Weird Omen – Surrealistic Feast

Simultaneously offering a haunting bordering on nightmarish temptation alongside a warm seductive tonic for the senses, the rock ‘n’ roll of French trio Weird Omen has always been a magnetic lure but within new album Surrealistic Feast reveals itself a sonically perceptual anomaly as it casts the listener adrift on a purgatory sea of addictive wonder. Try pinning the band’s sound down and you will flounder on the rocks of defeat but there is no missing its instinctive fascination and rousing prowess as proven within their new adventure of captivating strangeness.

Surrealistic Feast is the third full-length from the threesome of baritone saxophonist Fred Rollercoaster (King Khan and the Shrines, Bee Dee Kay and the Roller Coaster…), guitarist/vocalist Sister Ray (Ray and the Dead Drums…), and drummer/vocalist Remi Pablo (Escobar, Anomalys…) basking in a sound which has perpetually grown and boldly explored new realms by the record. It is a proposition as raw as it is radiant, a fusion of garage rock and punk with psych and neo psych tendencies amidst dark punk ‘n’ roll inclinations but a sound which still emerges outside of that broad decades embracing suggestion. Now within Surrealistic Feast it flourishes like never before, every song an individual collusion of flavours emerging pure and unique Weird Omen.

A Place I Want To Know starts things off, immediately the growly tone of Rollercoaster’s sax infesting ears and appetite from within cavernous surroundings. Swiftly the nagging beats of Pablo eagerly pester as too the predacious jangle of guitar from which a delicious melodic siren rises. The beauty of the track is sublime, its welcome harassment irresistible and fiery nature thrillingly rapacious; the outstanding opener a mix of raw aural tocsin magnificence and similarly alluring vocal persuasion.

The following Wild Honey makes just as much of a teasing and tempting start, beats a trigger to sonic hunger and the quickly blasting flames of addiction brewing sax. Whether returning to the Weird Omen sound or making Surrealistic Feast an introduction, the husky lure of its voice is unavoidable and persistent manna to these ears but just as powerfully matched as bait by the scything rhythms of Pablo and Ray’s melodically acidic and lustrous infestations as epitomised in the second track. Its rumble is open but controlled, underpinning the virulence swirling above and channelled into a vocal incitement impossible to leave alone.

Celestial heights are ventured once more through Please Kill Me, its prowling flight a sizzling wind of psych fuzz and sinister rock ‘n’ roll. At times it merges gothic psychobilly reminding of The Orson Family and the scorched punk of The Scaners to its compelling body, all the while niggling away at the imagination before Earworm uncages its own feral swing. Echoing the grungy wildness of Escobar in its breath, the track is a cyclone of salacious garage rock as punked up as it is melodically caustic and more than living up to its moniker.

The album’s title track is next, Surrealistic Feast a devious serenade cored by a rhythmic predation which controls the underbelly of mania eager to share its psychosis. The dual vocal incitement of Ray and Pablo circumvents skin effortlessly as beats hold limbs subservient, greed and imagination instantly enthralled and ever lustful through the rasping quirts of sax. The track is pure devilment, demonic sound at its most improper.

The sixties garage rock lined Collection Of Regrets brings its own individual temptations quickly after, its mellow hunting pop catchiness aligned to earthy untamed boisterousness while successor, The Goat, swings in with an old school rock ‘n’ roll and blues nurtured swagger; a hungry strut interrupted by punk brewed ferity from time to time with every corruption leaving greater creative savagery. Both tracks had us bouncing in various states of pleasure as too did the dirt encrusted pop ‘n’ roll of Trouble In My Head, a track resembling something akin to The 13th Floor Elevators immersed in the organic infectiousness of Thee Exciters and the untamed aberrance of The Mummies.

The composed yet twisted stomp of Out Of My Brain had attention locked within seconds of its hypnotic stroll, only gripping tighter as its aggression and mania escalated before leaving album closer, I Will Write You Poetry to pick up the pieces which it does with ease with its trash coated melodic croon.

Weird Omen can pretty much be trusted to constantly provide an unpredictable escape and adventure which arouses, disturbs, and leads the listener to realms of sonic curiosity and inimitable temptation; this time it comes in one glorious escapade going by the name of Surrealistic Feast.

Surrealistic Feast is out now via Dirty Water Records; available @ https://weirdomen.bandcamp.com/album/surrealistic-feast and https://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/Weird-Omen/c/32921273/offset=0&sort=normal

 https://www.facebook.com/weirdomentheband/

Pete RingMaster 28/03/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

The Scaners – II

It is hard to believe that it has been over a year since the debut album from French cosmic punks The Scaners was unleashed; feeling like it was just yesterday mainly we guess because since its release it has barely taken more than a deep breath away from our speaks here at The RR. It was one of the major infestations of 2018 and is about to be joined by this year’s matching virus in the shape of the bands succinctly titled second full-length, II.

As with the first release, we are on board the intergalactic vessel Scaner with the Lyon based band, careering from planet to star, from stratospheric mystery to extra-terrestrial house party amidst a soundtrack bred on sonic hooks and scuzz punk antics. In many ways it is more of the same of that which made the first album so irresistible but within a few breaths there is no escaping a fresh wind of flavour, imagination, and creative devilment at play within the mischievously virulent II.

Recorded as the first full-length with Lo Spider and mastered by Jim Diamond the new adventurer in space instantly had the body bouncing and vocal chords hollering as first track, Please Abduct Me opened up its thrusters and declared its plea. Its first breath brings an eager surge of guitar amidst the swirling breeze of keys, boisterous rhythms in close company as the track flies through ears. The vocals of organist Pav are just as magnetic, backed by the equally tempting tones of the rest of the band. A slice of incorrigible power pop fuelled garage punk the track is superb, straight away putting album and listener in the keen frame of mind to go galaxy stomping.

Catch Up With A UFO follows, launching on a delicious rhythmic incitement from drummer BX which quickly leads to an adrenaline soaked stomp shaped by the guitar of DD and temptingly coloured by the dark shadows of Tama’s bass and the ever persuasive vocals of Pav and co. Navigating its flight through swinging gravitational debris, delinquent twists and turns further equip the inescapable greed casting bait of the song before the album lands at Random City 2099. A fuzzy slab of garage rock nurtured synth punk, the song is a magnetic shimmer of theremin and organ nurtured seduction across jangling guitar and rapacious beats and far too easy to devour to be good for one.

There was no running for cover as Mars Attacks descended on ears next, its aggressive bubblegum animation as feral as it is predatory with a Ramones meets Phenomenauts teasing sweeping the conflict while within the gamma ray hued Space X-Ploration, escape is a controlled but inexorable release of hips and greed within the song’s lunar contamination.

Through the sonic trajectory of Galactic Race the body became even more of a puppet to the band’s devious strings, so much so that an instinctive bounce did not relax even as it drifted off into the distance though that was as much down to the synth pop ‘n’ roll virulence of the following X-Ray Glasses as the teasing wake of its predecessor.

Then as Spin Like A Record brought an already breathless body to the boil with its insatiably anthemic punk ‘n’ roll clamour and Don’t Run, We’re Your Friends had it leaping around like a whirling dervish on hi-octane radiation, lust exploded from every pore.  Fair to say The Scaners was already a band we had bred ardour for but by this point it was bordering on the illicit and only intensified by the ear stalking almost primal threat of No Panic, No Stress and the communicable untamed catchiness of the glorious Pesticide Kids, both infiltrated by pestering hooks and scuzz dusted melodic temptation.

Completed by the event horizon that is Run DD Run, its gravitational pull a trap few would wish to escape or not give up inhibitions for. A final pandemic of the band’s unique infective rock ‘n’ roll; it is a blistering and thrilling end to a quite sensational album.

Ok we were already on the biased side going into The Scaners sophomore album but still not prepared for its extragalactic invasion. If there is life out there and it resembles The Scaners we are in!!

II is released 29th March via Dirty Water Records with pre-ordering available now @ https://thescaners.bandcamp.com/album/the-scaners-ii

Upcoming live dates include…

Mar 29 Meteoro, Barcelona, Spain

Mar 30 Fun House, Madrid, Spain

Apr 20 Attica Club, Ponferrada, Spain

May 31 Le Nadir / Friche Culturelle De L’antre-peaux, Bourges, France

 https://www.facebook.com/thescaners/

 Pete RingMaster 15/03/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Snakerattlers – All Heads Will Roll

They came, they infested, and they ignited a lustful appetite for their ravenous rattle rock sound around two years with a debut album which was all cunning lure and feral deviancy. Now UK duo Snakerattlers has unleashed its successor and a new tide of unbroken snarls and untamed sound greedily hungry to devour a new expanse of hosts.

Consisting of married couple Dan and Naomi Gott, Yorkshire hailing Snakerattlers breed a sound which whilst chewing on the raw essences of rockabilly, garage punk, death punk and prime rock ‘n’ roll has already shown its unique character through that first album, This Is Rattlerock. It is a proposal which may be in some ways sowed its seeds in the pair’s previous band, garage punk trio The Franceens, but bloomed and grew within the Snakerattlers first full-length and is an even bolder rapacious and irresistible holler within All Heads Will Roll.

All Heads Will Roll opens up with Aither’s Theme; Naomi’s beats a slow but suggestive crawl soon entangled in the sonic threads woven within Dan’s guitar. There is a whiff of menace to both but equally a hue intimating a waiting triumph which is soon in full blaze as the album’s title track bursts free from the final acidic melodic throes of its increasingly infectious predecessor. The second track initially teases with the voice and hooks of Dan, again they a controlled tempting courted by the heavy foot beats of his partner. Every passing chord and rhythmic jab brings greater contagion and enterprise, the pair’s ever rapacious vocal bait alone inescapable as garage punk and hell bred rock ‘n’ roll colludes around them.

That instinctive contagiousness flows as freely through next up Lose My Mind, a song embracing sixties garage rock flavouring as keenly as more punk and rock nurtured feverishness and aggression. There is a definite Cramps-esque lining to its catchy trespass and equally an instinctive wildness which is as eager in bands like The Creeping Ivies. Having seduced and devoured, the song makes way for the inescapable primitive manipulation of Do The Rattle Rock. Beats and chords incite as vocals implore; it all uniting in an invasion of willing ears and a body soon boldly rocking to the song’s voracious inclinations.

Old school rockabilly seeds the following dark seduction of She’s Strange, its dark lures and senses winding coaxing a devilish virus of sound and temptation while the skilfully voracious Rattle Rock Stomp simply unleashes restrained but barely contained bedlam in its rivetingly compelling swing. Dan’s vocals alone just infest the senses and pleasure fuelled appetite but add the ever resourceful and devious scything beats of Naomi and the almost corrosive clamour of guitar and it is manna for certainly these ears.

The album’s best track is swiftly backed in organic temptation by the melodic causticity that is I’ll Destroy Your Soul, the song a portentous romance for which an eager embrace or a quick fearful flee from is an equal option. It is another delicious sonic plague in a sound which has just further blossomed and evolved from that which created such a riveting debut for the band, a growth as potent within Standing On My Own and in turn Ooga Booga. The first of the two merges dark surf and angst lined melodic rock ‘n’ roll in its fiery infection, an infiltration becoming more magnetic and inventive as well as unpredictable by the second. Its successor is sheer sonic nagging against voodoo rhythms; a glorious incitement of sound and intent which had us mercilessly moving to its tune like participants in a devils puppet show.

The album concludes with firstly the equally sonically wily and rhythmically unscrupulous Snake Rattle Rock, Snake Rattle Roll, a track which had us bouncing without inhibition under the forceful direction of ever persuasive vocals. The track is pure demonic and masterful rock ‘n’ roll and another of the album’s major peaks in nothing but and matched in all aspects by the closing predacious prowl of Wild. It oozes menace though a threat wrapped in melodic acidity and under a controlled if feral hand which uncages more of its chaos chord by chord, corrosive blaze by blaze.

Together they bring a rousing end to an uproar of sonic anarchy and imaginative commotion going by the name of All Heads Will Roll. The first Snakerattlers album may have corrupted the passions of a great many but it pales against the howling magnificence, inexorable virulence and expected slavery of acclaim and new slaves now unleashed by Snakerattlers.

All Heads Will Roll is out now via Dirty Water Records, available @  https://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/Snakerattlers/c/33534229/offset=0&sort=normal and https://snakerattlers.bandcamp.com/album/all-heads-will-roll

https://www.facebook.com/snakerattlers   http://www.snakerattlers.com/  https://twitter.com/Snakerattlers

Pete RingMaster 01/08/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Lucy And The Rats – Self Titled

There are some things which are simply bred for temptation, propositions instinctively natured to lure like sirens. Among their numbers is the debut album from Lucy And The Rats. Deceptively unassuming but one virulent contagion, the release is an irresistible slice of pop punk with a snarl in its heart and the most disarming melodies and harmonies on its breath like a winning blend of The Shirelles, Honey Bane, and Spinnerette.

Lucy And The Rats is the new band from now UK based singer/guitarist Lucy Spazzy, formerly one third of Australian punksters The Spazzys. Once settled in London in 2015, she set about assembling a new band being “bored of playing at home by herself”, subsequently linking up with guitarist Joe To Lose (Los Perros, Johnny Throttle), bassist Mike Cannibal (Animal Cannibal), and drummer Manu (Thee Tumbitas). A pair of ear grabbing singles followed as the band made a stir on the live scene in the Capitol, in turn nationally and all over the world sharing stages with the likes of Buzzcocks and Paul Collins along the way. Produced by Johnny Casino and Jim Diamond (White Stripes, Dirtbombs), their first album is an inescapable tap on the shoulder of the broadest attention and recognition, a sweet sounding proposition so so easy to run off with.

Opening up with Pills, the album instantly had ears attentive and the body rocking. Soon the song strolls along with a summery glaze over eager catchiness as hooks collude with flirtatious riffs and rhythms. There is a whiff of The Shirts to the track as its heart embraces the instincts of pop and rock ‘n’ roll around the magnetic presence and tone of Spazzy.

The following Make You Mine wears a similar hue of sound but quickly reveals its own personality and The Waitresses meets The Crystals like temptation. Again feet were keenly shuffling and hips swinging as melodies seduced hand in hand with golden harmonies but all the while a punk edge stirs accentuated by the wiry enterprise of the guitars, they repeating that taunting prowess in next up Lose My Mind. Imposingly infectious, the song suggested involvement within seconds, manipulating it a few breaths later much to the lusty pleasure returned.

The likes of the surf kissed seduction that is So Simple, a mellow kiss on ears with the melodic smooch of The Dollyrots and rapacious touch of Valentiine, and the pop bouncing Melody just devour attention while the viral shadows of the bass grumbling Night simply danced with the imagination as the song took hold of the waist. It is truly hard to pick a favourite song within the album, all three among the options but the third makes an especially compelling statement.

Through Fall our passions pretty much echo their ardour as it swings with flirtatious grace and mischief, next up Hold On Me emphasising similar manipulation with rolling rhythms and deceptively controlled yet rousing energy with Spazzy tempting like a pop punk conjuring Pauline Murray. All three just leave a greed for much more, the latter laying on the temptation with some great hooks out of the Only Ones songbook, before Girl saunters along without a care in the world sharing the kind of creative snare addiction was invented for.

The album closes with Can’t Surf; a fifties inspired pop ’n’ roll romp which may have lost the heart for hitting the waves but had us riding its enterprising currents with zeal. The track is a thrilling end to one glorious encounter. Lately we have found pop punk to be a touch vacant on real uniqueness and though Lucy And The Rats have a sound which is much more flavoursome than that tagging, their album is the  fresh and inspiring breath within both pop and punk, indeed rock ’n’ roll we have been yearning for.

The Lucy And The Rats debut album is out May 25th digitally with Dirty Water Records and on vinyl through Surfin’ Ki Records, Monster Zero Records, and Stardumb Records.

https://lucyandtherats.bandcamp.com/  https://www.facebook.com/Lucy-and-the-Rats-817424101645809/

Pete RingMaster 23/05/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

The Scaners – Self Titled

Create a sonic kaleidoscope made up of particles from The Ramones, Devo, The Dickies, and The Screamers with essences of others such as Brainiac, Useless Eaters, and Acid Baby Jesus and you get the glorious garage synth punk sound fuelling a release which surely will be announced one of the year’s best moments come its annual awards. The cause of such thoughts is the self-titled debut album from French punksters The Scaners which despite those references at the beginning, or because of them, is one unique and quickly addictive incitement of sound and mischief.

Hailing from Lyon, The Scaners proudly and openly embrace their inspirations in their music; influences which from their label, Dirty Water Records, to reviewers and fans are universally recognised within something as individual as you could wish for. A four track 7” hinted at and teased ears with its inimitable antics last year, lures and revelry now in full roar and enterprise within the band’s first full-length.

Recorded with Lo Spider at Swampland in Toulouse, the album sets off on its sci-fi fuelled flight of fun with opener Abduction. Like a dance party in Area 51, the song swings its rhythmic hips to its own sonic infestation of devilry, vocalist Pav Scaner vocally hot-footing across the strands of temptation like a dervish as the keys of his organ dance. Hooks fly as beats bounce, seventies punk flirting with its synth punk/garage rock tenacity as ears and appetite are instantly baited and trapped.

The cosmos wraps the imagination next as Spacecraft lifts off with a punk rumble; bassist Tama Scaner and drummer BX Scaner rousingly fuelling its brief but irresistible surge before I Don’t Want To Go swaggers in on addictive beats and vocal dissonance. Pav’s keys again entice like sonic liquor as his voice wonderfully trespasses the shuffle; a riveting incitement matched and escalated by the spatial theremin gas and raw guitar prowess of Dédé Scaner. As the first, both tracks simply infest the imagination, getting under the skin like an infernal but exciting itch which you want to scratch but never lose.

Checkpoint Planet is a slightly calmer waltz which just as easily has the hips swinging and appetite devouring with its virulent infectiousness. As throughout the album, Pav’s lead vocal explorations are just as magnetically supported by the rest of the band’s throats, though it is the animated throb of Tama’s bass which steals the biggest portion of the passions before The Dries bursts in on a The Dickies bred lure to uncage its own voracious stomp. A fusion of sixties, seventies and current punk ‘n’ roll, the song is simply irresistible; manna to the devil in us all.

Darker and heavier textures line the B52’s hued aeronautics of Enjoy Your Flight; a trespassing bounce of a track which masters limbs and spirit like a cosmic puppeteer while No Place In Space steals best track honours with its post punk/garage punk saunter with a healthy essence of The Horrors to its reined but open diablerie. The first single from the album, the band apparently has two versions of the song; this the “slow” shadow accompanied drift through space; we cannot wait to hear the fast flight.

The pop virulence of the following We Want To Talk To Your Leader has the body romping within a breath or two, its new wave flaunt of sound and enterprise pure addiction which teases with nods to The Ramones; flavouring simply grabbed full-on by Video Tape next with again simply contagious results. Both tracks, though to be honest as all songs, leave the body breathless and greedy for more, a hunger quickly fed with great relish by the irritable sonic escapade of Flying Fuck and the flirtatious parade of Modern Fissure. The first is a furious surge of boisterous sound and brazen seduction and its successor a calmer but no less instinctively raw and rapacious slice of synth pop and both quite delicious to the ears.

The album ends with Levitation Train 2077, a swirling maelstrom of electronic punk as controlled as it is feral creating one glorious finale. All bands should have a theme tune to our thoughts, something recognisable and addictive announcing their arrival, like all the best TV shows, and this is undoubtedly the one for The Scaners.

Everything about the album was liquor to our intoxication and as the introduction of The Scaners to our ears, the spark to a lusty following hereon in; there is the feeling we will not be alone.

The Scaners album is out now via Dirty Water Records, Dirty Water Records USA, Adrenalin Fix Music, Casbah Records, Dangerhouse Skylab, Teenage Hate Records, Strycknine Recordz, and Trokson Records and available at https://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/The-Scaners/c/27034946/offset=0&sort=normal and https://thescaners.bandcamp.com/

https://www.facebook.com/thescaners/

 Pete RingMaster 27/02/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Wild Evel and the Trashbones – Digging My Grave

Digging My Grave sees the Austrian infestation that is Wild Evel and the Trashbones return with a second full dose of their salaciously offered, instinctively untamed rock ‘n’ roll. Unleashing thirteen tracks of sixties bred garage punk with an appetite for similarly spawned beat and garage rock, all tenaciously messed up with decades of misconduct and devilment, the album is a rabid trespass of sound and feral fun which just gets more addictive by the second.

Wild Evel and the Trashbones first escaped to tease and violate ears back in 2008 when Wild Evel, the frontman of Austrian garage punks The Incredible Staggers linked up with members of former teen beat outfit The Roadrunners. Following an ear grabbing first single and a couple of splits with Wild Evel’s day job and The Satelliters respectively, 2012 saw the band released acclaim gathering debut album Tales From The Cave. It was an attention grabbing, reputation building stomp more than backed by another split, this time with Batman that same year, and more irreverent slices of sound posing as singles. Now we have Digging My Grave to greedily get down and dirty with; a collusion easy to grab straight away but with greater lust thereon in.

In its press release, the likes of Billy Childish, The Miracle Workers, and The Stomachmouths are referenced, all easy to understand as too the constant comparison to Screaming Lord Sutch but as Digging My Grave proves, the Vienna/Graz hailing Wild Evel and the Trashbones provide their own very individual proposal. It all starts with Der Bucklige, a brief slice of devilish instrumental bait warming up the crypt cold setting the band will parade their primitive rascality from. Its character is sheer temptation and revs up ears and appetite in no time ready for predacious antics of the album’s title track. Raw and scuzzy with an instantly virulent swing, Digging My Grave brings its soiled swagger to bear on the imagination, Wild Evel roaring with rapacious intent as the rhythmic trespass of Berni Trashbone’s beats pound with magnetic effect. In turn, the grooves of guitarist Powl Howl wind the flourishes of Fernando Terror’s farfisa organ with arcane intent, together it all making for a death dealing party impossible to not gate crash.

The following Bugs On My Back has a lighter touch with vocal expression to match but equally has an underlining psychosis which inflames its air from time to time. An inescapably catchy piece of beat infused garage rock around the pulsating prowess of bassist Murphy Morphine and the increasingly venomous swings of Trashbone, the song is as invasively infectious as its predecessor and soon matched in success and contagion by power pop infused punk ‘n’ roll of The Mess I’m In. Its own swagger needs barely seconds to get under the skin, fuzzy textures and flaming melodies escalating the temptation before eager ears and appetite are incited to greater greed by the rhythm ‘n’ blues soaked 300 Pounds with its King Salami and the Cumberland 3 styled shenanigans. The track is superb, quite simply close on two minutes of pure addiction stoking flirtation.

The melodically webbed garage rock saunter of Ain’t It Hard and the dark garage punk chicanery of Why Can’t We Be ensure pleasure is thick and unrelenting even if the tracks just miss the pinnacle of their predecessors for personal instincts. To be fair though, both songs still hit the spot with ease and swift success, the second an open homage to The Satelliters in word and sound before Coyote has hips and imagination hooked with its primarily instrumental playfulness.

The excellent dark toned Telling Lies easily courts attention next with its dirtier garage punk rumbles. With rhythms a tenaciously unpredictable incitement beneath the electrified melodic frolics of voice, organ and guitar, the song refuses to be ignored while Gotta Leave Town strolls along with an Escobar like volatility to its ravenously infectious and increasingly strung out rock ‘n’ roll. Both tracks are major favourites in nothing but and swiftly joined by the vampish jest of Fried Chicken Legs with its blues kissed harmonica and garage pop instincts.

The final promiscuous throes of the album come through firstly I Lost My Mind, a track which whilst not grabbing the passions as tightly as its companions certainly left the imagination bound and an appetite for more even greedier before T-R-A-S-H-B-O-N-E-S simply enslaves with its anthemic chant. You can just see the waves of manipulated bodies bouncing in unison to the track at live shows as it plays its tricks on the senses and spirit. The track provides a quite simply glorious end to an album which just gets more immorally tempting, ridiculously captivating, and insanely crafty track by track, listen by listen.

Digging My Grave is out now on Dirty Water Records London and available @ https://wildevelandthetrashbones.bandcamp.com/album/digging-my-grave

https://www.facebook.com/trashbones/    http://trashbones.com/    https://twitter.com/WildEvel1

 Pete RingMaster 29/11/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Escobar – The Biggest Sound

Whether you wish to call the Escobar sound grunge, punk, garage rock or something else, all flavours involved in its riotous tapestry, there is no escaping that it is one glorious rock ‘n’ roll cacophony. The irrefutable proof is to be found in the French duo’s new album The Biggest Sound, a nostril flared stomp more than living up to its container’s moniker.

Hailing from Limoges, Escobar was formed in 2014 by vocalist/guitarist Remi Lucas (Weird Omen, The Anomalys) and drummer Charly “Kayo” Cailleaud (The Bushmen, Daria). With the release of debut album エスコバルin 2015 and its successor Bird Of Prey the following year, the band was met with widespread acclaim which is sure to escalate through the rousing antics of The Biggest Sound. Such its addictive melodic hook laden clamour, it is easy to expect the album to thrust Escobar into the biggest spotlights as eureka moments go off in new ears to spark a fresh tsunami of lusty attention.

It is impossible to truly pin down the Escobar sound though a fusion of The White Stripes, Nirvana, and In The Whale gives a good starting point. As opener Terrible Man alone shows, the pair create a sound distinct and unique to itself and a temptation which swiftly and greedily infests body and imagination. The first song launches at the listener with urgent riffs, their infectious coaxing the prelude to a surge of flirtatious guitar clang and rhythmic incitement. It all settles into a vivacious garage rock stroll with a Latin-esque temperament as Lucas’ magnetic voice and guitar bounce upon the rhythmic web spun by Cailleaud. As virulent for the senses as it is increasingly concussive, the track simply seduces ears and appetite whilst getting the album off to a stunning start.

That success only builds as the insatiable punk ‘n’ roll of Misbehavior devours ears, again the two protagonists creating a noise clad contagion which sparks body and spirit. As with those around it, the song makes physical involvement a given in its swift but unquenchably boisterous escapade; a perpetual trait across The Biggest Sound in evidence again within Stuck On You. Carrying a power pop infection to its earthy rock ‘n’ roll, the track maybe leaps around with less intensity than its predecessor but with equal adventure as grunge instincts fuel the guitar. It is easy to hear Nirvana bred inspirations at play within the song but equally there are moments which seem nurtured by a fondness of bands such as Rocket From The Crypt and The Vaccines as it lays down another peak in the increasingly mountainous landscape of the album.

There is no time to relax as the outstanding Paradise rampages through ears with its Powersolo meets The Dirtbombs scented bedlam and Salvation teases and tempts with its raw and boisterous rock ‘n’ roll. The first offers a great if undemanding line in melodic dexterity within its noisy canter while its successor melds pop catchiness with scorched noise in its contagious swing and both simply up the ante in a release already fixing its permanent position in the passions.

The album’s title track steps up next bringing its own voracious infection to ears and psyche. The Biggest Sound is as much a declaration of the album’s roar as its own controlled and eager suggestion for hips and vocal chords; an invitation just a little dirty and a whole lot irresistible before Big Town bounds in with a swagger soaked in sonic dexterity to drag the energies into lustful compliance all over again. Compared to some, it too has a rein on its attack, saving it for the grunge bred eruptions which urge greater zeal from song and listener alike.

The psych rock kissed minimalism of Brain Out simply seduces and manipulates straight after; Lucas in guitar and voice a puppeteer as the song sculpts pop rock in its purest form. Slim and forcibly low key its glory is matched by the contrasting creative howl of Changeover. To be fair, the song too has a fine twist in infectious restraint and inventive enterprise but still escalates into a fiery roar which sears as it seduces. Both tracks hit the spot like a rock ‘n’ roll cupid though each is slightly outshone by the throbbing saunter of Stranger In Blood. As across the whole album, Cailleaud creates a rhythmic enticement which lures eager participation and rock ‘n’ roll instincts like a siren. His net is then entangled in the sonic machination of Lucas; the pair combining to beguile and incite without reservation.

The album concludes with the sonic commotion of Dumb Feelings, a slice of voracious punk rock with a whiff of Iggy Pop and the psychosis of Melvins in its seriously catchy riot and finally the irresistibly nagging of Drifting. The song is majestic, its jagged body of riffs and harmonic flirtation a show stealer as it slips through a celestial climate which haunts the senses. A final twist in the creative adventure of the album, the track sublimely and inescapably leaves a longing for more which that play button instantly satisfies.

There is always something new to explore to take us away from even the best records, fresh encounters to assess, but there are a few which make it very difficult to move on from without just one more union, and another….. The Biggest Sound is one of those; a joy which still resurfaces to bring our day to an invigorating conclusion and that is maybe reason enough for all to go explore.

The Biggest Sound is out now through Dirty Water Records (USA), Adrenalin Fix Music, Beast Records, and Strychnine Production and available @  https://escobartheband.bandcamp.com/album/the-biggest-sound

https://www.facebook.com/escobarbandpage

Pete RingMaster 31/10/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright