This review is as exact and as accurate as possible but due to the recent inclement and may it be vulgarly added, shite, weather my descriptive digits are prone to reach out into imaginary pastures of fluttering fantasy and spice up the textual matter so as to deter the grey oppressive clouds from seeping forth into the doldrums of depressive lethargy.  I apologise in advance for misleading you the reader but make no apologies for keeping things interesting - not only for myself but alas for all!  Seperate the falsehood from the fact but beware a hastiness in your judgement for many a deviant doth roam these twisted paths of punkology and musicianship.  Read on oh retrospective voyeur and rein in your decisive nature.
A 3 band delight at Whittles peddled by Slit Boy Dean Diggle seemed worthy of attention for several reasons.  One - Dean's not a bad old 'erbert and is always worthy of support, Two - I hadn't been to this venue before, Three - I had missed Billyclub on the last two possible viewings and was in need of a hard-edged fix, Four - I was interested to see how Ambush UK had progressed since the line-up change, Five - I wanted to sell a bag of E's to Jason and Jordan so as to raise enough brass to go on a sherry bender and satisfy my cravings for telephone porn (ring bell ring)!
The venue was surprisingly spacious and the initial sounds given off by the soundcheck were promising.  Promoter Dean sat behind the drumkit and attempted to knock out a rhythm or two but made a complete vagina of himself but amazingly seemed unembarrassed.  I told him of his shameful ways and he immediately pulled a gun on me and said to never insult him again and submit to the ways of Satan and divulge of the excrement sandwhich.  Taken aback by this sudden outburst and violent demon-based attack I stepped back into the safety of my wife's arms - shaken to the core by this blatant show of devilry.  Dean staggered off clutching his head muttering vehemently about the curse of beelzebub and the sacrificial cuckoo - what the fucketh!
Bands and faces arrrived and yet those Blackburn rapscallions, Ambush UK, were still not in attendance and as they were opening the night's entertainment questions were asked as to whether they would show or not.  I informed all that they would indeed be here as their past record is exemplary and they had always shown a solid commitment and reliablity.  It was at this point Tim Davies enetered the arena complete with a metal case filled with his grandmothers underwear, two bottles of domestic bleach, a dogs head and several issues of that 70's peephole classic Rodox.  With rolling eyes he boasted of being 'all horned up' and how he was going to 'satisfy his sausgae with some old onion'.  Throwing ale down like it was going out of fashion he bobbed about to various punters relating his tales of alcoholism and perverted practices.

My judgement of Ambush UK proved accurate as they arrived, set up and immediately set about knocking out a quite stunning set.  'Fade Away' opened and was a smashing start and a real joy for me as this determined band had seemed to have reached a new level of output and were finally realising their potential.  I have seen these a few times and they have played a few SAS gigs for me in the past and have always been true to the cause.  They have had line-up changes and in truth struggled to find their true direction but the last couple of performances have come on strong and this so far was the best I have seen them.  'Half The World' followed and was a full-on blast of honest effort and winning rhythm - excellent.  Next was a song dedicated to yours truly - (thanks lads really appreciated) - called 'Don't Complain When You're Dead'. A great fuckin' song and the title is quite apt as I feel there are a load of punks out there who are missing so much and have no room to gripe when they realise just how much they are truly losing out on.  The set continued and the only blip was the Buzzcocks cover of 'What Do I Get' which fell apart and didn't work at all.  If you are going to do a cover then nail it good and proper or forget it as punters who are not familiar with your songs are liable to judge you on this song irrespective of your other, more worthwhile efforts.  The Buzzcocks are wank anyway (that's for you Andy Noize Anoize ha, ha)!  The forthcoming album taster was very sweet and promises much and I personally hope Ambush UK get some real appreciation and credit for their unassuming and likeable commitment.  A very pleasurable moment and note has been made to get more gigs for AUK.  My pleasure indeed!
Local deviant Woolly arrived at this point and immediately tried to sell me some nude pictures of Eamon Andrews (This Is Your Life presenter).  I feigned interest to keep him happy but then he started enthusing about a recent affair he had been having with It's A Cockout, er sorry Knockout, star Stuart Hall.  Woollys language was rather too lewd for my wife's ears and when he started thrusting his loins and imitating Mr Halls orgasmic groans we felt it was time to seek out new company.  Unfortunately we chose local mate and recent breakdown recoveree Tez who harped on about his love of Hitler and the only way forward was to victimise overweight people.  His recent attempts at setting up his own 'Fat Man Fighting' competition have fallen foul of the PC brigade so thankfully these nude lard ass tumbles will not be gracing the shores of Blackpool.

Next up The Dead Class - a lesson in nailing Pop punk indeed.  This set was full of Rice Krispie goodness with an overflow of 'Snap, Crackle and Pop'.  Oozing vitality and an energised vigor the commencement to the set was spellbindingly good with fizzing melody eeked out by these 3 quality musicians. I was enjoying this alot until the set became fractured by several untoward u-turns that halted the fluidity of the performance and led to a somewhat staccato like feel.  The crowd were loving it and maybe it was just me, and in truth I was having an attack of the vapours and was rather breathless (literally) throughout the second half.  Overall I feel that if The DC stay fully focussed on the pop-punk aspect they are onto a real winner and should perhaps curtail too many tangents and just sneak in the odd different mode of melody.  The good bits were amazing and the other bits were not bad so I have no complaints.  I do need a few more viewings however to build familiarity with songs and so assess more fairly. Chit-chats with several boat-races generally backed-up these leanings.
Gasping for air and a bit frustrated at the delays between bands due to Deans' hasish habit and Tims arrest for peddling Caterpillar Filth I just wanted Billyclub to get up and get on with it.  A brief chat with a Des 'O' Connnor lookalike and the BC riot began. Surging thier way through the entire set Billy Club bludgeoned along with thier usual high quality focus. I have never witnessed a bad performance from these lot and despite years of having doors closed in thier faces it seems this fine outfit are finally making people sit up and take note. 'I Saw God' as always was immense but so were all songs with 'Smash It Up' a ripping roar, '747' a familiar blast and 'FUVM' was supremely solid. You can't fault this lot and despite a different bassist from the last time I saw them the unit was still fuctioning on all four cylinders. A classy finish to a quality night of FREE punk rock.

Well done to Dean and all the bands for a particularly fine night at a very good venue which ended rather sourly as a drunken Noz (RBH bassists) insisted on showing me his recently tattooed left testicle. Why anyone wants a picture of Sid James on the old turkey pouch is beyond me but such are the hazards of smoking golf balls. Noz went off with his globe on show and we headed home after a decent nights punking.

Any allegations and scandalous stories that may generate from the above reading is in no way my responsibilty and I dismiss any accusations as regards cruelty to testicles and vulnerable individuals.

review by OMD (11 July 2008)