I like the sounds emanated from the Ghoulies - it is whizzed up, space-age and usually done with a warped pop punk element that is wanked through with a certain garaged feel.  This makes for a sound that gets my aged juices flowing (and that ain't no easy thing) and gets the undercarriage of sonic emotion tingling (equally hard due to the eternal noise bumming that I have put myself through over many years).  And so after finding this latest offering in my e-mail box, playing several times over, I thought I would tap out a review - it seemed the decent thing to do. 

A creeping rise, I await the madness with bated breath, it comes with many familiar bubbling and wired wanked tones.  'BTK' is awash with high voltage energy and great cross-beams of spunking incandescence. The catapult projection of this opening number whips me up into a frenzy and after strangling my neighbour and pogoing into the distance with the head screwed, I come back to earth with a wallop and fall into track two.  'Para$ite' is a foreskin stretching molestation of seizured sound that will not be captured, tamed and truly described.  Frenzied and fucked, but still retaining an inner tune, this is a crazed blow out nailing a leech and loving it.  We end on a soundbite, a snippet of spoken word from the 'guilty as charged' - where the fuck have I put my nerve tablets? 

'NBN' is a brisk fiddle of wayward sound making done by sonic imps of the perverse.  Like a fucked-up tribe of drugged up pixies the band produce quirk-fests such as this with comparative ease - they certainly keep me entertained.  'Unpack Your Bag's' is a fresh and thriving snippet that is radioactively energised and shining and sparkling with an effervescence not to be dumbed down.  The whole escapade has life and lunacy compacted into a spitball of tasty passion that one can't help be adhered to.  The pimpled and pubescent goodness is apparent - this is a good kick up the arse for all the oldies and a nice nudge for all the youthful lads and lasses out there.  Choice! 

'Mothman' flutters in on flaking wings, finds a current on which to fly and goes at it whilst leaving behind a serenading slipstream.  This is music-box of funland fuckwittery built on imaginations gone AWOL and fruitloop foundations where the keys and mind-altering medication play a major role.  I have no idea what the fuck this is about, I care not to dwell, I am just happy that things lepidopteron get a sub-mention.   

A flittering four are netted, examined and after a brief scribbled report, are let free to go fly and fuck up some other poor buggers noggin.  'Guilt' is a dream, a really swift surge of Ghoulie goodness that sees the band fly forth with all their screwy strength exposed and the distinct vibrations encapsulated into one terse treat.  Sharp, pacey and fluent - lovely.  After a brief bass-belly grumble 'Society' soon slips into the after-blast and does its thing with equal tempo and complimentary no-nonsense focus.  The tune has snappy contrasts and an urgency that is provoking but not overwhelming.  What makes these ditties so effective though is the spectrumised  shit-splat of sound that is smeared this way and that, collected up and thrown into your face with such multi-hued glory - smashing. Quick stick flicks, punctuating string stutters, the usual sniping and off kilter vocals and away we go with the wank-waltzer of experimentation known as 'Fake Rockstar'.  A song of many mis-fitting, head-splitting tangents that somehow copulate and make for an oddment that actually works. 'Gold Chain (At The Tab)' however is a better thrusting with more juice splashed, more citrus zest setting my jowls to 'salivate mode' max and the general gist of the jape far more trashcan worthy.  The end twat about shows that the band are determined to keep matters insane, inane and unpredictable - this is no bad thing.  This quartet of corruption encapsulates everything good and troubling about the band - it is why I keep my lugs close to the Ghoulies jerk-generated joy zone – sexy or what? 

The last two and 'Genetic Flaw' zips with zeal, twirls with tangents and twangs with a turmoil that is just held in check. The keys are as per, directing all with their cheap and tacky essences that are a guaranteed pleasure to all those who like things encouraging, real and without any overspill of electro fraudulence.  Not the quickest song in the set but one that still keeps the footing tapping.  The closure comes with a song entitled 'Headful Of Fuck' - what more could one ask for?  This final fling of flavoursome frolicking is the epitome of the acoustic relish the band like to ejaculate this way and that.  Brisk, tighter than a vicar's lips when charged with crimes against the ringpiece, this is a sorted savory to nibble at, then nibble some more and then to fuckin' gorge on - it is an expected and tasty full stop. 

Yes, I am still convinced by the Ghoulies, I like their style and in the midst of more sedate, predictable and noise by numbers realms, I am happy to include this 11 tracker in the great sonic shake-up. 



A grubby rock and roll jangling here served up by the acoustic Herb-erts known as The Chives.  Pure slaggery with numerous essences of gratuitous glam and garaged rock that really hits my sensors of unwashed appreciation.  Many hate this stuff, some just don't get it and others fuckin' love it.  I jump in with both feet but make sure I remain sober and with the critical hand of honesty ready to scrawl - these are my emotive feelings on the dirty dozen. 

A tinny strum begins, matters are almost unplugged and create an immediate impression of honesty.  'Don't Leave Me Alone' soon lets the juices flow, the intensity increases but the pace remains middling and the temperament controlled.  This initial burst does what it does in a style that is aimed at making one short groove with neither highs, lows or anything in between.  It is an initial shit-flow that stinks of sincerity and an absorption unto the artform - I appreciate what is going on here and so should you.  The chaser staggers in like a crippled drunk striving to gain some semblance of sure-footed movement.  Eventually we get an advancement with 'Fucked My Shit Up' a bluesy Stone-esque episode of bleeding wound wandering that will certainly meet the needs of all those down and dirty dogs of rock and fuckin' roll.  There is a real candid and persuasive cacophony going on, something built on obvious fundamentals and delivered as naturally as can be. If there was ever a genre that ought to be nailed as 'Unwashed Blues' - this is it! 

'Smoking Under This Tree' has a great opening lick, holds on to a fine sub bubble-gum sweetness and drifts and drives with a well-balanced tonality that is both gently clanging and tenderly banging.  The sugary sweetness is gooey, sticky and perhaps of a taste that may be a trifle acquired. As I listen in some more the tendrils of the tonality work their way around my resisting reactors that are gently squeezed dry of all doubt.  This is a dirty affair with subtleties to be discovered - it gets better by the play, especially if one is strangled into submission. 

'Runnin' From The Law' is a trundling peach that rattles along with extreme slaggy focus and a lick that really gets the juices flowing and the pips popping.  A great episode of unwashed, underprocessed noise making that has a delicious zip in the tank and exudes a toxic after-plume that I am only too happy to be intoxicated by.  This is the best track so far, my prediction is that it will be the best track on the CD - I hope I am wrong and if I am, boy am I in for a treat.   

A collection of 3 are grabbed and tossed about under the same umbrella of consideration.  Whilst in the contemplative shade I muse on 'My Morning Spliff' - a mid-paced funky piece of trembling agitation that has radio-screwed verbals, a backdrop of consistency and many soothing susurrations that give the song a softer edge than first realised.  There is an irritation rising here, a need to chill, thank goodness for a detaching smoke.  I don't mind this addled jangle though.  'Pleasant Valley Sunday' has a real 60's vibe, one that blends things hippified, under the radar and screwed.  I can't help thinking this is the product of a copulating mess via the crucial parts of The 5th Dimension, some scurfy scoundrel and the meddling hands of the Mamas and Papas.  It is a wonderful moment that has me bouncing in the here and now whilst pondering the realms of yesteryear.  I like the soiled finish, mucky and melodic - hot shit man.  The last of the tormented trio and 'The Chives Buy Guns' is a grit-spitting crawl with a movement laboured and in no rush to up the tempo.  This is a tempered brew best sipped at with utter care, it is a molten soup that leaves an uncertain aftertaste. Ad hoc angles are traversed, I am contemplating a jazz jam of confused disarray with elements to pique, please and piss one off - I am not sure if this is a bad thing. 

'Your Moms A Bitch' takes a 'slowly does it' approach which in itself, is truly unsettling.  The spine-tickling sinisterism of the sonic splat-drip is disarming and all the while one can't help being on the cusp of panic and in fear of a full-on eruption.  The song unfolds with no increased haste, the repeat rise comes and then matters chill and... we are done.  I feel somewhat frustrated but glad I am not on the receiving end of this nasty piece. 'Paediatrician Song' has a fuckin' beautiful intro of flavoursome tonality akin to a bag of glass thrown into a blender along with a few nails and some loose change - the racket is delightful.  The following tangent-tune is gratifyingly grating with surfy splash drums, interbred madness, some tin can strummy-yummy guitars and a lick to be hypnotise by.  Jerks and spasms come so as to keep one guessing, the main grain is grubby, the overall grind of the guitar a sodden clash and smash that is absorbing.  As if this treat isn't enough the chasing 'Fairies Wears Boots' is sex-dog fucking of the sleaziest order.  As the hips grind, the jowls salivate and following a flustered initial penetration a rhythm is adopted and a cool screwing had.  More reckless invasions come via rictus-snarling liberation with a certain cur off the leash danger presiding throughout.  The big 'have it' riff bursts are exciting, the cooler manipulations arousing, the end orgasm satisfying - ooh me rear end! 

The last two - 'High In The Backyard' has a laid back flick in the wrist with the casualness very reminiscent of many offerings I have dealt with via the Dirty Water Records label.  As matters progress we fall into a suffocating bog of belligerent guitars, slamming sticks and snotty gobbery and in truth, it is a fine mucky maelstrom to be snagged down in.  Those early vibes though - man I would like to see a full song based on those shimmerings - wow.  We fuck off into the void with 'Bark At Ringer Park' - a country-tickled drawl that opts for a bombed out modus operandi with a smattering of dreamy serenading and coyote screwing deviancy.  I am not a fan of country music, I prefer it when the band are more alive and kicking and I am not into causing cacophonic canines any rear end pain - ooh crap.  I consider this a duff note on which ends a fine collection of sounds - I must admit though that throwing curveballs this way and that is the only way and that is what I got here. 

Despite the dislike for the final punctuation piece and the abundance of angles tossed against my inner aural membrane, I find this piece of product by The Chives a most gratifying listening experience.  The band have many areas to further explore and many options on which they might expand - this makes me wonder what will come next?  For now though I recommend you check out this quality mush and perhaps even explore the bands label a little more too - you should be quite taken or perhaps... repulsed. 



As I wander the alleyways and backstreets of the DIY scuzz-hole I come across minstrels who rise and fall with the ebb and flow of the fickle public's interest.  This duly causes some pluckers and many fuckers to throw their skanky towels in and resort to heavy bouts of lackadaisical living and unadulterated 'existence wanking'.  Some however dig deep, roll with the flow and do for the sheer love of it - Dirtbox Disco are still with us folks, they refuse to fold and for that we should be thankful (perhaps).  As per, my lugs are attuned to underground hollerers and some still request that I assess what they do, and so I do just that.  I myself am a great advocate of clinging on and doing for the sheer love of it - we seem to be a dwindling minority.  

And so to the CD before me, and we begin with the open sortie, a construction named and shamed as '#Bollocks' - a real wound up piece of irritation that sets the stall with some musical muscle flexing and a shout of 'Motherfuckers'.  The motif is a sing and shadow, state and repeat operation with a foaming chorus thrown in that is instantaneously caught within the pubic fuzz of the cranial nether regions.  The blend and the power applied make this a shock treatment start - I am immediately ensnared.  'Rokapokalips' is a supreme beauty that exhibits a defiance and a damn good tune. The opening tones are slightly cutting and reminiscent of previous DBD affair.  As soon as the first verse is upon us though what we get is a sing-a-long cabaret of melodic poppology.  The said verse segues into the awaiting chorus as easy as a lemon popsicle shoved up a freshly bummed parson's arsehole - and man that is easy.  What we have here is a pleasurable shafting without any snag, a song that may not please the 'punx' (emphasis on the 'x' baby because they are a hardcore bunch don't ya know) and in truth, who fuckin' cares.  As per, play, enjoy what you do and whatever happens, crack on.

'Cinderella's Motorhead Tattoo' convinces me of a fact that Cinders has always been a questionable bint with no taste in music - fuckin' Motorhead indeed!  This hefty lump of noise is the most run-of-the-mill song so far and packs a good amount of genital wobbling power that will make the eyes water of many weak-kneed weebles.  If I was sitting on a judges panel and giving votes to the opening three numbers this would get the least digit-based support, but it still ranks as a concrete song - I think that says it all.

'Kill The Music' seems a middling escapade but the chorus cut is pure cheese from yesteryear, with the verse moments tempered and in some ways just a perfect compliment to the swing-easy sing-a-long chunks.  There are no sharp angles here, no barbs to snag your privates on - just get yer bevvies, don your jiving shoes and let the body do the rest.  A final crowd pleasing push and we are done.  Cornballed up until the last - and why not?

Typical DBD tomes begin 'I Don't Wanna Go Out With You' which is just as well as the title is also typical of the bands noisy contributions.  From a great distance one could recognise that this is the work of DBD, the whole tonal appearance, the verbal delivery and the mid-paced melody is one of those moments when the band go into cruise control. Up the ante during the chorus and get the job done with ease.  A decent song but just a little too familiar for its own good.

'Happy Pills' takes its time with a lengthy intro before the opening salvo comes via stated words and 'whoa hoa' shadowplays.  The song flows with a certain transparency with a headfuck sufferer opening the troubled ticker and confessing the need to keep taking the tabs. No pressure is exerted, the development of the creation is done in a slow and steady style that is easily consumed - just like the Prozac don't ya know. I like this one, it hits a nerve, I need a pill a day too, I also like my DBD fixes too.

'Land Of Hope And Glory' says it how it is, this filthy isle many proclaim to be great has been molested by the meatheads, left to go to pot by the many destructive dabblers and of course, placed in a precarious position by the many who think they know best and dictate.  I like the ill-temper here, the focus on a fuck-up and the gentle inner grit that puts rank meat on a fractured bone.  My message - play loud, fuck your country and shit on yer flag, but please look after your surroundings and the people in it.  'Spoilt Brat' is a theme I concur with as we live in times where cunts are helped with their crimes and failings by many who are only too willing to hand out the excuses.  In these days of 'not my fault' and blameless bullshitting, people take less and less responsibility and use and abuse certain glitches to garner attention, take short cuts and in some cases, get some extra dosh.  I love the unafraid say-it-how-it-is approach, a matter of trespassing on toes where people say you shouldn't tread.  Many will agree with the contents of this song, many will stay schtum.  A solid inclusion.

'Up The Dirtbox' is a masterpiece.  A double entendre delivered with cute style and done with a melodic modus operandi that many will be utterly magnetized by. The entire escapade is a simple affair but delivered with such clarity, sanguinity and impish cheekiness that one can’t help but join in the fray.  The defiant edge, the self-assured cockiness and the two-fingered salute to many in-scene punkers, rockers and the like is not lost – magical.

We close with the spiky ‘We’re Not Taking Any Shit From You’ – a real poisonous piece that clears the air and takes no prisoners.  The execution is slow and steady with moments that make a promise and moments that offer the chance to ‘have a go’ to the fucker under the spotlight.  This is a vicious piece that has an obvious formula but after a seeming full stop to matters we get something akin to a follow-up threat that is laden with acidic danger and focused certainty.  A naked and open-hearted piece without a name, this is a well-worked effort showing the bands nasty side and helping reminding one that in life, all is not just skipping around with a dead-eyed look thinking everything is great – there are many things to be niggled by. Think on!

And once more, Fungal has been dished up a delight, in fact this old scabby soniceer has been taken aback by an album that is a real pip and gives me great faith that bands, when overcoming the odds, can still do the business.  I am sure many have written off this unit, the evidence here is that this is not the case. Get your grubby erasers out ya buggers and think again whilst appreciating this beauty.



A four-piece from Nottingham with a 10-track release to run my Fungalised lugs over.  That is the best I can do for an intro, if you want to gain a greater insight into what is on offer and my own personal opinions then read on, this is what the band do, this is what I do - it is all done with honesty and unbiased clarity on my part, as for the band, we can only hope. 

First up 'Taking The Piss', what an easy song to jump in line with and what an approachable and uncomplicated jaunt it is.  A big thrusting mixed with controlled wire-bends.  Add some vocals, let the tension tease and then allow things to progress and let the one actually 'extracting the Michael' out of one’s good nature be placed under the focused spotlight.  A quite simple but neatly executed song that is an instantaneous ear-eel, wiggling and winding its way to the zones marked 'enjoy' - and that is what I fuckin' well do. 

'Julie Andrews' is a tale of a lustful man who wants a to get his leg over rather than appreciate a woman for what she is.  This is 70's postcard comedy built on a fantastic tune and some rich and fruity musicianship.  I am not into the laddish 'stick a dick in it' content of the song but I gotta hold my hands up and rate this as a cracking ditty.  Many filthy louts will get an extra kick (and I hope a serious dose) and will love to swill their beer, jig along and eye up the birds - ooh heck. 'The Weekend' slots into the slipstream with consistent thinking with the small head overpowering the larger head and sending one out on the prowl for a 'bit of tail'.  A documentary style song is what we get with a very old-school feel and something very 'pub-esque'.  I consider this a solid new-wave wonder that ticks all the boxes outside the strait-jacket restraints of typical punkery.  One for the lads and lecherous louts - not for me lyrically but the tune is spot on. 

'She Gets Me' has Clashy elements as well as a sound that is very much 'Jags-esque'.  Pure fun-time semi-bubble-pop tart tickling done with a simplicity and a uncomplicated approach.  A homage is paid to a seemingly 'good girl' with a dancing shoes encouragement that really is as innocent as it sounds, The band aren't looking to burst balls here or make great 'punk' rock waves.  No, they are looking to make a very likeable tune, with good intent and are duly succeeding.  'Fallen From Grace' screws in next, it is a song with a piercing sonic stare that penetrates with ill will.  The first verse is delivered with utter focus, the fall into the chorus is slick and it is here the songs general arrangement is completed.  A tough and sinewy creation which is the perfect contrast to the previous outpouring.  There is a general tension, the band keep things tight and compressed, the inner release is brief and offers no real respite from a song that does the business. 

'That's Life' is a zipping piece that will have all and sundry singing along and pinging this way and that.  This is a fresh and fruity sounding inclusion with an undercurrent of being rather pissed off with the age-old explanation that really doesn't wash.  I am rather smitten by the thrustings of this one and the overall relish exhibited by all compartments - it is another reflection of a band who certainly know how to compose a ruddy good tune.  I like it! 

'Bet She's Thinking' is more poppery done with a corned and cute accents and with a real cheeky glint in the eye.  Things seem innocent but suspicions are had - they may be very well justified.  This love and lust tinted piece is sweetly delivered, it is a song based on reality, a ditty for folks of all ages and those within and on the outside of many different scenes.  It is though mere throwaway popsicle sucking sugariness but that doesn't mean it has any less validity.  I reckon many will claim to have heard this before too - as I say - corned but cute. 

'Gotta Gun' is the switch back to mode 'mean' with a flesh-dripping zeal exposed and a thirsty desire to upset and get the job nailed.  The noise and fuzz levels are impermeable and effective without being overwhelming.  The verse is feisty, the chorus almost like a primal release.  There is yet more stress and anxiety being erased here with a tension relieving number streaked through with emotion.  The blend of all units is exact and again cements my belief that the band are onto something good here. 

2 left, 'Heartbreaker' is rock solid rock and roll with the stage briefly set, the twanging and panging tones relevant and the opening throes sending out a warning to those looking for love.  A cold and icy maiden rises above the emotions of the needy, they are merely used and abused and duly forgotten.  This is a well-crafted number with an ideal balance between the content and the cacophony.  The scars are exposed, the hurt is still there - nicely done chaps and the short running time is spot on.  We close with 'Monstrosity' - a dark number from deeper recesses with a spiralling blue-light commencement, a rising angst and a great desire to kick back against the gawpers and glarers.  An outsiders viewpoint, a misfits angle in a society of plastic posers and made-up morons who are the self-appointed judge and jury. This is one I can relate to and I must say - the band do what they do well and with a good amount of wallop.  This is one to play loud, one to encourage and to use as a tool to fuck all the doubters and down-shouters - crucial material. 

So, methinks we have a good 10 track CD here and one, I hope, the band can back up on stage with a justifiable performance.  There is quality, many a good lick and some uncomplicated tunegae with the final production getting the best out of what seems to be, a very reliable band.  You could do a lot worse than pick this one up tha' knows. 



Another 4-tracker that came my way with the usual promotional blurb that I duly ignored.  I mean, is anyone sending music out for reviews claiming that it is utter shit?  The creators come from Portland, Oregon, that is as much as I wished to know and so went in as neutral as can be. Initial listens didn't shake up my sonic shitter, I bore with matters and then cobbled together some usual Fungalised spillage. 

Track one, 'Deep Crush' is pillow-thought contemplation, borne from a balmy night when isolation takes hold and yearnings dominate.  The delicacy of the delivery and the soporific ambience is donated towards the eavesdroppers tympanic airspace with tenderness, care and accuracy.  I am nudged onto my heels as I take in this first meandering trickle and am forced to take my time rather than rush in with ill-founded words.  I am prone to make all assumptions with only nebulous suggestion with my feelings being of an 'Americana sub-gist' that has a barely breathing inner core that somehow does enough to satisfy - I am shaken that I am taken. 

'Memory Lane' sidles in from a pseudo-electro railway tunnel where all is cool, slightly chilled and utterly controlled.  The opening verse is built on a fluttery tympanic foundation and an attractive bass-bumble.  The overlain strings are minimal, the vocals both dreamy and drowsy, the effect is sufficient to have one dozing off with a smile on the face.  The pace is pleasing, the overall summing up has me considering a real grower that sends narcolepsy-inducing tendrils that will not be denied. A definite persuader for the wannabe 'zed' pusher. 

'I'm A Bore' is perhaps my favourite piece due to its gentle clash of the upbeat and the somewhat defeated.  A real 'emo' tinted pop biscuit that crumbles and fumbles with a melodic leaning of the most timid and yet impressing kind.  This is purist 'loner' lilting, a pastel-shaded anthem for the ones who stand in the kitchen at parties or those who have interests that are far from 'trendy'.  The shy and introverted will find solace in this delightful snippet of unassuming and honest tonal tickling.  It is quite marvellous. 

And finally 'Illusioned Broken Toys' - after the initial clockwork droplets fall and the synthed cushionings are brought to life we are granted a crepuscular gift that is the final full-stop on a drifting 4 track delight.  Tubular bells are kissed, shimmers enfold and susurrated serenades glides across the tympanic membrane with the greatest respect and the utmost consideration.  This is a million miles away from the heavily booted, bollock busting noise that I am usually bombarded with and it is not the first thing I would opt to spin when looking through my personal noise collection but, it is utterly necessary noise that needs throwing in everyone's general mix.   

The only advice I would give the creative forces here is to release another 4 tracker and keep on doing so rather than opting for a full album.  This is lovely lullaby lush-puppy spillage and best dripped forth in small amounts rather than in one big suffocating droplet.  I am, surprisingly, impressed.



UK Dissent are a band I have witnessed twice. Once on a mate's gig and once on a Fungalised showcase.  Both times I was impressed, the CD, when acquired, was greatly anticipated, I fancied there was something choice coming my way - I listened several times over whilst on the punchbag.  I listen whilst at work and I listened whilst pottering around the house.  These 3 fine gents claim to be just another 'North East Punk Band' - no airs, no graces, just a great heap of approachable earthiness - I am appreciative of that.  Here are some textual spillings from the digits of man soaked in sounds, see what you think or fuck off, I am doing the best that I can with honesty, as ever, the main priority as well as making an attempt at helping a band along the way.

I jump in and grab tracks at random and give them the usual Fungalised grilling. The first one to be manhandled and tossed against my aural membrane is slagged down under the name of 'Everything Is Great' - a song that begins with a string preparation, Thompson-Gun rolls, healthy bassism and some honest hollering.  The title track is donated with a slice of sarcasm with the basic existence all well and good but certainly not what it seems.  The band do what they do with nouse and understanding though and the compacted and impressing noise factor of the song certainly resonates deep. The look at gutter life, a situation I used to be familiar with, reinforces the fact that some places are not moving on.  This is great observational music.

'Babylon' is my next choice, a song with obvious pilfered tones but with a capacity to bowl one over without these homage paying accoutrements.  The sensation is of a sweeping wave of emotive irritation that works up a fiery lather and nails each strum and slap of the skin with purpose.  The all-consuming conflagration that burns with a blinding light exposes a band hell-bent on produced songs that hit a nerve and remove a layer of skin with each and every spin.  This is a fuckin' sizzling offering and one that keeps scorching the brain when one least expects it.  'Hold On' is my next choice, it completes an initial hand-picked hat-trick of bruising sounds that keep me mightily breathless.  This one takes stock, stands firm and blasts back with a assured authority.  The opening tones remind me of a certain Citizen Fish sound as found on their outstanding 'Life Size' album, the band here though have their own sound and comparisons are really not needed.  This is a bold and impressing offering that really does rouse the sonic passions and fulfils the need for all things well-drilled, muscular and utterly convincing.  There is a supportive and reassuring power emitted and done so with a simple construct retained and upheld by a great scaffolding of noise.  This is one of the best tracks of the CD for sure, a never-say-die, tough dog bastard that drives forth with unstoppable prowess.

Some bass weaving next, a tidy skin skip and some gravel-stone string work before an extra twilight twinkle adds texture.  'Punk Rock In Our Veins' is a snagging and sincere song that borders on the corned but escapes it by the sheer belief shown and once more, the transparent honesty.  This latest plucked piece has nouse, melody, power and just an all-round good feel that will be appreciated by the few spiked bastards in the know and of course, by the many who think they are in the know.  I am always wary when anthems to a 'label' are made, it can have a diluting effect and kill the inner ethos that so many miss - this is not the case here, something resonates and something hits a certain inner reactor - what can I say? 

A fine intensity radiates from the opening tones of 'New State' - more suggestions of things 'Rut'ted and passionate.  The inner pride in the streets is blatant, the need to keep things real and unprocessed burns bright with the players all zoned in and united in acoustica.  Again the production values are spot on, the continual flow of the zested output is magnetising and the raw-assed out-of-the-gutter grubbiness is easily related to by this scabby old bastard.  The procession of things classed as 'progressive' continues whilst all the while character and individuality are negated.  Use this song as fuel to defy or, ultimately get rinsed through and die... a failure. 

Next and 'Day In Day Out' is a beauty - a song to join in with and to reinvigorate the soul with.  Brief bassism, an explosion, hard tonality and much sharded light snagging.  The hollers are raw, raving against the stranglehold on the people, the all-consuming squeeze that destroys all sense of hope and any regard for a bright future.  As many do fuck all and many are easily kept on the back foot I can't see any change soon - but we gotta dig deep folks and get the filth removed and then wait perhaps for the next lot of shit to take its place.  Frustrated - you fuckin' bet and this slamming song is a choice release of that gnawing emotion.  'Neighbourhood Blues' has good pace, a consistency that keeps it in line with all that has transpired and a roaring angst not to be denied.  The tempo puts the band further under the fungal spotlight and, in truth, they come out smelling of rhythmic roses.  This injection of speed is a joy, the tumble turns, the deep 'bluesy' vibe and of course, the unity of the players makes for another treat - this is wholesome music folks. 

As I check the randomised list I take note that I have 3 tracks left to deal with, I duly take them in one huge gulp, digest and then vomit up my final thoughts. 

'From The Suburbs To The Frontline' is a groovy number that spouts above a naked substrate before stutter attacks come with greater force and then the usual surging is taken.  This one is the creeping grower in the pack and offers a different approach to that which has transpired thus far.  The song has contrast, an uncomplicated thrust in part and a funky vibe in other areas.  Overall this construction works mighty well. 'Song From Northern Britain' goes at matters from the off with a security in the tones and a control most obvious.  There is no rush to get to the hub of matters but when the song truly takes hold it does so with the usual authority and attention grabbing precision.  The opening throes exhibit an acuteness, the first verse is hard-hitting, the chorus cut is a unifying chant that needs to be heeded but will most probably will only be paid lip service.  If you are down and getting beaten the only way back is to get together and resist the fuckers that are pummelling you to oblivion.  This is a concrete call to arms. Fuck the divide, defy the imbalance, realise the complete idiocy of a country being ripped apart at the seams both naturally and socially.  Play this fuckin' loud and shift your arse. 

The final song that I pluck from the 'Dissent'ing tree is 'What's Wrong With People' - a song laden with faithless anger and a despair at the sickening state of play as regards the human condition.  The answer to the poser offered it seems is 'everything' - too many takers, fakers, users and dream chasers only thinking of self and how good they look.  This song sums up the thoughts I have each and every day as I witness the self-obsessed both on and off-line.  This is a well-chosen moment for me personally to finish with and I reckon it rounds off a fuckin' wealth of choice sounds that I am very much taken with. 

UK Dissent have a peach on their hands here, if they play it cagey they could do well on the back of this CD alone.  I am watching their progress and am making note to book them again – it must be done as idleness is not an option, something you will soon understand if you get this cracking circle of noise. 



The Kingcrows have played many a  Fungal gig, they have now flown the nasty nest of noise and moved into other realms whilst I stay at the bottom wallowing with the few cracked eggs and loving it.  The crew have always been a joy, a good bunch of lads and always willing to chip in - that will do for me.  This latest CD came out of the blue and was received with a warm smile and great hopes.  I had an inkling of what I would get, I was not to surprised and after some good listening time I slapped out the following assessment. 

'Goodtime Generation' has all the tonal attributes and familiar essences that make this band so likeable and easily recognisable. A soundbite from yesteryear comes, a bass bumble and some preparing string strums are gifted.  The sticks flutter and then we are at it.  The opening verse is typical of the band, fresh and breezy and with a joy in the jizz with all components cracking themselves off with utter relish.  The illuminations are shining bright, the big top feel is prevalent and the celebration of the fun-lovers is there for all to embrace.  The Kingcrows are unashamedly party punks, I hate parties, but I do like this lot and I do appreciate this opening number - I can still enjoy it whilst taking a shit in the kitchen of the punk rock family tha' knows. 

The follow up 'Falling Like Skittles' - a summing up of the situation as we grow old and watch folk drop like flies.  The opening gambit I deemed as nostalgia soaked, looking back through rose-coloured glasses remembering times that have been enhanced through the warping factor of time.  Fuck that, today is the day, tomorrow is to be taken, yesteryear and all the throwaway living is done.  After some online chat it seems I had misread the meaning of this one and it is a pop at those who get on gigs after reforming and relying on their name and jumping the queue ahead of the more relevant and honest grafters - I now rate it as an adequate piece.

'Thousand Miles From Home' is a thriving piece, the best outpouring so far with meaner tones shot through with highly aerated exposures of a band loving what they do.  The whole construct is regular and indicative of what these 4 pirates do.  They sail the sonic seas, venture far and wide and rock and roll with an undying and somewhat cracked passion.  Over the years the band have become a reliable force who 'do what they do' - here is a prime example of KC spillage and why so many of us are quite taken by the crew both on and off stage.  Stable work with nobs on. 

The best song of the lot is 'Young Guns Of Nowhere Town' - a real swinging gem that defies those that deem these rock and roll melodies as the semen of the devil that impregnates and sends folk off the rails.  Remember folks - being 'on the rails' is a terrible place, get off track and confound the crippled.  This is a great upbeat number with a crisp, glasslight guitar riff, some impermeable bass foundations and a regulating stick beat to keep us all in line.  The embracing magnificence of the melody is a real urging piece - one for the youth and perhaps those who indeed think they are young.  Get up and fuckin' go folks. 

A trio of tunes are grabbed next, 'Kicking In Heavens Door' has ownership of a likeable belligerence and holds a self-assured style with all the trimmings we are now familiar with draped over and within the context of the tune.  There is plenty of action and a certain unrelenting advancement with all areas in line and contributing to a number, once more, laden with life.  The follow-up is equally animated with 'Be What You Wanna Be' a superb episode of incessant liquidity with an unstoppable gushing that is an irresistible treat for those who need of a kick up the jacksie.  This is early morning music, an outburst to regenerate the soul with and to start the day on a high with.  The main gist is to believe in self and to crack on - an ethos I spout every day and very much live.  We all get dips though, my advice is to consider playing this very loud indeed. The last upchuck of the latest 3 is 'Live And Let Die (Tonight)', a feisty number that has a fuck free approach and a strong desire to drink hard and have fun.  One for the lads and loons this, and hopefully one not for the selfish and those just on the take (fuckin' cunts).  Again, what can I say, the band do what they do and do it well. The plan to enjoy, rock with glory and have a fine time whilst doing so are all there for each and every listener to witness - by heck they are true to their artform and this one completes a fine triplet of tip-top tuneology. 

'Thank You And Goodnight' is consistency incarnate, another example of how the band operate and hardly break sweat whilst pouring out treat after treat.  There is a glitch in this consummate production ability - the fact that so many songs are of a high standard and of a similar strain is a paradoxical failing in itself.  Pace needs to be altered, style switched and angles thrown in but for those who are die-hard Corvid fans - I am sure some will disagree.  I have no gripes with the band and the output but I would be a selfish git indeed if I didn't try and squeeze out every last drop of talent from these darn fuckers.  This is a good song but disappears into the pack - take note ya tinkers. 

'Love Hurts' has a fine 'Drone'd' opening before ploughing away with the heart torn open and the emotions spilled.  The construct is simple here - an orthodox routine with many cliched touches and accoutrements.  This in no way matters, this is good glam-rag enthusing noise destined to get the beer swillers and the pickled party people pinging this way and that.  Honest, transparent and with no sub-text - now where's me dancing shoes.  'Feeling Good' continues the obvious theme (boy these guys must be awash with Prozac). The thread continues, the outcome the same with the band delivering high-action, 'on the town' posing. Dress up, mess up and get on the stage and fuckin' do it.  The immediate double punch that follows comes in the form of 'Devils' and 'Boys In The Band' - the first is a heavy handed number built on some muscular bass and a warning regarding the evil in our midst.  This one brings a slight change in proceedings and it is very much welcome.  The song however needs a little time to win favour when put against the more obvious winning numbers, but I do think this will add a certain longevity factor others may lack.  The chaser 'Boys In The Band' is straight up fodder from the continuous conveyor belt of sound that the band so readily spit forth.  At this stage I think the band have done enough and are leaving me little to add.  The main gyp I have is the sincere lack of variation in pace and tonal texture.  As I say, I like this lot and they do what they do they do mighty well but I am ready for a shake up and would like to see the band step outside their own safety zone and startle all and sundry.  This song is good but is that indeed, good enough at this point, especially for us long term followers of the flock? 

2 left 'Black Sands' has a distinctive 'Dirtbox' feel to the opening throes with a sound zip in the zest and a typical punkoid angle to the lyrical overflow.  The darker edginess is noted, the incessant drive has a magnetic propulsion not to be underestimated and, as per, all areas are given good space and coming in loud and clear. There is a suggestion of 'snarl' here and as a result the band seem to get more out of what they do.  I like this one a lot, it has an earthiness and a controlled flamboyance with a  little extra flesh on the bone and, a certain defiant streak.  We close with 'Love And Razor Blades' with the script followed, the surge upheld and the band signing off in the same style as when they started and, it seems, with no intention of changing.  The drums are excitable, exact and full of youthful spunk.  The strings work as one and give the always obvious honesty, whilst the frontman warbles on with lucid recognisability and a noticeable thirst for what transpires.  You can't fault the bands love for what they do, and if you are a fan of everything about The Kingcrows this is a sure-fire winner.  I sign off smiling. 

The good regarding this CD is obvious - it is a CD played with blatant passion, fine musicianship and by 4 blokes who are in tune both on and off stage and have an undeniable belief in what they do.  The bad, if I may be so honest, is in the fact the band are too recognisable for their own good and do not vary matters enough. The ugly - well man, have you seen these fuckers without make-up?   

And there you have my verdict - all I ask of the band is to keep going and on the next release keep it to 8 tracks and throw in some slow songs, a few curveballs and a song about mushrooms - not a lot to ask is it? 



With a band name like 'Violent Solution' one can be forgiven for parceling and packaging the said unit into an appropriate pigeon-hole before even hearing a note played.  I have soaked myself in perhaps too many noises over too many years. There is very little that I haven't heard before and so one gets a trifle prepared when one hears a name from a scene where little in the way of originality comes.  This however is no negative situation, it is just how it is and believe me, I am still turned on by many noises as long as the passion is there and the 'wallop' level is pleasing to my inner sensors.  A bloke I know from bands of yore provided me with the rough and ready 4 track copied CD - these are the honest thoughts the bugger most probably expects.

Track one is slagged and slammed under the name of 'Hell On Earth' - a fiery, hardcorian eruption that blisters the tympanic membranes and takes no prisoners.  A soundbite is followed by some heavy artillery that blasts the senses in a way I am all too familiar with.  The unexpected assault though is bang on the mark and the hammering sticks, the thrashing guitars and the furnace plumes that rises from the throat of the incensed frontman work a treat.  All the accoutrements of the sub-scene are there with a slow instrumental thrown in as a mere contrast and a chance for the listener to take stock and gain breath.  As a one off, this works well.
'Let's Start A Riot' is a typical title to a song in the chosen genre where many are too busy socialising, posing and posturing to be bothered with a kick-back against the systematic shittery. The opening spitballs are power laden, after a brief exposure things speed up and the song pummels away with purpose.  The tumble-fuck lyrics come by the bucketload, the segue from verse to chorus is without flaw and although this is orthodox punkery very much within the restraining boundaries of the scene, this one is the bread and butter many of us are smitten by.  Nothing outrageous but certainly not a duff-duck either - the key is to use it as fuel to defy and throw a brick.

'Wankers United' is a stunning piece of vitriol aimed at the overpaid parasites that even many punks support (now get your head around that one).  The money thrown at the greedy, who do a token gesture bit now and again due to their own pockets bulging, is appalling and this lot here seem disgruntled to the max. A football terraced clichéd begins before all heads are down and the message is slapped home, loud and fuckin' clear.  Fast, focused and as tight as fuck, this is a sound effort with the inner musical sizzle maintaining the madness and seeing us into the last vocal attack with flamboyance.  

'The Great Brainwashed' opens with big pronouncements before a timber tap leads the way into the song proper.  After several spins I find this the most cultured and considered song of the lot with a care taken and some good chuggery had.  The song has thought, sums up the masses who are beaten and mentally rinsed through and lets em' have it. The final chant and brief flourish round off the number in sanguine style.

4 songs is a perfect way to introduce any band, in fact, 4 song releases are always my favoured listening style as they give one a greater impact, do not fuck about and, if the quality is right, leave one wanting more.  I am intrigued enough here to want these guys to play a gig and request another 4 tracker please.  I'd like another curveball in the next release too - get on it folks.



As I picked up this offering I noted that it was hailed as gutter rock with a dirty edge.  This immediately tickled my sonic sensors, I have a penchant for unwashed, rocked up and real noise.  A few other textual pointers seemed to suggest that this unit from Austin, Texas would be right up my shit-splattered street and so I downloaded, let the digital device clatter its output through my trusted headphones and then set about something akin to a review.

'Ticking Time Bomb' is the first weapon of cacophonic conflict to be hurled my way and, rather than take cover, I await the explosion with all senses exposed.  The opening salvo comes, Thompson Gun bullet sprays and much upbeat readiness are posted before the verse unfolds with a certain disciplined arrangement.  The ante is immediately upped by a liquid oil chorus cut that is all too brief.  The action from all areas throughout is high, the highly fumed vocal style enhances this opening escapade - I am interested to see what comes next.  The answer is immediate, the title of the track is 'Mr Horrible' and after a quick stick stutter we are escorted alongside a stylish and smooth serenade that has a lofted degree of magnetising quality.  The link between all compartments is slick, the flashlight urgency that continues throughout the running time keeps one absorbed and the overall watertight delivery and rocked up feel certainly add to the intrigue.  I consider this opening attack delightfully hurtful - I look forward to a real knuckle-dusting. 

'Generation Irrelevant' initially strikes me as the weakest song so far, a situation I am not wholly convinced by.  I listen some more, I am taken by the keyed accoutrements that show a band willing to stretch themselves.  The more time invested convinces one of a smooth running piece that has a certain relentlessness that leaves one quite breathless.  The pace is middling, the whole song far from head-banging but the consistent liquid flow is what does the job at winning over a decent amount of favour.  The follow-up is 'Death Rock Valley Girl' - a slightly haunted piece with a somewhat naked open verse section and some slow-grilled sonic flavours that leave much room for the singer to serenade.  From these strange moments we have chorus cuts that grow in authority and showcases a band with many weapons of sonic war to call upon.  I remain in a state of unsure flux here, one minute I am convinced, the next I am unsure - is it the blend of verse and chorus that doesn't quite balance out or is it a case of one can't like everything? Who knows but one thing is for sure, the band do what they do mighty well. 

'Isolation' is a solid inclusion with good flesh on the bone and a fine nutritious noise marrow found within the melee. This is a strong emotive song with a certain frustration combined with an almost acceptant satisfaction and a 'fuck the world' undercurrent.  Is there a pleading angle?  Is there a despondency?  Is there a comfort within the cut-off from society?  I am at a loss but the song is a powerful fucker that moves with a gritty determination.  I like the focus factor here - one can almost see the players with heads down and eyes blazing - nice.  'Vulgar Favours' careens off-line, skids with danger signals high before re-finding the true tread and making headway with a decent verse.  There is a reckless sleaze running through the veins of this overspill, I dread to think what the song suggests and what perverse payback is being conducted.  My sensors of decency are blaring 'beware, beware' - I am however sucked in and nearly sucked off (phew thank goodness I am still quick on my feet).  Yes - not a bad song at all. 

Onwards and to the opening cool control of 'I Feel Nuthin' - a sanguine song with twilight twinklings leading into the sedate and stated opening gambit that has its mind made up and will not be moved.  A somewhat one trick tune it seems is suddenly broken by more keyed accoutrements which only empower the overall output.  This one takes a little time to fall in line with (or maybe it is just me being awkward), but when matters level out within the tympanic fluid, one is quite entertained.  It is more than obvious the band know what they are doing and how they want to do it - this is always a good thing. 

The last trio - 'Back On The Wire' has a lovely thirst, a sweet thrust and an easy lick to get charmed by.  No nonsense noise this - straight ahead construction, going for it with sound relish and having little in the way of any complications.  There is a good collision of all forces, there is a very favourable edge to proceedings and there is something almost easily orthodox about that which transpires - the latter shouldn't be a good thing, in this case it seems to be quite encouraging.  'Horseshoes And Hand Grenades' tickles along at its own convincing pace and does so with a self-assured grittiness.  There is a sinewy power, a fine releasing chorus and just enough inner action to keep the lugs alert and vibrating to the drum-dictated motif.  The confidence of the crashers and bashers and of course, oral slashers, remains high, this is one of many reasons why this song holds true.  Not a bad penultimate trickle although I have a nagging niggle that the band are not fully off the leash.

We finish with 'Screaming In Silence' - a song I expected to be a real speedburst (it isn't) and one which I wanted to slam-dunk the CD into silence with flashing authority (not so).  What we get is a slow-creeper with emphasis on tension and tonal tautness rather than a free-wheeling blow-out that I think would have rounded matters off in a more convincing style.  I am not keen on this one, although the self-assuredness and professionalism are noteworthy and the application to the job at hand is done with aplomb.  This is not my chosen cha' and I think the song comes at the wrong moment and it goes on for a little too long - a trifle harsh perhaps but these are my honest and personal views and that is all I can offer. 

Despite the final song not hitting my neurones of delight this is still a meaty CD reflective of a band with good 'oomph'.  Come the end I am a trifle frustrated as I still think the crew have more to offer - this could be a sneaky plan, it could get me wanting more, it is an ideal way to hint at endless possibilities. 



Thought-laden music with a cultured approach that may be a little too much for the more 'caveman-esque' spiky tops and in-scene stalwarts out there. Thankfully all scenes are mere restrictions to me and to flit and shit hither and tither is the only approach I adopt. I shall not be shackled by design and detail, I shall not play ball just for the sake of appeasing the defeated.

And so, I have a CD's worth of music from a band who ply their trade in a primarily punky scene but who. it is more than obvious, can transcend these boundaries and do well within any celebration of assorted music. I go in with large expectations, I expect to be disappointed which is a good thing, it keeps one sober.

'Lady Penelope' comes after a big Gerry Anderson induced countdown, one is prepared to be blown down by the tail flames of an ignited Thunderbird vessel, what actually happens is one is gently forced into a position of submission by a somewhat tepid and tickling tune that refuses to get carried away with itself. The opening verse has a suggestion of stop and start and is followed by a somewhat ad-hoc moment before the smooth, terse chorus comes. The whole blend is perfectly balanced, the vocal artist has an ideal backdrop of sound and of course some good hollered shadow vocals. A break, a repeat to the finale - as simple as, one down, 11 to follow - let's have it.

'Burst' has wonderful tones, a complete naturalness and a fluency not to be underestimated. The excuse of not being able to make a difference is called out. This one gets me thinking, am I doing enough, well no man or woman can but by heck they must at least try. This is a subtle song with a certain strength that will undoubtedly strangle out a positive review - and so it fuckin' well should. I think it is a work of cute expertise. 'One In Six' is one of my favourite songs, a ditty that delights in mixing the flavours whilst hollering, gruffing it up and gently responding. In the mix is dissatisfaction, a skanky break and some lucid string, skin and throat work. This one is a lug-eel - one the wriggles in and no matter how hard one tries, the tuneful trickle will not be shaken. A sober admission of misreading what is what, a further push and a separation of souls is accepted - the full stop is abrupt but neatly timed.

Large pronouncements create large expectations, 'Greatest Man' continues without fuss and considers a fuckwit who has swallowed the con, got it all and as result, got nothing. Another observant and thoughtful song not willing to 'punk it up' and make a shabby orthodox mess of things. The textures, the strums, the slaps and elevations in tone all fit perfectly into a jigsaw of well-matched components - this is another quite splendid song that I am sure many 'musos' will love as well as many punters. 'Social Work, Cats And Rocket Science' is a folky pondering and an easy wandering that poetically moves along with sagacity and soulfulness at the heart of matters. Social work is everyone's job, cats are bastards, rocket science a waste of time but we all need to unify and... progress. There is an ambiguity within the weave too, am I missing something more, I care not, it will be worth mulling over a little mo. A serene and welcoming arrangement – nice.

'You Say You Don't Love Me' has a fine bittersweet edge with a real new-wave flow that has just a little something more. The band move from inner segment to inner segment with certain comfortableness and an obvious awareness of where the band want to go with each and every strike and skin slap. The transparency of the arrangement, the production values and the clement climate of the cacophony all helps this to be another winning moment. As smooth as butter it be and sugar-coated in part but a little spicy in others – what a recipe of success.

'Car Crash' is a lovely pop song that deals with darker matter - an interesting copulation for sure. The open salvo is cool and tuneful, the first verse approachable, adept and appealing. The move into the chorus is liquid and it is this sing-a-along inclusion that gives the song new magnificence. It is a well-weighted, simplistic snippet of wonder - it makes this a rather choice song (another one) and another pesky creation that I can’t shake free from the bopping belfry.

Before I start the next song, may I add a few Fungal words. 'I hate David Bowie, he was a self-indulgent wanker with a very sketchy personal life and some of his music was utter dross... oh and I hate all hero worship' - there, now that's cleared up to the song under the spotlight. 'Left Overs' is a tribute to the said singer, in truth, it is a personal homage laden with reflective tones that are blatantly 'Bowie-fied' and of a slow moving sensation so as to enhance the emotions poured forth. Even with the Fungalised outlook I can easily see the excellence of the output here and fully realise the bull’s-eye has been hit. It is a fine song that slips into the CD with delectable ease, alas it won't be a frequent player for me for obvious reasons but to those that will relish this... enjoy.

'S. O. P. H. I. E' is a rehash of a sincere classic and before the initial spin here I had serious reservations. The original needing no alteration, but this is a veritable stunner. The contextual matter is eternal, the message it states is needed more than ever and the shit-fuck prejudice in this world needs highlighting in every which way possible. The band excel here, this is a quite beautiful number that caresses the heartstrings before plucking them with a little more demanding attention. Please folks, listen, take heed, treat all with love, respect and throw off all your idiot judgments. Be you, be expressive and be 100% consistent and true. Here I bow down to the majesty of such a wonderful reminder of how we should be.

'Have A Nice Day' is a simple thing to say and can mean so much. It can raise a smile and I think this song reflects the statement made in the title. A languid commencement eases the listener into the lilt before a tranquility of tone and an embracing warmth emanates and makes one feel quite snug and secure. The frontman’s oral tones are so ruddy gratifying, the musical escort ideal and the whole feel of the outpouring is akin to a hug of special sincerity. The 'Tiffany-ised' tickle is cute, the breeze-ease of the whole concoction quite splendid - I am impressed.

'Just What Fred Would've Wanted' is a cool closure with a bit of the tongue in the cheek and a few pops at insulting hairstyles along the way. This is a pop and a compliment it seems, am I missing the true target of matters. I am no Queen fan, they did have a few memorable songs though but overall, more pompous pissery without gumption methinks. I am charmed by this closure though (annoyingly so) and sign off really convinced that this band have a classic album on their hands.

The questions that arise here are obvious - why have the White Ribbons not played a Fungalised gig? Why have I not seen them as much as I should have done? Why are these not getting more recognition when lots of redundant and tired old units are? Such is the sonic world and all I can do is listen, consider and put forth my honest thoughts. This is a cracking CD folks, it brings a welcome change, it has great production values and is issued forth by people thinking, caring and doing. Fuck trying to be original, nothing is original but then everything is (think about it). What matters is does the end product have belief behind it and passion - in this case the answer is a double ‘yes’ – now that will do for me.

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