When I meet lovely people who are doing their own thing and doing it without thought of staying within generic parameters and ticking the onlookers boxes, I am usually intrigued. If these people are delightful company and duly spurt forth a few good tunes then I am a happy Fungalised bugger. The Webb are grand folk, they create with a glint in the eye and a magnetising love of what they do - here are my thoughts on another testing, tuneful and tangentified release - tis all about angles, awkwardness and electro-energy - smashing hey.

So the lugs are invaded, the digits reach for the keyboard and the sound of tapping eventually joins the tonal meddling. As I look to the pixilated screen I can see I have written the following words, I hope they make some kind of sense.

Track the first and I see that this one is entitled 'Scene U' - a construction that begins with intrusive pulsations of unapologetic vulgarity. The words that come are ambiguous, shadowed and somewhat disarming. A sinisterism is always had when The Webb enter the fray - here I am immediately watching my back and wondering what the fuck this opening track is about. 'In The Park' is a sweet serenade of innocence with an underlying subtext of disgruntlement. The swing in the synth is rewarding, the lead imp is in typical piquing and posing mood with the rear mover adding a high degree of ad hoc shape-shifting. The words that come are disjointed in some ways, nostalgia invades, ennui also trespasses and we are left with a spill of something to consider over many listens. I do have a fondness for the scatty style and the general madness that pervades an episode of manic experimentation.

'Who's Been To Rumbelows' begins with a tumbling jet Set Willy type sonic ripple before a brief exchange of words is had and the budding creation is no more. Once more we have a WTF moment and are left wondering if this cheeky duo are on medication that is blurring the boundaries of sounds acceptable and those deemed detestable - it is all rather amusing and intriguing. A straight ahead cover follows, the Slaughtered Dogs are molested, from the clenching arse of the cut is rasped a mimicked moment known as 'Where Have All The Bootboys Gone' - a song many deem a classic and beyond the need of a make-over - ooh the daft sods. This is a cracking little tune with an eager skip in the serious sensors. There is a cold authority here with the slip from verse to chorus executed without fuss. This is surely one to get the aged heads nodding and perhaps the carcasses shifting - it is a solid moment, with added 'Oi' chants and a dangerous dip into things 'Osmond-ified' - scary.

'Dystopian Dream' begins with a worry worm statement, one I can very much relate to. The pressure builds, breath is sought before we are eventually thrown into a slow dance-trance of landscapes drained. The outlook is bleak, the tones almost acceptant of the fucked-up future we are facing. The bubbling underscore, the questioning words and the poplets of irritation should be heeded, the intent is thoughtful, only the twisted will survive in the predicted future. This is a neatly crafted apocalyptic offering that I like for many reasons, some that I'd rather not dwell on.

'Tenterhooks (Instrumental)' is a short serenade of threatening intent with the clouds of portent nudged a little closer to the burdened noggin. We are still held in a place of suspense, the uncertainty of what will eventually transpire is captivating - The Webb do what they do so ruddy well.

'Wait 364' is a funereal march unto who knows where. The cyber-space ambience, the nebularity of the ambient progression still has many unanswered questions with horror unveiled, mindlessness pinpointed, a final empty silence left for us to dwell upon. A quite terror-laden number. 'Compulsion' follows, a mentally disturbed cutlet that sees the individual dictated to and put under strict cerebral orders from which there is no escape. A nerve jangle invades, echoed words arise from the keyed corruptions, a crippled victim seems to plead for help. 

'Scene Disco' a wallow in a mire of mental derangement and utter nebularity with nothing really concrete to grab hold of. Dreams of yesterday watching second rate TV on a primitive box and other roamings leave one bemused - is this a bad thing? 'Moped Lads' is a fine cover, a comical song originally executed by the moronic unit that is Peter and the Test Tube Babies. The lyrics are basic and someone senseless, the tune is snaggy and it is nice to see this lot put a twist on matters. A very likeable song done with a cheeky glint in the synthed up eye.

'Tenterhooks (Guitar)' is just that, an indulgent moment of string worship with a synthed and cock-rock feel that throws another banana skin under my assessment of what transpires. It is a neatly done moment although you will not see me in my spandex pants anytime soon getting off to this one - perish the thought.

'Kill The Spotlight' is a very dark and nerve damaging song with its sable gothika and mannequin jerkiness all adding to the feeling of unease. The monochrome arrangement is fluttering, a chill runs deep and a certain desolation is felt. Sub-80's digitalisation competes with the bass for dominance but the 4-cable clobberer wins and gives the song its true life source. This is a very pleasing moment for all manner of strange reasons.

Into the last 3 I tiptoe, the 'Tooth Fairy' welcomes, questions arise from a wide-eyed sprite before we are left... in suspension. 'When Your Dead' is a sober and somewhat flat song that I don't really enjoy. It still warrants a place on here but there is something lacking in this one. The effort doesn’t have its own signature sound and overall quirkiness but the Siouxsie 'who hoas' and shifty edge will surely have a few disagreeing with my thoughts. I think this has good foundations but needs an extra sparkplug up it's jacksie. The switch in stance doesn't enhance matters either.

'Save The Operator' is unhinged raving borne from a soul lost, in torment or perhaps disgusted with religious mania. An odd number that begins with an innocent call that leads to the exposure of a madman doing more than trying to sell insurance. I am still trying to work out what the score is with this last contribution, once again I sign off still unable to unravel the mental state of The Webb.

Yes, these two curios of cacophony still have me piqued and still have me entertained. I may not gush over everything they do but I am in tune with their spillage and appreciate they are not offering conveyor belt produce just to have an easy ride. They are a very absorbing unit and always worthy of a Fungalised slot and of course, some Fungalised time. This is my effort at assessing what they do, are you brave enough to have a go?



This lot, that now have dropped under the Fungalised scope of scrutiny, have played one Fungalised gig to date and left me impressed.  Hailing from North-West England, the skater zippiness and melodic accuracy all had me feeling refreshed and delighted whilst the set unfolded and left me considering further bookings.  A booking was made, I am awaiting the date but, in the meantime, this 6 track taster was sent my way via the ever-fecund Horn and Hoof Records.  I indulged some time and came up with the following thoughts.      

The initial track that is labelled as 'What Are You Fighting For' begins with a statement that warns and sets the scene.  A feedback whinge comes before a quick slap-dictated piece parts the waves for the finely-drilled and neatly executed first verse.  The band have the production values balanced, all components are given space and the musical sortie moves with rewarding impetus and an appealing joy de vivre.  This kind of shizzle takes me back and summons visions of boarded mania cs swooping here and there and loving their scene.  The question here is pertinent, it needs asking and if the outcome is a complete reassessment, a resistance done with more purpose and focus, then so be it.  This a solid start that does what needs be in good time, the whole essence is spot on the mark - skate on folks. 

'Edge Of A Knife' is a power-laden piece played by folk who need to be well-versed, unified and talented - phew, thank fuck the buggers are indeed ticking all the boxes.  I have heard many similar tracks before, the aromas radiated are nothing new but this kind of melodic skaterised punk ain't the kind of sonic shit your throw around with any degree of insouciance.  You need to be on it and thinking at all times and of course, to know your sonic 'in-scene' onions.  This is a solid outburst, fast, articulate and happening.  The last time this lot played for me they brought a breezy blast of refreshing air to the gig, a nice angle to keep matters flowing - and here is an example of how they did this.  Lush man, lush.  

'Bloody Hands' is a fuckin' stunner - a kick-back against lunatic existence with war-mongers feeding egos and manipulating the masses.  A life of stress and strain is accentuated by peoples inability to get on together.  Falling out on a minor scale, conflict on a global level - will we ever behave?  The band use the fuel of disillusionment with great rewarding impact and nail this third song in glorious style.  All components are blended with exactness so as to make an end product that is happening, alive, lucid and kick-ass.  There is a fine unity amongst the players and a reactive feel to the songs, this is the zenith so far.

Track four and good pulses and palpitations build up to the main flow of 'Let Them Decide And Dub'.  Again the mix is spot on, the action liable to get the most addled arse moving and the back 'whoa hoas' a fine billowing accompaniment to give the song extra life.  The pace is dynamic and cobweb-clearing, the switch in tempo as tight as fuck and the added tonal accoutrements and power-skate stomp to finalise matters are absolutely splendid.  The added 'dubbery' is unnecessary but does add a nice slant to matters and keeps one guessing.

The final two tracks are opened by the rather predictable  commodity known as 'Last Words'.  This is a fresh, aerated number but one that I find lacking in any instantaneous punchiness.  As I listen some more it is more than apparent the song has weight, muscularity and a certain litheness that can be easily missed with only a few listens.  This may not be the most striking track and the one with the greatest barbs but it merits its place on this quality laden CD.  The problem here is that the previous quartet have set a standard so high that anything falling just a little short is easily noticed - this is still a concrete effort though.  The shutdown comes via 'Battle Scars' - a typical song of the genre and right in line with what the band do.  The opening preparation is teasing, the initial verse orthodox but neatly posted.  As matters progress the sheer zest and passion that the players have for their noisy niche is more than apparent and the unified approach is a real winner that sucks in my stubborn sonic soul.  This isn't the killer track on the CD but it has a class of its own that just needs a little time to respect.  I think the band round off a solid half-dozen of acoustical treats here, and all done in a quality laden DIY way - yes. 

This lot are now booked back in to grace a Fungalised stage - you would be a fuckin' turd to miss out, they bring an angle, much quality and great energy - I am even more eager to see them again after listening to this - take my advice, get the CD and come to the gig - and fuckin' admire some good noise played by invested 'erberts.



A new band to penetrate the Fungal luggery. I received two CD's via the manky mitts of the local letterbox lifter.  As soon as they fell on the mat I examined and duly spun.  The initial thoughts were neither here nor there although I was worried that nothing was instantaneously tickling the acoustic erogenous zones - maybe it is an age thing or I needed to get the acoustic prostate tweaked.  I had a fiddle and spun some more, things were not as problematic as first deemed and so, with digits erected and the thinking corrected, I tapped out an assessment - and here it is! 

Anger dictates after a subliminal threat.  Stated words rise above a somewhat semi-stripped substrate with 'Project Fear' having many anarcho fundamentals with a raw-boned tunesmanship that is not found as often as should be in this idle-headed world.  This opening number sacrifices a comfortable melody for grit and grief with the gob incessant and the underscore of sound grimy.  This is not listening matter for each and every day but political discomfort that one should only listen to in small doses.  Not bad but I think the production could be better and get more out of this opening tune, especially if the bass was fattened up and opted for a more reggae-fied route. 

'Take Control' is a better song. The bass is grubby, the stick work tidy without being overly fussy.  The message is blatant and done with a decent forcefulness. Again old-school monochrome essences are richly embroidered throughout the framework of the construction and although the song hangs on for a little too long, this one has good impact and a good question-raising energy - get your fuckin' life sorted folks and grab that wheel.  'Like Me' is a look at the desperation in the world today. If you don't get the 'likes' it seems you are failing miserably.  The pressure to 'share' your life away is never-ending and it seems many can't be happy without getting confirmation from people who really don't give a fuck.  The brainwash control has snuck in, even the so-called rebels are beaten - what a fuckin' disgrace.  This utterly irritated piece is bang on the mark and radiates a pure disgust at the state of play that many so-called punks should understand... but won't.  If one takes a step back and looks at matters one has to admit that the powers that be are winning hands down.  Aaaggghhhh - what a mess but what a solid track. 

'5G Spy' is a paranoid laden piece brought about by too much meddling with the techno twattery that is an omnipresent God many are smitten and smited by.  The content is something I am not convinced by but I do know we are all becoming enslaved and controlled in many other ways.  This is a chant and rant piece with an easy lick in the swing of matters.  It is an odd piece but has some good underlying noise and something akin to a melody - one for those who believe methinks. 

'Angle Grinder' is vicious gob splat that raves against the mentally addled who bully their way to a prejudice soaked society (fuck em').  The ad hoc and reactive recipe of sticks, strings and thriving gob all work and give you a very old politico-punk feel that I am sure will be right up the street of many anti-fash folk who will not tolerate this kind of caveman thinking.  For me, people of all colours and races are screwed with hatred and this song could be applied to many haters with a mere tweak of the lyrics. 

A fistful of four and 'No Soul' is a carefully controlled moment that rises with patience and so increases the overall impression made.  There is a deep rooted uncertainty and, may I suggest, a certain degree of paranoia, that gives the song a deeper resonation and a more emotive prowess.  The band have timed this moment well and it is a solid song that opens up many new acoustic avenues to explore.  A bout of rally-call rebellion next with '99 Percent' a smooth flowing number with space-age/acidified edges that helps the whole construct meet the needs of this pernickety listener.  The intent and the delivery all have me rating this as the leader of the pack - there is a good breezy feel with the kick-back against the fuckwit minority, who are killing and corrupting any semblance of balance, executed with great effect.  A delicious surge piece this with sound life-blood and a snagging lick that drags one along with defiance in mind.  A choice moment to be sure.  The third song in the latest snatch of sonic goodness is the gristly piece known as 'Hedonic'.  This is a forceful piece of bleak cacophony that has a lyrical content I am little unsure of.  There is a vicious streak running deep within the context of this one and that alone gives the song the factor that wins my praise.  It isn't a classic but it grows, the band seem to have a knack for this kind of modus operandi.  The final fling in the select four is the grinding and nasty 'Your Name, Your Nation' - an observant swill splash that highlights the divisive behaviour that is financially encouraged by the suited and booted who smile at the fractured fuck-up they have so easily created.  People are conquered and divided and cash still dictates.  An awakening is needed, a time to sit back, reflect and consider ones deeds - I really can't see this happening anytime soon.  The carrots are dangled, suspicion aroused - the shit falls and the sweaty palms take the profits.  A hard listening experience this but worthy of its place on this politically inspired and angst-laden CD. 

Another quartet of sounds round off matters with 'Crisis' leading the way.  A fine sawbone lick cuts to the quick, acidic lyrics deal with the submission of the masses and the ongoing crushing of cerebral freedom via viral tricks and other such shittery.  In a world that has been recently exposed as a melting pot of fear these words need taking heed of and now is the time to be defiant.  This is a heavily slapped DIY tune that will slip under the radar I fear, with the masses still dashing headlong into a pointless and unstoppable oblivion.  I like this one, I hope it fuckin' stings those who have gone with the flow. 'Work The System' is awash with frustration and wannabe rebellion.  The drudge and droning drivel of day to day routine is felt as a working clone goes through the motions and yet hopes for something more.  This is a grim almost dystopian drive of fiery upset with the opening gentle climes soon washed away under an irate shower spill of unrest.  This is now typical fare that the band do well, another song that doesn't instantaneously hit home but one which grows with surprising determination.  

The penultimate track is bass-dictated, has an almost care-free accent to the verbal overflow.  The action moves up a notch when the chorus cut hits home and we realise the full impact of having 'No Value'.   A simple song that has one of the greatest impacts - the focus is spot on the mark, the simmering sensation from people pondering.  An inner reprieve is had before the sizzle factor is regained and we are taken to the last sobering thrust.

We fuck off with hopes still apparent via the wishful thinking of 'Utopia' - a song that sums up the shitty status quo and dreams of somewhere better.  The construct is basic, the flow orthodox and regular and excitement levels are minimal - this is all that is needed.  After the lengthy onslaught this closing number offers a glimpse of salvation in its own, uncomplicated way.  It rounds off the CD in an sub-emotive and gently pleasing manner - the message is simple - 'fuck this shithole and always strive for something better'. 

This is a CD I have dwelt upon for a long while with the initial spins not striking me as anything special.  With good effort and a little consideration I have stuck with it, something many won't do these days in a throw-away instant fix society built on shallow traits.  The effort has paid dividends, this is a real CD that gets slowly better with each and every spin.  The bonus is, the band are thinking, keeping it nice and earthy and posing many questions - it needs doing! 



Self-classed as 'Chainsaw basement punk' this low-fi slaggy sounding EP came my way via the system of electronic mail and after only 1 spin I was intrigued enough to consider it for a Fungalised lowdown.  Hailing from Leeds, this lot initially come at me with a sloppy but secure soundscape that has all the trimmings of 'fuck-free' relish and rock and roll basics that is all too absent from today's musical mire.  4 tracks is always the best way to kick off a bands recording journey and even though this lot have taken the risk with 'live' material there is promise aplenty.

We begin with the grubby semen-leak known as 'Rats And Freaks' - a rock and roll lo-fi bout of the obvious that has all the intrinsic basics that rock my garage'd and grimed sensors.  The construct is orthodox and the lick similar to many melodic moments that I have encountered over many years of addling the mind.  This is a smooth piece though, has a rewarding lick and doesn't fuck about with any unnecessary baubles and affected accoutrements.  What we get is bog-standard pop punkery with a slightly unhinged edge that is easy to listen to and enjoyable in a honest and earthy way - nifty.  'I've better Things To Do' follows suit with a semi-moronic vocal style that I have come across whilst traversing many B-zone band arenas that dwell in places only found by those of a curious bent.  This kind of quirky poppery is one for the aficionados of the angular, tuneful and wanky.  There is a troubled feel to the sub-teenage tossery that still has a place in my heart.  Many a pimpled youth and off-kilter crank will love this.  There are many folks who have also dabbled on the dark side of insanity who may find reward here.  I can't help making comparisons to a low-grade 'Lillingtons-esque' lilt with a feeling of something more home-grown in the mix - I have no complaints and the 'live' production values only accentuate the 'under-processed' appeal.

Track the third, 'Don't Come Around Tonight' pummels away after a quick holler and preparation.  The verse is rattled out in double-quick time with the words indecipherable.  Take note chaps - lyrics are an essential part of getting listeners both clued and glued in.  The chorus is easy to pick up on, it repeats the title of the track, is another moment that is grabbed and joined in with even after the first play.  Again we are not witnessing ground-breaking noise creation here and it is the obvious the band are not pompous enough to even believe they can do that. This is just a band making music that they want to and pissing on any pretensions - I like that.

We close with the slower 'I Don't Wanna (Oh No)' - a quite gratifying ease up on the accelerator with an ear-eel of a tune wriggling its way into the inner nucleus of attention and creating a fuckin' aggravating sensation that just can't be shaken off.  The song for the 'can't be arsed' perhaps goes on for a little too long but I reckon this could be one of those tunes that could be dissected into two parts and used as an intro and outro piece to a live set.  I like this though, it reminds me of times when the mental health plays up and all motivation slips through the grasping fingers.  

By heck, a 'live' 4 tracker is a brave way to introduce yourself to the saturated music scene where many are disabled by over-produced piss-arsey, big riffs and many cornball clichés.  This is a risk though that has paid off and I reckon a careers of similar EP releases awaits.  A bombardment of 4-trackers would be right up this bands street - short, obvious, catchy - and why the Hell not?



Ahoy there ye old deaf and daft buggers - here is another CD review from an equally deaf and daft bugger - now that's what I call balance.  This one is by a hardcore band from England who have requested a Fungalised take on the 4 tracks proffered.  I am a keen fellow and always trying to help but I am run ragged in many ways and can only fit in so much.  A quartet of tracks is not to be sniffed at though and I go in with my conkers ready to be kicked to utter fuckery. 

'Seethe' opens with a ticking time bomb that duly explodes into a splat splodge pustule that infects the most primitive internal reactors whilst setting the head zones to red alert.  The opening assault is an incandescent volcanic overspill of hot, molten, vomited larva borne straight from the pits of sub-scene Hell.  I am no connoisseur of this kind of output but over the years I have been whipped ragged by many immersions - this is as good as it gets.  The flames that are stoked are done so with an intensified focus and tension thus making for a searing conflagration that at times, seems out of control.  The band just contain the combustible cacophony and deliver a real skin-scorcher. 

After a quick tumble and stop/start prep a double ended vocal attack is carried out by a banshee bubbling and a bastard growling.  The combo of he and she, along with the rapid-fire splatter sticks and chainsaw chugging, is startlingly effective and this song, that is entitled 'Consume The Poison' is the best track of the lot as far as my noise-knackered self is concerned.  It is a rewarding upchuck of duo-sexed fury that copulates with ardour and gives rise to sonic sprogs of disturbing ill-will.  The only gripe - as with all tracks, is that the lyrics are lacking on the Bandcamp page! 

The third violent affray is soon borne with 'Damaged Gods' a rectal ripper of unapologetic intent.   The salvation of many is placed in the arms of the invisible or some real-life hero unworthy of adulation.  People are an accursed tribe with great needs, here vitriol is spilled against such a stance - it is what this band and many of this ilk do.  The power grinding is absolute and at times posing with many cliched elements from the pit of crusty cacophony thrown in.  This should not detract from what the band are doing though and how well they do it - I am just wondering where the crew will find the elements to make them something different and with an angle to stand above the pack? 

We close with 'Painbody' and after a brief twinge, some nervous rumbling and a primal scream the initial verse tonsil tumbles with vicious leanings and unstoppable desire.  The verse comes and goes, the clatter and twatter lunacy seems to build in emotion, it works a treat.  I am finding this closure a short and erupting delight that spits its lava of passion far and wide.  It will undoubtedly sear a few new converts into utter submission.  The band are immersed in the artform, it pays huge dividends. 

During my reviewing journey I get the odd smattering of hardcore aggression tossed my way and, although not a devout follower of this sub-generic shittery, I can honestly say when I do receive it, especially in small doses such as this, I am usually impressed.  This is good enough to want me to investigate another 4-tracker, hopefully with curveballs thrown in. I may trip across the band at a gig at some point, it will be interesting to see how these songs play out. 



Unapologetic hardcore fire is blasted from a furnace of focus and into the mushes of those foolish enough to get too close. I received this CD from the gent that is Ian Kerr Baron after he had played a Fungalised gig with his other band, namely At Their Mercy (by heck, they were good). I knew what to expect here and promised to do a review - with computer blips, being a busy headed bugger and never one to rush matters, the end textual spillage has taken some time - hey ho, better late than never tha' knows.

We begin this triple-headed tone-twatting with 'NSD' and after some grim and determined riffage we are duly hurled into a crushing assault of self-generating passion that will not be abated by the turning of an ignorant ear. The frothing vocal vomit comes with resonating and injuring intent whilst the sticks slam and shatter alongside strings that cut with chainsaw incessance and acute maliciousness. A pulse is taken with great strides and flamboyant exaggerations had, all the while the front fuck roars and remains absorbed - as does this listener - and then we are done. It is a sound opening gambit done in a style typical of this immovable sub-scene – and why the Hell shouldn’t it be?

'Warfare' pronounces, chugs, moves with deliberate muscularity and show-pieced sinews. There is no rush, the opening strides are halted, a flourish, a pig grunt and then a hybrid between man and beast is let loose. As I listen to the blood-letting atrocity I am frustrated by the lack of lyrical assistance (both with the CD and on the Bandcamp page). This is a constant niggle with these hardcore bursts, the music here is delightful and done with a classy edge borne from players who know their art - all I ask is for is a bit of assistance in understanding the full aim of the output. This is still good clobbering stuff though and my noise-knackers are sweetly bruised.

The finale of the three-way fuck comes under a cloud of looming gloom. Slow cymbal taps, big string pronouncements and a vile snarl all help get matters underway. 'Grey Stone Walls' is a dystopian dirge spilled from depressed and disturbed carcasses with the opening throes draining and almost defeated. A resurgence comes, defiance rises, the impact is sizzling, and the victory grasped at the last. This is the longest track of the lot - no impact is lost, I am impressed.

So, for a non-hardcorian git I am rather taken here. I do like the odd smattering of this shizzle, but only in small doses mind you. I have witnessed enough here though to desire an 'in the flesh' encounter - I already have them booked, I am a wise sonic bugger at times.



My 5th review concerning the vomited experimentation of The Legless Crabs - I need not cover old ground and ponder who they are, what they deliver and where they seem to be heading - if you want further info then read the other reviews or check out the label, namely Metal Postcard Records, a fine independent machine from darn under who are happy to keep matters on the cusp and not release the same old, same old fodder for the foolish.    

And to track one, 'Now It’s Time To Leave' - a warped opening account that seems to start matters midway through its own flow.  The edge to this haunting track is slightly fuzzed-fucked and mysterious with the usual ambiguity dictating the drift.  This is an uncertain but intriguing moment that is immediately topped by the doom laden bleakness of 'Earth Death For Satan'.  This second splodge of sinister suggestion has a fine bass weave, a good pulsation and a ritualised chant that could easily tip the balance of many minds.  Within the blend I am feeling essences of things 'Cramp'ed and 'B52'd whilst the unusual crustacean cadences cripple and corrupt and make for a real condundrum that somehow appeals.    

The third offering is a brief invasion. A wired up wrong vulgarity that sparks, fritzes and fucks up.  'Sports Teams' is a pimple on the arse of the release, a pimple that leaks a vile pus one cannot fully fathom.  Despite its intrusion it has its place as it keeps the listener... wondering!  'Stay Inside' is a pertinent piece in a world of fear, warnings and solar sizzling. A lazy and casual swing, a matter-of-fact statement from a digitised dictator, a cold and controlling sinisterism that reflects the stranglehold being put on the human mush.  The song fizzles out with a dirty snowstorm - an almost apocalyptic full stop to matters - cripes. 

'World Saviour' enters the fray, has a creeping malevolence but is in fact a benefactor with big dreams.  There is a severe untrustworthiness within the m ix though and the more the song progresses the more the overwhelming intent is exposed - this is a really unsettling piece for sure. 'Psychosexual Cat Behaviour' is a crazed piece built on pussy frustration and a need to release some spermatic demons.  The scrapyard sonic is construction from a spare part randomisation with the odd gap in the construction had but in no way hindering the forward advance.  I feel something robotic and rusted here but wanked through.

'Parrot' is a space-age sounding snip with an observational stance taken and a warped world accent thrown in.  Something early 80's pervades - a B-side demo splurge of unfinished naturalness that gives up the ghost and dissolves into the great forgotten ether - a strange inclusion but then this is what this lot do. 'Noise And Faith' is built on ponderings gone wrong with a slaggy recline drifting from nowhere to nowhere. A sub-assuredness and pseudo-swagger disarm, the hollowed and crack-hallowed angularity intrigues and upsets - it is the usual concoction expected from a creative force not willing to play by the rules - this can only be a good thing. 

'Unstoppable' brings about the great 'fuck-off' into the silent void.  The call is a celebration of liberation with all boundaries bent and duly jumped over.  An enthusing piece for the outsider who has a distinct need to escape the vile shackles that are being tightened each and every day.  There is some mental conflict within the weave and a growing agitation that only heightens the yearning to be free - the abrupt halt to proceedings is par for the course for these awkward bastards. 

Each and every time I go Legless with the Crabs I scamper away wondering why I have tinkered in territory 'odd'.  I am finding the output from this lot akin to a boil on the balls - a boil that one should leave alone but one that must be fiddled with and mauled in the hope of finding some inner relief.  There is pleasure and pain to be had, is this the sign of an incurable pervert - I fuckin' well hope so! 



A fine package of sounds created by Dan Webster - a Blackpool musician (cripes, the poor soul) who will not have his creative juices stopped and who has a desire to scribble, compile and peddle.  The package I received was a joy with a comic of sheer quality, a badge, artwork and the CD all thrown in.  By heck what a treat.  This is the 3rd compilation, I reviewed the 2nd but somehow missed out on the 1st - what a pillock.  I have taken my time once more and tossed the many flavours around the sonic orifice and tried mighty hard to capture the essence of each offering, appreciate and review with the utmost sincerity and honesty - it gets no easier I can tell ya. 

And so, the all-important opening number and the duty falls to Blow-Up who spill the sonic grooviness of 'Waste The Day'.  This initial gambit has a familiar banshee doing her throaty bit with a good raw-assed sound backing up her oral magnetism.  The drive is sleazy, stuttering in part, free-flowing elsewhere.  There are fruity essences thrown in, some rust-nail string strums and many a tumble-fuck that has a certain recklessness that is just kept in check by the artistes at the helm.  This is a healthy start and followed up by the whipped cream rocking of the Eye Scream Men, a fun fair band with an eye always on frisky and free-wheeling naturalness that is always a pleasant sensation.  Here the band do what they do with 'Wasted World' mild, inoffensive, gentling swinging and with a flavour all of the bands very own.  It is almost 50's US cornballery blended with something a little firmer with a quirky suggestion never far away - nifty. 

The Senton Bombs have wallop, are a convincing and highly polished unit who have brought me great pleasure over many years.  These days they are a slow-burning force but by heck, this song leaves some good bruising and duly ups the ante.  'Rise Of The Underdogs' is an exceptionally cool and simmering track with bulls-eye musicianship, an opening gambit that has great prowess and threatening promise and an overall polish that shows just what the DIY scene is made of.  The overlooked and the underdogs will not be denied - have it.  The unenviable position of following this behemoth moment falls to Amos And Pro P who serve up the slap of noise known as 'Shiftee'.  Now, I would be a fraudulent fool and untrue to myself if I stated that I like this one, in fact it is an abhorrence to my acoustic soul.  The wise-ass, street scrawl drawl that comes via a gangsterised rappery is just not my thing and the fractured and overly wordy disjointedness is not what I look for when seeking to sate my musical desires.  I move on unimpressed but stubborn in the belief that this piece is valid and needed so as to keep folk guessing and showing that variety must be the spice of life. 

The familiar vibes of Dischord come next, I am extremely grateful and although this is not their most impacting song it rings a good bell and does enough to maintain my interest.  'Ghost Train' begins with twinklings from the twilight zone before finding a good thrust that whips one along.  The first verse is sinister and perhaps lacks enough wallop but the chorus has good waftings and rhythm and gives extra substance to matters - the band do what they do and are always good value.  The Shady Poets are a rare sighting in the 'live' arena and dip in and out at their leisure.  Their offering here is an exemplary reason why we must encourage these buggers to shift their arses and get out there.  'Shadow Of The Tower' is a cracking track with a fluttering flow that is incessant, convincing and just tinted with a touch of gothika to make it most effective.  The segue from verse to chorus is choice, the package complete and the overall arrangement not easily categorised.  Quality stuff but I expected nothing less.  There is a great relaxed flamboyance exposed here - nice. 

Warped and shadowy wankings from the nether regions of a countrified wasteland this way come as The Fab Clocks croon along via their offering of 'Suite Jayne'.  I am abhorred by country and western music, I am not a fan of the Americana groove and I hate cowboy-esque warblings - all three are found here, albeit in small suggestive doses.  I stick with matters and although not a fan I raise my thumbs in an almost begrudging manner.  It isn’t a bad effort at all if the truth be told.  Dr Diablo and the Rodent Show step forth from the funfair of insanity and request we board the Terror Express to the accompaniment of 'Ghost Train Man'.  This is a seriously haunted and wicked addition with the tracks clattered and battered by conjurors of confusion, chaos and chilling crookedness.  A sinister man deals his discordance cards and we arrive at a Garden of Torture - the visions borne from the loins of this likeable track are lovely.  The follow-on here is quite apt with the mindless collapse into perversion carried out by the ever-willing Hot Pink Sewage.  'Eyeballs In My Anus' is almost the bands signature tune which says a lot about their state of mind.  They do what they do mighty well, they have disgraced 2 Fungalised events (as they were asked to do) and here they knock forth a grand track for all fans of riotous noise, horror and underhand self-abuse.  I wank along to the wayward madness - well who wouldn't?  

Graeme King of Bispham sings the praises of the vibes with a skank slinker known as 'Gets You High'.  This is a well-crafted piece of familiar fruitiness built on upstroke security and brass attacks as well as some good swing and some cute additional adornments.  The whole concoction reflects a creative force knowing what style is sought and thus capable of producing an exacting and rewarding end result.  Just Liam takes a step back from the full on-musical foray and provides the CD with an observational poetical piece that is brief, sharp and frighteningly spot on the mark.  'Drinking In Blackpool' sums up the goons and loons that invade the seaside town in the hope of being 'mad', 'original' and 'laughingly outrageous'.  When this behaviour is placed under a sober spotlight it never fails to depress - I think the artist hits a very pertinent nerve here and if any half-witted pisspots are listening may they shudder at their own straight-line stupidity.  A nice inclusion and just reinforcing what the residents of this famed area have to put up with. 

'Animal' by Death Trials is a snapping number that puts the arrogance and ego of the human race in its place - we are not Gods or masters - we are animals and breeding as such and destined to bring about our own doom.  Flesh and bone, driven by basic urges - is there any hope? This is a feisty number with the vocalist given room to spout and the players with room to strum and thwack.  The nihilistic chant rant that brings matters to the final flourish is tidy and rounds off a good hefty outpouring with a certain class.  Pomposity reigns supreme next as Dunk Rock aka The Synthesizer showcases a pantomime of nefarious meddling via the crooked cacophony of 'The Mad God And The Dance Of The Evil Spirits'.  What we get is a mere discombobulated, irregular and erumpent bark-burst of flourishing growth that sheds a multitude of varicoloured sonic spores this way, that way, every way.  It is a kaleidoscope of insanity gone wrong and makes for a skittles-shower that batters the cranium with untold impishness.  I am not best pleased as it shoots my nerves to pieces, I am in other ways perversely intrigued - darn the dastardly creator. 

Father Stone comes forth next, sits on the sea front with a headful of acidised wonder and contemplates the 'Pink Donkeys' in the sunshine.  A grungey wraparound escapade with something of a throwback feel that hybridises many eras.  Borne from the cusp of the lunatic fringe and a certain hippified realm that occasionally copulated with something 'punky' - this is a likeable listen without any complication or profound puzzles to unravel - not a bad do at all. Du Pig come next with the Sherlock Holmes-ian suggestions of 'On The Study Of Tobaccos And Their Ashes' - as per we get angularity and ad hoc naturalness with a quirky slant that keeps the listener just on the edge of their rather slippery seat.  I have no idea what the fuck this song is about and what the band are trying to do except jack out numerous sonic demons that seem to have infested their creative gonads.  Despite my ignorance I am finding this a quite gratifying example of ambiguous artistry with many touches that can serve the band well on further ventures.  Du Pig remain an odd bunch of buggers who seem absorbed in the world of curveballs, here they do hang around a little too long and dilute the end effect - silly sods. 

The reliable janglings of Litterbug come next with the familiar tones puked up and issued forth under the tag of 'Getting Fined' - a frustrated piece raving against the constant money pilfering done under a banner of 'legal' carried out by the bent as a boomerang government who make easy dosh whilst we all struggle along.  A horde of dickheads bring rules, the rules are there to be manipulated and so the dickheads get dealt with - alas many decent folk get busted too.  This is a timely reminder of the state of play and has good life, energy and frustration to keep one on their toes. Rida ZM enter the fray next with 'Collider' - a Buddhist blend of gentle tranquillity and emotive content mixed with a slow rear pulse and many pipes of peace carefully touched.  A soothing switch off moment that isn't done with any form of anger, unbridled energy or off the rail rock and roll zest - this is another strange and welcome addition. 

The last track but one, Black Eddy have the honour and they do what they do mighty well.  'Repost' is a sharp assed tangent that breathes a life borne from players of varied insights and willing to mix up the mayhem.  Mid-paced, meddlesome and mischievous with a sound underchug of questioning intent.  A certain jazzy clutter-fuck-it vibe escorts the examination of a social shithole gone tits up due to the needy nobrots and those desperate to feel important.  The answer - switch this song up to level max, switch the media mess down to level zero!  The inner flourish here is marvellous and adds to the circus of the expected and gives more proof of why I rate this band.  We shut down with the Cyclone Gunmen who play it 'Hostile'.  The opening stick beat has me hoping for something 60's rock and roll style with a good slap of something garaged.  What I get is a lightweight drift that lacks a certain punch and harks on about being homesick.  I know the lead throat wobbler, a grand chap whom I have a lot of respect for.  He is the lead lout for The Senton Bombs - he is branching out, on the evidence shown here a little more work is needed before he finds his new feet.  This song has potential but the potential reached is not arousing my acoustic erogenous zones - bah. 

Overall this CD has much to offer, some stuff I am thrilled by, some I am not overly at one with but... a good compilation should have a variety, many angles and some sounds to test the tonal patience and keep on wondering.  This is a continuation of a ruddy good effort by all and I hope Volume 4 is in the offing.  Never underestimate the selfless effort that goes into making a collection such as this - tis DIY and DIY done well. 



What the hell is going on here then?  3 tracks that are delivered with a textual Bandcamp escort that reads like thus:- 'East Manchester based AI & archive footage driven post-punk.  Documentaries you can dance to.  Terror, mystery and fish frequency transmissions' - oh cripes. 

The initial trance-dance hybrid of dabbling discordance comes under the tag of 'Dogger' - a strange specimen of sound with weather forecasts given above a thriving regulated beat that is just a little too much in the background for my liking.  The movement has good sinewy strength, a fine incessance and some effective accoutrements although the midway switch off is a little too lightweight to maintain the eavesdroppers focus.  We are soon recaptured by the thrustings though and more favour is cultivated.  I reckon a good instrumental without the verbals and with extra added heavy riffage would have worked a treat  - only personal thoughts of course and all done with helping future causes - this is still an encouraging piece nonetheless. 

'Gongs And Chimes' has a far more relaxed and convincing end production with the gently brewed bass and the twilight twinkle guitar touches working in fine unison whilst the cymbals and skins add just the right amount of scaffolding.  More utterances are added, I am not sure why, they do however add a layer that adds to the overall intrigue and nebularity.  This is a neatly textured piece that soothes and grooms - the fact that the band are not trying to ram their wares down your throat is greatly appreciated and it makes a nice change from the general rhythmic ramrodding I subject myself to.  I am just curious as to how these vibes would work in the midst of a punk-slanted gig - for me it would be a blessing, for those washed through with the rules and regulations of in-scene nonsense it may be a different matter - daft buggers.

We close this three-way tickler with 'Protect And Survive ' a sobered cruise that starts with a warning and then delivers an embracing comfort with space-age suggestions. The dulcet and almost automaton tones that deliver the doom laden message brings back memories of paranoid days when one would consider what it would be like to be a victim/survivor of a nuclear blast.  The government went AWOL, as did many minds, the cold war became uncomfortable, the propaganda machine and the media manipulators had the world laden with worry (nothing changes it seems).  This is a cool and controlled tune (despite the content) and seems to be borne from the apocalyptic wastelands where the only hope left comes in the form of music - is that a bad thing?   

Subtle, washed through with nostalgic fear and having a modern day pertinence not to be taken sitting down.  Please get up and swing to the rhythm but take heed and don’t let the madness take over.  I would like to hear another 3 tracker from this lot – next time with some brassage, a few hard chugs and some blatant hollering in the weft and weave – for now, this is a tidy trip.



Punky skankiness from Lincoln comes with a fine degree of innocent poppishness and pimply joy that goes down a treat in this day and age of over-molested shizzle.  From a listen of the first track I knew this CD was worthy of my time and so I opted to plunge into the 21 track showcase and try and do my textual bit. There are people out there who rattle off these reviews with just a single spin, there are folk who think this reviewing lark is easy and there are people who do fuck all and then just expect - not so here - I listen many times, I sweat blood with every review and I expect nowt only a respect for my honest DIY way - once again, here goes everything, here goes nothing.

'Out Of My Head' is a gently sugar-coated poppet that opens with grandiose effect, scuffs it up and soon finds a very likeable modus operandi that I am instantly enchanted by.  The construct of the song is orthodox, routine and obvious but it is done with a believable tonality and may I say, lo-fi brilliance.  The vocalist is put at the fore in a quite prominent position - she is on the spot and duly thrives.  The back buzz is a perfect complement, the shadow singing does what needs be and what we end up with is       a simple serenade of love-soaked honesty - smashing.  'Cry Wolf' follow in a similar manner with a mid-paced strut before lightly skanking along and showcasing a neat diversity to the spillage.  I am already considering a band who have great potential and given a full on production push could easily match the most acclaimed bands out there.  For me the beauty is in the DIY approach though, here we find the true lifeblood of the band and see what they are truly made of.  I am enjoying this second snippet as a result of this appreciation of all things unstripped - there is something good going on here with a strain of yesterday and tomorrow.

The third track ups the ante, has a greater bounce and stretches the she-tonsils a little further. 'Out Of The Blue' is a superb lesson in light-lilted skankiness with a certain purity pondered and a hopeful essence had.  There is no hard-hitting edginess here, no political raving and heavily molested skins and strings - no, just a sweet drift contemplating and doing it mighty well.  I have this one now showcased on my 'Fungalised' Bandcamp page - I handpick various examples of DIY greatness - the reasons here are obvious.

A clutch of three, 'Time To Die' has a sharp acidity that cuts to the core and slightly changes the tack of the tonal outpouring.  Some raw chuggery, a look at the media madness that exposes murder and then indulges itself and some spiteful angles and we get a solid punky parade of well-flexed noise that is played without vulgarity but with a certain throw-back astuteness.  Next and some dabbling bass, a soft upthrust and a delicate swing with 'Just Go With The Flow' a reclined moment of contemplation.  The thought of going with the flow appals me, tis always better to be yourself and see what transpires.  This tidy arrangement seems to be caught in a net of indecision - does one go with it or defy?  The content speaks, the frustration is tangible, the drift a nice juxtaposition to these emotions - I think the band are balancing matters quite nicely here.  The final fling of the snatched hat-trick comes under the tab of 'With You' and after an encouraging 4 count and some coruscated strings the front lass is left to do what she does with a good desire to be who she is and avoid the wretched mush.  The hanging-on love slant is sweet, the fact that someone knows who they want to be and who they want to be with is a joy and this scruffy little oik of a number has good character and is a short inclusion very much worth its weight in... bold.

I decide to stay with the assessing modus operandi, another threesome is bagged. 'Salamander' has a slinky sleaze feel with a girl observed as she weaves her way through the crowd and sends a shiver up the spines of those who dare take careful note.  The lass under the spotlight sounds like a right femme-fatale and not one to take too lightly.  The main tonal quality of the song is nicely sandpapered and gives the end result a gritty edge - I like that!  The ensuing number is a sobered account known as 'Going Down'.  The arrangement is orthodox, the mix now familiar and what we have here is stabilising song that does what needs be - as part of the mush it can be easily overlooked, it has its place and please take a little extra time to appreciate here - we gotta be fair tha' knows.  'Coupe De Ville' is one for the car-appreciation society and one that leaves me standing by the kerb of bewilderment.  Cars are tin cans on wheels that get us from A to B whilst vomiting forth an array of pollutants and creating some status statement that is beyond me.  Having stated my stance on the necessary but overused vehicle I am still swayed by this rinky-dink tune that has a zested free-wheeling liberation borne form a wayward obsession and a need to hit the roads.  The personification of the motor is outside of my realm but it is dealt forth here with good sincerity - ooh the silly buggers.

A brass splash comes nest via the very admirable 'Radioactive' - a very exemplary song with all the trimmings of a band who are in a chosen groove and determined to stick with the route found and loved.  There is a joyous element bursting from every pore of this number, a celebratory feel for all that has passed, will come and what is now before our appreciative lugs. All areas slot into one comfy zone that zips with zest and helps one ride the waves of a sanguine rhythm  - a choice moment with a good pop-bop bassline too.  'Far Away' has a tepid start that fails to charm, it is a distant drifting and I wonder where the song is heading.  We are soon given adequate contrast and matters are accentuated as a result.  When played several more times the inner lifeforce is understood and we get the double-ended reasoning of the band truly revealed - I have no complaints if the truth be told.

A nice crisp twang, a back beat and a ripple of the tympanics and 'Undivided Attention' cracks along with some crafted nouse that is cuter than first deemed.  The band have a liquid flow going here rinsed through with shadow and sure-fire vocals that highlight a situation where one half of a potential relationship is timid and the other a little too caring for their own good.  A gentle hint at being a little desperate is never far away - I am not sure if this is planned or not but the song works mighty well.  'Beat City' is relaxed and looking to enthuse and have a good time.  No fuss, no hidden agenda, just an easy output with and easy target in mind.  Going with the flow and looking to dance away the blues - this is an ear-worm that wriggles deep without the listener being aware.  The tonal quality is perfectly in-line with all that has transpired thus far and that my dear interested friend, is no bad thing.  A minor moment to swing the booty to methinks!

I jump back to the snatching of the threesome and begin with the tremblings of 'Me And You'. A bouncing baby of sound with uncomplication being its greatest asset.  After only a couple of spins one can easily join in with the meanderings, meanderings that are sweet, unfussy and liable to keep the rear end waggling.  A bit of concentrated chuggery adds texture but nothing overly elaborate is had.  The final ponderings reveal a certain jealousy which is a real tangent - I am slightly unnerved.  'Don't You Know' has a certain languidness and focuses its attention on a self-absorbed entity that needs a little bit of friendly advice.  To be fair there are too many in this mire who think the world revolves around them and too many who think they know best - all I can do is roll along and be humble with my opinions.  This is a fair track that has gently opposing tones but I fear this one is in danger of disappearing within a very applaudable pack - I think a real shake-up was needed at this point.

On we roll down the final stretch - I shall be brief and hopefully exact with the next quartet.  'Jazz Bastard' has a fidget bass-line, under the radar strings and light stick taps whilst the lead lady does what she does - there ain't nowt new here although something slightly off-the-cuff is felt which is, indeed, a good thing.  'Try' has a lovely rusted start and is too quick to jump back in the skanky flow.  Having said this I find the verse and chorus cuts and the way they segue and bounce are delightful and this is quite an accomplished little track that shows some real nouse on the bands part. The quick follow-on takes a pop at the middle-class wankers who idle whilst others tumble.  It is a world of utterly wankery but people make these layers and contribute to much imbalance. 'Ivory Towers' exudes much angst and power, a relentless push and great life that really draws me in - it gets me thinking how good this lot would really sound if they went for a few songs with serious haste - I reckon a few speedbursts are lacking here but this is a still a beltin' song.  'Insane' is a poetical probe into realms a little off-kilter - I like the drift and the angle, I am a little wary of it becoming another part of the 'not-my-fault' blame-free culture we are sinking in.  Maybe I have been too hammered by this shittery so I take a step back, view with more positive orbs and ears and enjoy the short and simplified tickle.

2 left, a soppy, sloppy love song next with sturdy backbone of sound and the familiar ST tonal qualities.  '3 Little Words' has a good traditional punk grafting and buzzed up feel with a creamier topping applied by the front lady.  Again there are no real gripes had but, and a polite but at this stage, the CD would have fared better with less tracks, a real curveball thrown in and some inner instrumental interludes to add to one flowing journey.  I move on into the last still thoughtful 'Wasting My Time' is a moody piece with moments of almost indolent lackadaisical leanings interspersed with emotive headrushes that add the necessary 'contrast' factor.  The song dillies and dallies, dashes and darts and puts a full-stop to a showcase of solid tunes by a band on their game.

A good listen this, one I have tossed around the palette for several weeks and come up with the following critique.  A good band, doing what they do well is the summing up but a shorter release would have had more impact, especially, as stated, if a few quick numbers were thrown in with all hands working up a lather.  A good intro and outro piece on the next offering with just 10 tracks of varying flavour will undoubtedly stretch the band a little further – I am wondering if they will take me up on these challenges. 

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