As a certain virus continues to overwhelm lives, society and the world, moments of feel good interjection can only be hungrily seized upon or in the case of the new Dirt Box Disco album, greedily devoured. The release gripped from its first breath and swiftly had the body bouncing with rapacious energy, all the while simply confirming DBD as UK’s maybe even the world’s finest rock ‘n’ roll band.
Step into TV Sex Show and unsurprisingly, if already a fan, you find a horde of tracks which arouse and incite with mischievous intent. The album is a raucously anthemic assault on apathy and despondency, a ‘go get ‘em’ insistence fuelled by the band’s inimitable punk rock bred sound which even in this moment of global self-isolation will get you at the very least hollering at the world from within any confines. As proven by previous releases like its predecessor, Immortals, the band’s sound even with its familiar individualism continues to grow and embrace; TV Sex Show uncaging Dirt Box Disco’s fullest, broadest and richest skilled cacophony of devilment and flavouring yet.
It is also the first encounter with the band since the departure of singer WEAB.I.AM, a change which raised intrigue but not panic as guitarist/songwriter Spunk Volcano has embraced the frontman role now something he has already proven magnetically accomplished in with his own solo project, Spunk Volcano and The Eruptions. With drummer Maff Fazzo, lead guitarist Danny Fingers, and bassist Deadbeatz Chris again unleashing their own esurient craft and revelry too, all three as motivating in their backing vocal roars, Dirt Box Disco grabbed ears and rock ‘n’ roll instincts from the first surge of TV Sex Show and not for the first time left us breathless and ridiculously grinning by the album’s final breath.
The release opens up with Unstoppable, Dirt Box Disco announcing and declaring their intent and defiance with the band’s combined vocal lure an immediate spark for personal vocal chords to unite in, the first round of solidarity quickly followed by a contagion of riffs and hooks aligned to just as virulent rhythms. With the same creative and catchy swing in Spunk’s vocals, the song had the body and spirit flinging energetic shapes and emotions like a master puppeteer.
Further ignited by Danny’s melodic wiring, the track is an exceptional start to the album which the following Insomniac ensures never drops with its heavier, more predacious punk ‘n’ roll. Relentless in its rhythmic harrying, incessant in cantankerous riffery and primal grooving, the song had us shouting with knowing unity while Barebones from its initial sonic nagging and rhythmic jabbing soon insisted and received similar participation in its punk nurtured call out.
A moment of intimate reflection or personal observation, I want out in many ways echoes the situations we find ourselves in right now as well as experiences all have felt at some point in time. Its calmer gait and energy still has a tempestuousness which equips the infectious chorus which DBD for years have proven so crafty at igniting listeners with.
Dickhead and the hype is next up, its punk rock meets hard rock swell pure anthemic encouragement refusing defiance, though great and addictive as it swiftly proves is still outshone by The Count of Monte Cristo lives in San Francisco. It’s initially reserved but still highly catchy saunter through ears is almost a tease of things to come, a hint to the voracious virulence which soaks another chorus only the deaf may be able to resist. That opening stroll returns and continues to light up attention between the surges, its melodic luring sparking the imagination before those eruptions grip throat and body.
The old school seeding of Reminisce got under the skin within seconds, the track brewing another potent fixation with something of a Vibrators meets UK Subs meets Mud lining to its still DBD individuality, the same agility easily said of 3 bottles down which again from a calm reflective opening brews an incitement which nags as much as it inspires full and eager involvement.
As often with relish, DBD turn the spotlight on a certain type of character we have all come across through Bitch full of stitches, a track which had us rocking with the kind of zeal its protagonist frequently shares in their own way with Vdtv for a minute and a half bitch slapping the senses while equally inflaming them with primal punk rock predation. It is a relentless assault built on the individual prowess of the band and their united contagion, a unity just as impressive and manipulative within successor Simple but effective. A middle finger parading response to ‘the haters’, again body and vocal chords as well as spirit were keenly slung into the song’s vociferous yell and once more TV Sex Show proved itself irresistible.
The truly magnetic Ain’t life grand completes the line-up of pleasure, its intimacy as open as its gentle but persistent infectiousness. Grab the CD version of the album though and find the added pleasure of two bonus tracks in Tizwatitiz and Wake up. The first of the pair is another pure punk rock nurtured surge of temptation wired by many other flavours, its voracious instigation of eager complicity prime DBD while the second is a slab of rock ‘n’ roll contagion owing as much to the likes of Showaddywaddy as the seventies punk instigators it also hints at in its feral punk ‘n’ roll clamour.
So that is TV Sex Show, another glorious riot with Dirt Box Disco which leaves spirit and body ready to take on any challenge and pleasure boiling over. I am sure we have said this before with a DBD album and probably a few times but this might just be their finest moment yet.
TV Sex Show is released April 18th via Avenue Recordz; available digitally, on CD and on Ltd Edition “Mystery” coloured Vinyl.
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Pete RingMaster 26/03/2020
Copyright RingMasterReview: MyFreeCopyright
Let’s Go To Mars lures the listener aboard its flight from its first cosmic breath and indeed Carley‘s mischievous giggle, the song quickly and eagerly strolling alongside the firm urging beats Jonny swings. The nagging blues of the guitar makes for a just as inviting reason to participate, the pair’s vocals goading the same intent as Jonny’s analog synthesizer casts fumes of melodic intimation. Like a mix of B-52’s, Snake Rattlers, and The Immortal Lee County Killers but unmistakably unique; together sound and song rousingly enveloped the airwaves in cosmic captivation.
The outstanding start to the album is in many ways just an appetiser to things to come, each song setting out its own individual web of craft, magnetism, and dark endeavour as epitomised by next up Still Draw Breath, a slab of primal yet deviously designed rock ‘n’ roll with a blues lining to its rise through dank cold earth. The bass of XerXes Quinn is again a predatory lure easy to succumb to as equally the biting incitement of drummer Bobby Blades; the body secured in their trap as guitar and vocals take care of the imagination with their individual tales. With a Misfits-esque draw to its holler, the track just steals self-control like a puppeteer, bones jerking to his incitement as vocal chords eagerly joined with Scott in the track’s voracious carousing.
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.
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.
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.
Across the classic hard rock tinted antics of Down On My Knees and the corrupted boogie woogie nurtured devilment of The Ripper new flavours and rascality sweeps across Down In The Basement, The Dahmers already revealing their most diverse web of sound which Hit ‘N’ Run exploits for its contagion loaded adrenaline fuelled punk ‘n’ roll romp. All three tracks infested body and spirit with ease, the latter mercilessly before Howling merged the rock ‘n’ roll decades with its nefarious holler for a matching success.