After getting rat-arsed the day before and being my mischievous self (or being a twat some may say) I thought it best to keep a lid on events today and try and hold the fort and keep things rather fluid. My good chum and co-promoter Eagle had come down with a bug and had to stay in his nest and let his Mother Hen tend to his whims (dirty bugger) so it was up to ye olde Fungalised me to do a bit more than my…ahem…bit. Fuckin' hell, no pinging about then.

Arriving at 11.30am, with a tired carcass below my addled head I had a good chat with co-compère for the day Scott Cullen-Steele about what has transpired of late and what may unfold on the day ahead. Harrison Rimmer came into the conversation and before you ask who the fuck is Harrison Rimmer I ask ye to dwell on the name a little and seek the answer there - oooh me rectum! Tim 'I have a thirst on' Davies arrived and a merry tongue wag ensued before it was time to head upstairs and await for the events to unfold. My good man Stu 'bird droppings' Taylor was there doing his wonderful bit and time ticked on as more heads arrived.

First artiste was a no show, so the commencement of the cacophony went on hold but, when the racket eventually kicked in it went, this. Just to note, I will be terse today, just as a treat to those with little patience and the attention span of an autistic pheasant! 3 sentences a band in a formal manner I thinks, fuck, that won't be easy!

Scott Cullen-Steele - do the honours sir and enjoy thy pinging up and down on the day's mattress of mayhem!

Das Abyss - a three-piece, orchestrated in the main by that darn gem John Chels, and a band that is a mighty powerhouse of surprisingly ensnaring magical tuneage that really drills into the sonic core and resonates with many rocked up atoms that make us what we are. The soundcheck was enough to turn on my slightly dithered todge of tonality and when the band started they tore me a new duffelbag with their cutting abrasiveness, sharp angled riff rape and thoroughly direct, snagging noise that was dipped in many influences of yore but which was primarily splashed with desire and artistry from the here and now. The switch in vocal duties was a nice touch, the whamming intent by all three din deviants was well aligned and I can honestly say, with mitt on ticker, this lot are gonna be back and banging, on a Fungal gig, real soon.

Complete Dysfunction - a five piece, no apologies for what you get, old school to the rotten, alcohol sozzled bones and rather than ripping through their own set list they took a somewhat careful approach and presented the beefed bollocks in thought out layers rather than one frenzied mess. There was once again many tangible flavours from yesteryear thrown in, all tidily stirred up into a raw, hot-breathed volume of sound that stirred many emotive facets within my personal framework. When the gas was hit the soaring energy contrasted well and a conflagration of many of the bands finest assets came to the fore - one to view several times over methinks, or is that just being greedy ya bastards - either way it was another enjoyable session for yours truly.

Pardon Us - another three piece, this time with a positive slant towards fast as fuck, high five flying poppoid deliciousness that was rigorously drilled with boom, bang, twat tympanics, a rib-melting bass line and some sincerely speedy knotted ass guitar work. Breakneck rapido rhythms flatulently emanated many stinks of success that got up the nostrils of every onlooker in the joint - each one impressed and enthused by the show on the go. The swift segues that blended belts outs, the utter focus and the over-riding accuracy of the intent made for something I found quite, fuckin'...marvellous! Isn't moving forward with noise so darn exciting (says 50 year old noise merchant who can't leave it alone).

Paul Carbuncle - a lone star plucking his acoustic twanging machine (after a fair train ride down) and exhibiting what one can do with a little insight, a little avoidance of convention and a handsome dashing of good old spirit. Folked in many extremes, spiked in an equal many others, this cocktail of seemingly opposing strains (to those not well informed) really altered the direction of the gig and brought a placid, thoughtful ambience to the arena as well a many a laughter created glint in the watchers peepers. An easy delivery, a charming personality and a cute manipulator of the old textual matter this was a welcome inclusion and I hold my hands clean in the air and state that Mr Carbuncle is welcome on any future events of mine for sure.

Enter Ged Murder and a tale of utter sexual horror.

The White Skull Death Snakes Of Death - came, went and left one of the downright dirtiest shitstains of sheer angularity and riffed up vulgarity one could wish to hope to see. Heavy duty rock here with the band totally unsafe, unpredictable and unrelenting - the crew came loaded, the underpants of noise couldn't hold much longer, it was only a matter of time and when the gush did come it killed dead any sense of resistance, any thought of 'ooh this doesn't fit', any inkling of 'why am I loving this'. Cloying, clouting, clashing, with a fat assed vibrology to abandon oneself in and some sneaky tomfoolery to tease hidden areas you never knew you had - this was the days black bonus ball and you should be fuckin' thankful for it.

At this point a draw took place to see who won the prize on a football card (kindly donated by Cosmic Slop). Alex Brooke won and gave the money right back to the cause - that says something about the lass, something very precious and the fact that I earlier wrote 'twat' on her hand says something about me and her lovely husband who put me up to it. Thanks love, what a sweetie!

Cosmic Slop - well, I have given these a couple of gigs now and seen them a couple of extra times too and I will tell thee something for nowt - if ever a band has an ear for purist DIY spillage and an opportunity to record something very fuckin' special this set of amiable artistes are the ones to do it - there is something just right going on here, a warts and all beauty that appeals, big time to my guttered desires. With stick man sturdy and correct, the bass player weaving and in the zone, the plucker adding the necessary edge and adornments and front lass Kelly as enthused and eager as ever this was, yet again, a rather special offering. From the deliberate to the delightful, the caressed to the clapped and the minimalistic to the saturated this raw and real happening was borne from the pit where many fear to tread and so miss out on the intrinsics of good, earthy music - I promised the punters much here, I think they got a whole lot more - fascinating.

Eye The Bomb - what a delightful angle to throw in, what a great bunch of slam bamming dudes who shake their asses to a self-made sound of all thinks funked, fucked and frighteningly fuckin' flowing. Scratched and scathed, puked from street level this big dunk of hot roast zest comes with high animation and wise ass credibility with all contributors smacking the zone, taming the tone and hitting some quite spellbinding zeniths. The skin smarts as the sound hits home, the cultured combating between many genres creates hypnosis in those observant and with a pinnacle such as 'Step Back' you must give these guys the respect they darn well deserve - some punks may not get it, if not then they best get out the sniffing salts - whoomph.

A switch in proceedings as a drunken warden wanted to see The Webb and would only do so if they played next - we aim to please!

The Webb are a two piece, they emerge from gothic territory some don't like to explore but they are mere fools as they are missing out on something rather special from a quite wonderful couple who are well versed, well rehearsed and well and truly cursed (with Fungal respect and appreciation). Tonight many fave tracks dropped like black wax from the theatrical stage whilst Marc created tuned tapestry with his keyed organ (yikes) and Becki strutted, posed, became statue-esque and then continued her evoking dance whilst releasing convincing trills that were both tremulous and commanding. The 2 are in complete concurrence, they are connected by invisible heartstrings, strings that quiver in unison which totally comes across in their quite mesmerising music - I am still ensnared.

Headsticks - well haven't I sung their praises enough, haven't you buggers stood in the glowing light of appreciation that has spilled from my raving orifice and felt the thermality of passion, pride and, yes indeed fair addled folks, pleasure. Tonight the folky fruitiness was given extra 'oomph' it seemed by a slightly harder edge that saw only one song come a cropper in the whole mix of sonic supremacy and educated, cultured minstrelism. Classic after classic poured forth, the band do things with style and after playing several Fungalised pits they are ready to fly the nest, move on to greater glories and at last receive their rewards for cultured crooning - the time is for 'Revolution', a rhythmic one in this instance and I wish them well in everything they do - they do have another Fungal show though, ties will never be severed for good and I hope, now and again, to let you partake of this special band as a treat from me (the bugger), to you (the buggers). Outstanding.

Nine Bullets - the band played for me earlier in the year and showed great attitude, great commitment and a great fuckin' ability to produce some lively, pertinent and rousing tunes from the darkest depths of sweet Mother Scotland. Their CD (which I sold a few of tonight for the band) is a fuckin' belter and even though tonight brought a switch at the fore the end result was a sanguine package of bouncing, sing-a-long anthems that dripped with class, quality and ass-biting chomp. Skanky moments tumbled high, spiteful and scathing songs struck a genuine chord and the efficient drill maintained throughout exposed a deep-rooted talent that remained firm, enthused many a punter and got due praise back from the die-hards. Undoubtedly a class act!

So the day was done, I was knackered and the gaff cleared. It was a long day and I thoroughly believe a worthwhile day. I will never fill a venue with my style of gigs because 'now', as it was 'then', people don't want to challenge themselves or risk going to a gig with many new acts on. But, and this is the biggest 'but' of all, a few do like to test the waters of many sounds, a few are chancers looking for fellow dancers who have a real thirst for noise in its many forms and a few have an insatiable appetite for racket that can never be doused. To do, for those few, and give hope to the ones starting out, the ones in it for the pure reasons, and the ones who just wanna make a racket for the hell of it the, and the ones who know success is in the doing, then on I will go - a proud pirate, peddling away his lowly ship in a sea of squalid shit that will never stand the test of time. Sincere and massive thanks to those who came, considered and got taken by - you are worth your weight in gold and never, ever let the bastards of procedure and expectation have ya.

Your compères for today’s event were Scott-Steele-Cullen and Ged Murder and I think they need a good round of applause for keeping things rolling and entertaining throughout and also don't forget Stu of STP who came, supported and helped massively with the gear. Hey and give yourself a slap on the back for chipping in to the endless struggle - I hope you found much to your liking - Cheers amigos and remember - willies are good.

review by Fungalpunk/OMD (23 November 2015)