I Am Duckeye – Husband

I Am Duckeye pic

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 and4pg or Multi pg Booklet V2.ai 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.




RingMaster 07/06/2013

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The Tuesday Club – See You Next Tuesday


As Christmas approached fast and the tail of 2012 was making its last flurry of wags, UK punk n rollers The Tuesday Club unleashed their single Ain’t Got No Class, our introduction to the miscreants of mischievous and irresistible rock n roll. From the release alone they became engrained in our passions further cemented with a retrospective dive into their earlier 3P EP and tracks. This made the eagerness to hear their debut album See You Next Tuesday as urgent and insatiable as a dog diving upon a bitch in heat. It had a lot to live up to as anticipation had already decided the bar it had to contend with. The eight piece carnival of fun and rioting sounds easily took control of hopes and expectations, turning them into their personal playthings with a release which quite simply leaps ahead of the game whilst igniting sheer devilment within themselves and the listener.

The roll call for the 2011 formed mysterious knavish octet consists of Andreas Vanderbraindrain, The Minx, The Beautiful Wolf, Dave Worm, Fabulous Glaborous, J Rod, Jerry Berry, and Titti Bartelski, a collection of rockers who span the years with birth dates between 1957 & 1984, a fact which seems to be proudly mentioned in all promos and bios we come across, and why not, it certainly offers a wealth of musical pedigree and experience which ensures the tongue in cheek aspect of the band and songs is equipped with superbly crafted and contagious sounds. Hailing from Warmington-On-Sea, the seaside town famed for the setting of UK comedy Dads Army, the band has been tagged as ‘the Dads Army of spacerock’ , but there is nothing old or devoid of energy and youthful devilry with this terrific album.

See You Next Tuesday steps up to the ear with opener Dolly Dynamite and is soon seducing with a fiery brew of hard rock and 10215blues punk, and one suggests the inspiration to the description placed upon the sound of the band, “If Roxy Music were doing the Rocky Horror Show, they’d sound like this”. As it romps with curvy blues whispers from the guitars and show tune like roundness to its breath you can just imagine Tim Curry with his full armour of fishnets and corsets parading the infectious work to the world. The vocals of Andreas Vanderbraindrain aided by the delicious devilry soaked tones of The Minx bring an individual rascality to proceedings, and cross the album they mix things up for a delivery as varied as the great sounds surrounding them.

As great as the song is, it has to be said it pales within the strength of the rest of the album but certainly makes a lead into the release which cannot be refused or left alone. Ain’t Got No Class steps up next to ignite the passions even further, the punk taunt of mischief is a conspirator for reckless engagement from voice and limbs to its cause with a lure of a rolling bassline, teasing honky-tonk lilted keys, and compelling flames of guitar enterprise irresistible. Rife with addictive hooks and syrupy melodic grooves, it is vocally and musically a wanton orgy which brings again those Rocky Horror thoughts as well as those of the likes of Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias and The Tubes.

Two songs in and the familiarity of the release, certainly for existing fans is great but makes you think ok the passions are hungry but now impress me further, which the band does with ease through Money Means Nothing  and Nanananana. The first song slowly emerges with niggling guitars taunts and droning whispers, beats and bass a resonating post punk seduction with similarly gaited straight faced vocals transfixing attention. All the while the song builds up its suggestive intrigue to then break into a chorus of lighter but no less potent melodic energy. The intertwining of both elements continues throughout for a thrilling ride of light and shadow, both with a feisty ready to quarrel intent in tow. The second of the pair is a pop punk/rock n roller with again impossible to leave alone choruses and simple raw verses and vocals which reminds of TV Personalities.

The variety of the album is in full flow now with the excellent She Splayed My Teeth, a dirty rocker of enveloping keys and boisterous energy guided by the equally punk loaded delivery of the vocals, the slow swing version of New Regime, and the outstanding Replication and Montage, bringing their diverse and unique diablerie to the fore. The second of the trio is a favourite song with the version on the album a hilarious encounter which though certainly not a filler or interlude, makes a break in the riot with its live improv like cheek, though for persona tastes the punked styled version on the previous single is better. The latter of the trio is a Spizz Energi like joy with the finely crafted temptation of Dirk Wear Whites Sox era Adam & The Ants, and simply one irrepressible treat.

The gems keep coming with firstly All You Do Is Wow, another song offering a Spizz inspired repetitive bass persuasion locked to an indie punk depth which is like a cross between Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster and Engerica, whilst the keys bring a Stranglers flavoured heat and air to the thumping prime choice track. The next up New Glamour again is ripe early Adam Ant glory with its own distinctive stance, the song a predatory prowl around the ear with a blaze of addictive virulence at its core and is matched all the way by Wish My Slate Was Cleaner, its swagger a blatant bait to the again epidemic like infectiousness and inducement to partake of the song.

More gems crowd the ear through the likes of the brilliant slowly burning Vinyl As A Manifesto whose Bolanesque charm and stringed driven tempo accelerates with increasing greed and the smouldering Little Miss Attitude, but truthfully every track is a passion feeding pleasure. All really that is left to say is we love See You Next Tuesday and we are sure you will too.




RingMaster 19/04/2013

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I Am Duckeye: Punching Dicks


    Each decade has one or two bands which sum up the feeling of the people with elegance and beautifully sculpted sounds, musicians coming together to conjure stunning aural paintings through perfectly honed emotion, refined thoughtful enterprise, and intently planned experimentation. Thankfully that same period of time also gives us a band where sonic rioting and lewd mischief is their only musical instinct whilst uniting and firing up the common man is an anthemic weapon wielded with ease. Today the world has I Am Duckeye, a bunch of punk miscreants who enflame and thrill with ‘retarded sounds for a retarded society’ and a band we would choose over any ‘work of art’ each and every day.

From Melbourne, Australia, I am Duckeye were formed in 2008 by twin brothers Matt and Sam soon aided by Sean and Jules. Together they unleash ungracious rock n roll which is a merger of punk and comedy, a blend of The Dickies, The Wildhearts, Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias, and Kevin Bloody Wilson if you will, oh not forgetting the added extra of having the class of Sir Les Patterson. Basically it is punk rock at its best, accomplished and direct without a care in the world but with potency in power and ability to create addiction causing hooks and unbridled inflammatory energy.

     Punching Dicks is their new EP, a seven track destructive revelry which leaves exhaustion and unbridled pleasure in its wake. The EP is the fourth release from the band we are led to believe but we suspect the first to find or will find a wider eager audience outside their already established home fanbase. With a lead track as anthemic and contagious as hospital bed dogging, the release tells you all you need to know about band and their criminally infectious invention and devilry.

The title track is sheer terrace/gang glory, simple primal chants with a constant helping of repetition driven by primitive inciting rhythms. At times the guitars are allowed to assault the ear with their charismatic grazing and the bass given voice to growl and scrape the wounds even deeper but the vocal calls and harmonies leading the rampage do not need any assistance in firing up the passions and excitement, as the live clips on the DVD which accompanies the EP shows. It is one of those songs which brings people together though possibly with not the healthiest of outcomes.

The song defies anyone to move on to the next track on the release and we must admit we went around abusing and disturbing the neighbours in voice and sound united with the track well in to double figures moments before checking out Nudie Rudie. An ear coaxing storm of dirty rock n roll with inviting riffs and ready to rumble rhythms around a lyrical quiz of night time wear, the track is a one minute fire of fun and energy with again vocals to incite participation in its mission.

Third track Warning is a surprising treat, a mix of live and studio sounds with a haunting menacing ambience which contrasts wholly with the rest of the release but seamlessly fits too, the song showing a depth to the band and their sound which maybe is generally hidden.

A quartet of live tracks complete the release , all raw with a caustic sonic touch on the ear but great examples of the genital bashing band in its natural state.  Both Prolapse and Mowees leave an urge to check the band out live if ever given the chance and the noxious Stink Lines and heavy boned Baby Money seal the deal.

With the package also including a DVD containing live performances, the band out and about, and the great video to Punching Dicks, this is one prime punk rock package to bring the instinctive delinquent from within without.



RingMaster 07/03/2013

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The Tuesday Club: Ain’t Got No Class


    Just as you think the year is slowing down ready for seasonal celebrations one band is set on riling up the country before it is ready with their mischievous riot of punk n roll disguised as new single Ain’t Got No Class. The miscreants in question are Walmington-on-Sea, UK aural rioters The Tuesday Club; a group of wickedness which has become are new favourite confrontation.

The Tuesday Club is a new band consisting of punk reprobates who were born within the expanse of time between 1957 and 1984, the combination of members bringing a range of experience and maturity which is out to give and have fun whilst creating music they pour their heart into and with all seriousness.  The new single follows the well received 3P EP and surely once its naughty wonder sets to work on the nation, the mysterious octet of Andreas Vanderbraindrain, The Minx, The Beautiful Wolf, Dave Worm, Fabulous Glaborous, J Rod, Jerry Berry, and Titti Bartelski  will find themselves the centre of a full attention.

“If Roxy Music were doing the Rocky Horror Show, they’d sound like this” has been one description of the band and sound  and one can see why but as Ain’t Got No Class goes to work, the track for us plays like a wanton orgy between Alberto Y Los Trios Paranoias and The Tubes with extra devilry from Kitty Hudson. The song takes no time in laying addictive hooks and syrupy melodic grooves upon the ear whilst vocalist Vanderbraindrain and lyrics are as wanton and irrepressible as the sounds. The romping keys and female vocals add to the teasing almost taunting swagger of the track and the song as a whole just leaves a big grin on the face and in the heart.

Accompanying the song on the single is another party of bruising attitude and knavery. Brief and insatiable New Regime [punked] is vintage punk rock, uncomplicated, direct and offering a hell of a lot of easy to devour fun. Before spend all your pennies on gifts for others grab one for yourself courtesy of The Tuesday Club.



RingMaster 07/12/2012

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