, prejudice and just downright insensitivity. There is something inescapable about this song, something both off-the-street and educated. I am bowled over with enthusiasm and a feel-good hope - nice. 'Better Man' is a clever song that twists a scenario and an emotion that is always viewed as something negative when it can actually be totally opposite and... valid. It is a song that has minimal ska pulsations, something akin to a Tom Robinson number and something low-key but subtly effective. The tonal orchestration is almost crepuscular in its inflection and as a coolness that invades every pore. I listen to the sharp-witted content, admire the simplicity and the craftwork - this song just gets better and better with every rotation - I am mightily impressed.

'Sorry' comes next and captures a breaking point in time when love has fluttered away on silken but shredded wings and a time of emotive realisation hits home. The beauty and gentility of the delivery is both tangible and accurate and surely borne from someone scarred, shattered and perhaps... regretful. The hurt and the desperation are emboldened with a wonderful vocal delivery ideally shadowed by a partner in passion and a bass weaver of careful intent - wow. 'Betrayal' is a barely touched piece that is laden with the admission of mistakes and regret. A victim to the games, the procedures and the masses, this piece would be fully justified in being a fiery rant but instead plays matters minimal with an almost beaten aspect that is quite tough to get to grips with. Late wishes are had, the account drifts into oblivion, this is the palest song of the lot but it seems utterly necessary.

As a counter-flip to the preceding drift we have a more forceful thrust of unapologetic up-front gobbery that raises a fist against the boneheads, haters and general halfwits who want to drag one into a world of prejudice, imbalance and bigotry. A state and chant modus operandi is the name of the game for 'Ain't Gonna Let 'Em' and if you are ever feeling downtrodden, please play this poppet loud, recharge and go resist. 'Tomorrow' is tiptoe poetry that ponders all the easy things in life, the things that matter most, the essences of a sound heart and a reality-tattooed framework. The tranquil waters of tonality are rippled, we are left to decipher - I am delighted and then plunged into the utter magnificence of 'Jewel' - a work of acoustic art, a inscription of adoration and love pasted forth on easy rhythms and swayings that work their way inter the nucleus of one's ticker beat and force one to swoon in admiration. Something very honest and uncomplicated hammers home a homage to a force to be reckoned with - I am taken hook, line and sinker by this beauty - Omega Tribe, thank you.

From a pinnacle to some rust-bucket old-school punk of natural frothing with 'Shit' a seething slap of disgruntlement with the religious maniacs who threaten, conspire and condemn you to the fire. Sharp and acidic this is a smash and grab number from yesteryear propelled forth into the here and now with as much frustration as you could wish for. The corroded edge and ill-temper make for an obvious winner. 'Sometimes' swaggers with sanguinity and moves with an initial prowess that prepares one for the easy-peasy stroll that falls into the aural cavities with featherlight gentleness but with much pertinacity. The essence glows, has its says and states its case as regards matters that should be simple, holistic and obvious but which, in this dubious world, are not. The key is to hang in, be patient and believe - and of course, always be willing to do and help.

'The Streets' has a certain quirkiness and an utter seductive charm that creeps, embraces and squeezes out great applause. A need to move but with a smattering of regret seems to be the order of play with both emotive angles making for something of a conflicting scenario that paradoxically has a carefree salting as well as a certain needful pang. The arrangement is exact and highly appealing, the CD grows in stature. 'Lies' has pep in the tank with an enslavement to online bullshit the situation. Spin and falsehoods palmed off as fact are gobbled up by the ogling masses with no one any the wiser and no chance of positive progress being made. Again we adopt an old-skool inflection, a strong defiance and a very catchy lick that will draw in those listening on CD or seeing the band strut their stuff 'in the flesh'. I have done both, I can vouch for this effective song.

We finalise matters with 'Revolution', a song that has me immediately thinking along the lines of Thunderclap Newman and the song that felt 'Something In The Air'. This has similar tones and flavours with a no-rush approach and a constant 'join us' strain that calls to arms the doofers, the defiant and those that will not open wide and swallow the easy way bullshit that seems to be all the rage. At level zero great nourishing creators and active arsed reactors are found, yes, the pure salt, the untainted, the too often overlooked - a bit like the Omega Tribe - let us stop this nonsense now.

So, what a ruddy solid, multi-layered and quite magnificent CD that showcases adept players with good hearts, a humble leaning and ability to make some really absorbing music. I fuckin' love this one, next payday I am buying another OT disc, I may just well coin a review.



For a touch of cultured quality and some poetical weavings I would look no farther than The Conspiracy to get my fix.  This duo do what they do with great consideration and yet with a definite homemade accent that gives the whole process and end product something highly believable and tangible.  I have 5 tracks here, a perfect amount as I am an eternal fan of EP's and love the fact they can say so much without going overboard.  Once more I am requested to put thought to paper... 

Chocks away and 'Caged' is a slow trickle of calculated and measured creativity with the thermal radiance sombre and mellow.  The poetical angle of the delivery has one calling upon a decipher and perhaps coming up with answers similar and dissimilar to many other listeners - this could be a good thing.  The rise from the semi-whispered verses to the almost gothic chorus is smooth and the moody and melancholy tones are retained.  As I consider over several spins I deem this a long-term listening experience that will slowly peel away its own acoustic epidermal layers and answer many posers - a grower for sure.  'St Columba' begins with pseudo voodoo tympanics before an anguished wail seduces and thermally reclined words slowly fall in a kind of semi-haze/ considered laze kind of way.  The full content is not revealed as I find the lyrics partly submerged within the tricklings and serious concentration is needed to uncover the true meaning of the music.  I find this hard work and so screw the sentiment and judge on the flow alone - tis decent enough but just lacks that all important snag factor - this one is not for me. 

The middle song and yet another episode of slow, thoughtful and reflective music.  'Nature's Metaphor' constantly views, ponders and questions with an acceptance and a relentless hope neatly entwined within the drift of a ditty with more to it than first suspected.  Delicacy reigns supreme in this winter's day internal/external exploration with soft-focus snapshots borne from the mind as the explorer delves deep into the inner machinations of true reality.  I am both nudged and comforted by this song and given a desire to get out there and do something positive.  It is that kind of construction. 

A certain 80's synth feel pervades the driftings of 'Motives' with an incessant poser placed and asking the ultimate question of 'why'.  I have long considered what would happen if everyone questioned the reasoning behind every move they make and the egotistical needs that may well be uncovered.  The answers always seem quite depressing.  This is a cool and almost detached number with a certain creeping persuasion that gets stronger and more emboldened by the rotation.  Distinct care has been taken in the processing of this one it seems,  a certain naturalness is still retained, the end may be somewhat abrupt, but this song still works. 

The closure comes via a strange Texas Chainsaw intrusion and then a cool opposing meander.  This strange start is perhaps in keeping with the peculiarity of 'Old Wives Tales' - a marriage of gnawing tones and ponderings of outlandish cures and antidotes that were based, in the main, on pure head-mush fantasy.  This a plain and simple contemplative song, nothing more and nothing less.  A punch is lacking, a certain final pick-me-up is what I expected and didn't get - from a 5 track CD, this is my personal low point and I am not keen, these things happen. 

Yes, no, yes, yes, and no - therein is a summing up.  I should start doing these reviews in such a simple fashion, but then again, I always feel the artistes deserve more time - darn buggers.  In fact, spare a little time yourselves and see what you think, if you do just that I will be more than happy. 



I have only seen this lot twice, the first time I enjoyed them the second time I was left unimpressed.  The band do what they do and put in a good stint but does comedy over-ride the content?  Is this a mere entertainment band rather than something spiked?  I reckon so but sometimes one needs to take a step back and take things for what they are and piss upon the silly labels people put on things - I do just that (as per).

Expecting little and I am quietly surprised by an opening number that has good musicianship, a solid blend of flavours and a mix that brings out the best of all components.  'Ex-Masturbator’ sees the light, croons inward before denouncing the world of pork pulling and duly bouncing along with high vitality and, may it be said, great spunkery.  The shift in styles and the general mix are all spot on the mark with a delightful sing-a-long snag had. The opening rise is built on semen denying sincerity with the pace soon injected and a skanky smattering had.  All todge-twangers and clit flickers may have to take note here and join the frustrated flock - after listening to this I may even join them - ooh err, me gonads.

'Bitchslap' is a raucous and no-nonsense surge of fiery zeal with an irresistible sonic force that just kicks up a dust-storm and drags one in.  From the opening holler the heads are down and zoned-in with all areas unified and hammering away with unapologetic zeal.  I like the pace, the cacophonic hunger and the foaming bass-work that shows a band thriving and jiving with a quite ensnaring desire - this one follows on from the opener with effective gumption.

Following a quite impressive opening couplet we fall into the viciously named 'My Boss Is A Cunt'.  This is another zipping number with something obvious to say and done in a quite forthright and highly melodic way.  Despite the impetus the individual players can be deciphered, the vocals enjoyed and the catchy angle joined in with.  This is a nice follow-up crack to the first two fiascos and indicates a band very much recharged and on the up.  They seemed to have progressed a long way since my initial viewings, I may have to witness these tracks 'live'.  This song is a delicious thrust and perfectly blended - a real zipper to pick up the soul - unless of course your boss it ruddy wonderful.

Finally and 'Keep Calm' resists, defies and hollers with a worked up excitement and unstoppable force of highly animated action. At times the band overstretch the chaotic edge and just lose direction but thankfully get back on track with a simplistic skank and state segment.  A drum spurt comes and gets the impetus rolling with a fiery edge, and of course energetic desire.  This strikes me as a great 'air-punching' offering with a chance for the two-tone buggers to have a quick jig and the hammered to let off some steam. The job is a decent one.

So, the PS pirates have come, battered forth a quartet of alive and kicking tunes and left me more than a little pleased.  Alas fate has recently delivered the band a cruel, untimely and quite crushing blow, where they go from this point onwards is anyone's guess, sometimes music pales into insignificance when compared to the realities of life.  I sign of hoping for the best for all confirmed and offering thanks for a decent EP. 



I have reviewed a few smatterings by Salem Trials, I am not telling you anything else.  Go seek out the other reviews after you have read this one and get to grips with something contrary, different and perhaps not what you would expect.  I am happy to indulge once more and even if the brace of the bizarre is not to my taste I am happy in the fact that a band is willing to do what they do, avoid the generic parameters and come up with something delightfully discomforting.

The first song 'Fall's' with a certain ad hoc, unfucked peculiarity that indicates a lack of concern for all things orthodox.  This is a creation bathed in tunes from 'neath the radar' and my ears are pricked.  With Salem Trails one has to shake off the shit of commercialised head-slamming and sniff out the essence of things more natural and naked.  'Another Fripp World' invades my senses and throws any thoughts of an 'easy listening experience' out of the window.  Here I am instantly thrown into the quirked and cripple-ripple staggerings that have a fluidity and a somewhat snotty suggestion. A metropolistopian flavour is dished whilst the rewiring is deliberately awry and making for something awkward and perhaps too unruly for the lugs of the more tamed and, may it be said, more delicate. A cosmic cacophony if ever I heard one this. A certain majesty draped in a style of red would be pleased.

'Taints On You' is a country-fried peregrination into reclined rhythms and quirked cadences where square-deal wares are crapped on and dust is kicked into the face of the flatliner.  I am a recipient of some of the initial mote mess as I get to grips with the crawling craftwork and sloping accents of the acoustic spillage.  I find this second offering a little disappointing after the opening number - it lacks that 'other worldly feel' and angularity although the closing moments do take one on a slight tangent and have one gagging for an untoward bout of explosive noise - the eruption never comes - bastards.

I am still intrigued by Salem Trials, know only too well that I , like many others, will never like everything the band produce which, in itself, is both refreshing and exciting.  These 2 track samplings are just enough and keep me on the edge of my seat... albeit off balance.

Page 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10,
11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20,
21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29, 30
31, 32, 33, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40
41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 47, 48, 49, 50
51, 52, 53, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58, 59, 60
61, 62, 63, 64, 65, 66, 67, 68, 69, 70
71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, 80
81, 82, 83, 84, 85, 86, 87, 88, 89, 90
91, 92, 93, 94, 95, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100