If you are one to have been welcomingly violated and recruited by the basement level persuasion of Australians I Am Duckeye and their Punching Dicks EP, whose title song once embraced has the habit of repeating on its victims at the most inopportune moments, then the thought of their debut album will have juices leaking and erections of hunger ripe for feeding. Husband is a thunderous dose of punk and metal coaxed aural below the waist salaciousness which leaves expectations of hearing something very good in the release potent underestimation. It is an outstanding album which offers slabs of prime rock ‘n’ roll for the lyrical and mischievous deviancy to rampage within.
Formed in 2008 I am Duckeye fuse comedy and riotous fun with a contagious and impressively crafted mesh of punk, rock, and metal. Imagine a back street union between Kevin Bloody Wilson, The Dickies, and Melvins, whilst Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias and The Wildhearts add their ounce of liquid expulsions to the recipe. Consisting of founders, guitarists/vocalists and twin brothers Sam and Matt ‘Mattness’ Haycroft, who also play in Sydonia, Afterwhite and Chico Flash respectively, bassist Jules (also in Dirty F), and drummer Sean (Sydonia), the Melbourne band has already laid down a legacy of three EPs, videos, and a wealth of YouTube Duckisodes which will have mothers and grandmothers deep in their coffin’s resting place. Husband is undoubtedly their finest piece of irreverence yet and one which musically is a thrilling and imaginative monster. Containing fifteen tracks wrapped in the excellent artwork of Julian Medor (Dirty F) and unique photography by Randy Blythe (Lamb Of God), the album is a comedy rock juggernaut which is so much more than just a slab of naughtiness.
The album launches upon ear and senses with S’whale, the opening call of the sperm named creature meeting heavy rhythms and hungry riffs whilst the adjoining bass offers a throat full of snarling temptation. Into its productive and intimidating stride the vocals begin expelling the ‘educational’ narrative whilst the sounds carve out a formidable and infectious course of metal infectiousness with loud whispers of the likes of Trucker Diablo.
Tea Baggin’ continues the metallic predatory sounds, its carnivorous riffs and bass seduction ridden by dual anthemic vocal enticement coated in gang persuasion. With lyrics which you can rightly assume are not about the merits of starting the day with a choice of Ceylon, China, or Lapsang Souchong sourced beverage sparking grins and more within the high octane growl of a song, the album already has inspired an impressed and lustful passion for its body further cemented with the likes of the punk ‘n’ roll blaze of It’s Time and the twisting noise rock punk engrained Whateva (Dude). It has to be said that even if the rest of the album had sucked like a Granny with no sense of direction we would have been enthusing vociferously about the release because of the opening quartet of tracks. Thankfully it just continues to rape sensibilities and unleash sounds which corrupt and wonderfully gnaw at the ear with craft and fierce antagonism not forgetting varied invention.
The wine appreciation of Corkin’, only joking, with its intensive niggling grind of riffs and climatic call, and the manic schizoid fuelled rummage of the senses Ung again leave passions alight, the latter with an evolving almost Primus like creative bedlam, whilst Brown Eyed Guy is a classic rock fired furnace of sexual temptation which again only drives the album deeper into the passions.
Without reeling out every track and leaving things for you to discover, quite simply Husband carries on diversifying its bait with devious enterprise, the likes of the exceptional and musically twisted Chode To Jesus, the exhausting predatory punk/rock bruiser Prolapse, and the leviathan The Riff, a track laden with riffs of course, all which would leave Mastodon dribbling in to their beards, engineering greater greed for its bad mannered ingenuity. Right there amongst them is also the anthem of all anthems of band and the world, Punching Dicks. The song is prime punk rock, lyrical repetition and simple construction breeding the purest infection which is like an epidemic, once consumed as mentioned it rears its insatiable head at any moment it chooses in thoughts, its presence breeding a Tourette’s like need to expel its call whether on a train, at a family reunion, funeral, or a Justin Beiber concert, though that last one is acceptable and pure instruction.
With the magnetic and disorientating inventive stumbling of Shadow Pogs and the insanity caressing closing title track, Husband is simply brilliant. Actually we have almost mentioned all the songs despite the earlier intent so note both Slag Bank and Rabbit Kick and you have the full complement of the aberrational glories. I Am Duckeye certainly lead to bad behaviour as they stake a claim as one of our own obsessions masked under favourite bands, just be brave and let them lure you into their clutches too.
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