No fuckin' about here - after a day at work and a fish tea I shifted my wickedly tired carcass and arrived at The Station Hotel at nigh on 6pm. A good chinwag with Punk Ollie and Paul Hakesley was had whilst waiting for the bands and faces to arrive. In the next hour or so the people came and some slurping of ale and more mandible quivering was had. It was at this point that I had to confess to trying to smuggle two midgets into the gig inside my reliable rucksack. I opened the said sack and out popped the nude miniature men and off they fled to who knows where. I was sad in some ways as a Travel Lodge Hotel had been booked for after the gig where I planned to indulge in some small time love.  Alas shit happens and I suppose these short arses of the street are better left in the wild rather than used and abused in some necessary satanic sexual practices - I shall now stick to hunchbacks and arthritics! Into the gaff and some tweaking with equipment was going on so I decided to do a bit a therapy with Bob 'nuffzanuff' Smith who has a severe masturbation problem. It was a pointless exercise as the rub ready fiend was fiddling with himself throughout the session and so I gave it up as a bad job. Mr Smith than disappeared into the nearby urinals from which, for the next 30 minutes, emanated some quite abnormal sounds - what a beast! Anyway the gig eventually got going, the spilled Smithonian seeds were mopped up and the first band went something like this.

The Webb are a two-piece from the Wirral, a 100% delightful couple whom are joy to give ones time to, both on stage and off it. Their choice of output is electro Goth and consists of a gob, a keyboard and some genuine charming insight. Marc is a gem, a lovely bloke who taps the keys and twists the nobs (now, now) and gives the whole performance its sonic life. His partner in sinister crime is the sweet imp known as Becki who trills and thrills with her jigging ways and honey horror voice. The tones that paint a quirky portrait are laid with care and to my ragged lugs appear as magnificent surges of desire sprawled across a landscape that at first appears desolate but is actually alive with embryonic life. The combination of the unsettling and the hopeful make for deep rooted entertainment and the fact that the two artists are enjoying applying the rhythmic brushwork convinces and intrigues me no end. 'Little Pieces' (enhanced by a knife wielding maniac) and 'In A Dark Place' are now confirmed classics and 'Dead Cities' a cover to please but so much more is found throughout the set if one cares to concentrate and observe with ardour (unlike Bob Smith who observes with a hard-on - oh the terrible man). From the sparse to the saturated we go, a carousel of craftwork that is progressing and including several tunes that appeared to be new. 'Born, Fed...Raised On Dread' was a distinct lug puller and 'Situations' bore further fruit of intrigue. I was indeed...captivated though and lapped this up like K9 with a bowl of Castrol GTX. May The Webb weave on I say and ensnare many more sonic flies in their cables of cacophony - I loved it.

A beer, a systematic beating of a Chinese amputee and a quick dabble with a rubber man and back to the action.

Vomit came, retched up a rhythmic set and got the crowd highly animated and robustly enthused. This lot are a good reliable unit who do the rounds and have a good vibe going within the punk fraternity. Tonight I expected a safe and sincere puke up but got more than I bargained for. The band were tight, loud and wired up with vigour and donated a splash of noise that was laden with catchy hooks, riffing rabidness and blatant spiked essence. There were many highpoints that appealled to the punk bone and more zeniths that roused my general musical bonse. I thought 'Punk Generation' and 'Question Time' were early standard setters and 'Innocent Til Proven Guilty' perhaps the best song of the entire pack. That sing-a-long barb is inescapable and is delivered with incessant gusto that you would be a fool to not be magnetised. 'Dogshit' is pertinent and rolls along with vigour and 'Youth of Today' is on the blazing ball and kept the impetus mightily high. Towards the latter end of the set the crew were cruising with zeal and 'Piss Off Reg' was smile raising fun and the finale of 'Shut Your Mouth' another dazzling belter that I made a very firm note off. Vomit came, emptied the contents of thire musical stomachs and left nothing behind to be shat out. Full on, frisky and very gratifying - thank you lads.

It was at the point in the night that I caught Darren 'The Member' Kirwan sniffing industrial glue and reading a back copy of 'Roman Fat Flaps'. I was going to take issue with his actions but hey, if it feels good fuckin' do it. I browsed the seedy magazine and appreciated the delights and just for scientific reason joined in the glue huffing session before throwing a brick through a passing bus window - such is the way of a tense man.

And finally - to Hung Like Hanratty - a crew of genuine gentlemen with punk spirits to admire, with attitudes that will not bend nor break under today’s idiot in-scene political pressure and who play their brand of lunatic but pertinent punkism with true passion. Every time I put these guys on they watch all bands, never gyp about what gear they bring and put in everything they can in support of the cause. They are a fuckin' example to many and I am proud to know them - it gives me sincere hope knowing that there are some other gits out there kicking against the pricks and happy to push buttons and test boundaries. Tonight their set was as good as ever and in such a cosy environment as this I felt that we were all a favoured bunch to witness such moronic mayhem as this. The songs are head-clinging classics over and over again and 'The Ghost Of Jimmy Saville', Human Pig', 'You're Taking The Oscar Piss-torious', 'She's A Monster', 'Scrap Metal', 'Cardinal Kid Fucker' and 'Gordon The Traffic Warden' are some of the fine acoustic escapades brandished by an act who never fail to raise the titter-stakes and who do so in a very applaudable way. The artists know their stuff too and if one cares to watch the wire-wankers and the skin shredding stick man one will further appreciate what a good sound unit this is.  The band got an encore and executed it with double-ended brilliance and at 11pm on the dot the night came to an end with all in attendance mightily please with proceedings (I hope).

3 bands on a Friday night, contending with many aspects and trying to keep to the ethos set. I think things went well, the bands nailed it, beer was supped and smiling faces aplenty were in the room. Most importantly though is that things carry on and variety continues to be the main spice of this sonic life - thank you to all again for their efforts and to The Station and Pauline for allowing this to happen - it matters.

review by Fungalpunk/OMD (29 April 2017)