Dirt Box Disco – TV Sex Show

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.

https://dirtboxdisco.com/   https://www.facebook.com/dirtboxdisco/   https://twitter.com/dirtboxdisco

Pete RingMaster 26/03/2020

Copyright RingMasterReview: MyFreeCopyright

The Ghost Wolves – Let’s Go To Mars b/w Last Man

Real uniqueness is a rarity you greedily feast upon when you find it and such it is for us with The Ghost Wolves. There is nothing like the sound that the Texas duo spring upon ears out there, plenty maybe akin to it in some slight aspect but nothing truly like it as proven once more within their new two track single, Let’s Go To Mars.

Formed in 20010 and voraciously playing shows at home subsequently venturing into the world ever since, The Ghost Wolves consists of husband and wife, drummer/vocalist Jonny and vocalist/guitarist Carley Wolf. Their sound is a fusion of punk, rock ‘n’ roll, garage punk, and blues with an equally ripe appetite for electronic imagination.  It has bred a host of ear grabbing releases across the years, another coming now in the shape of the combination of Let’s Go To Mars and Last Man; for us their finest most irresistible moment yet.

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.

Last Man provides the just as thrilling B-side, the track an apocalyptic serenade upon dark electronics with an early Fad Gadget scent. It is a haunting piece of seduction, Carley’s vocals siren-esque over the calm but still lively beats of Jonny, her guitar a flirtation similarly reserved but hungrily potent amongst it all.

The Ghost Wolves again prove and insist of their distinctiveness and creative peculiarity with their new single and once more of the feral majesty they bear.

Let’s Go To Mars b/w Last Man is released via Dirty Water Records worldwide on 7” vinyl and digitally on February 7th; pre-ordering available @ https://theghostwolves.bandcamp.com/album/lets-go-to-mars-b-w-last-man

https://www.theghostwolves.com   https://www.facebook.com/TheGhostWolves/

Pete RingMaster 28/01/2020

Copyright RingMasterReview: MyFreeCopyright

The Spider Hole – To the Monsters

The readymade entertainment to grace any Wickerman like pagan ritual or meeting of The Monster Club, The Spider Hole unveil a new carnival of dark deeds and imagination prowling adventures under the guise of To the Monsters. The band casts the listener into the heart of gothic tales and creature stalked escapades across the album’s eleven frightmares, each as compelling and arousing as another and all leaving these ears lustfully desperate for plenty more such devilish trespasses.

Hailing out of Phoenix, Arizona, The Spider Hole create a unique and fascinating sound which beguiled as it surprised with its inherent unpredictability within a voracious rock ‘n’ roll heart across To The Monsters. Inspirations to the band are said to include the likes of Tom Waits, Oingo Boingo, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Primus, The Pixies, Frank Zappa, and The Doors; some of which can be openly sensed within the lure of songs. To that we would suggest there are essences that remind of bands such as Helldorado, The Men That Will Not Be Blamed For Nothing, and even more so at times Th’ Legendary Shack Shakers but all spices in a proposition fiercely individual to The Spider Hole.

A mere breath was all it took for our ears and imagination to be coaxed into life as opener Werewolf Biker Bastard cast swarthy sighs of guitar, Kilen continuing to entice with strands of melodic intimation as the growl of vocalist Ethan Scott began its dark narrative. Keys add to the prelude of the adventure before things erupt into a tenacious stroll with its own eager swagger. Sweltering psych springs colour the climate of intimation as bold rhythms continue to prowl amidst the infectious landscape of suggestion and animation.

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.

Hungover at the Eel God Festival is a far calmer yet almost predacious proposition and it too left body and throat subservient to the thick web of temptation it casts with unscrupulous craft. There is menace in its heart and air to equal the seduction in its sound and stomp, band and album continuing to lead us on a salacious dance before Rock, Your Body sprung its own skilful scheming across a pop fuelled, virulently contagious rock ‘n’ roll saunter. An element of enterprise and contagiousness reminding a touch of Black Space Raiders on their last couple of albums only adds to the increasingly raucous and thrilling emprise of sound and manipulation.

The glorious fevered ballad of Chomp-Chomp is next to ignite the senses and passions, its calling swiftly becoming a boisterous blend of fifties inspired rock ‘n’ roll and Rocky Horror theatre and simply inescapably addictive while The Goat Witch of Cornman Road commands the same rich attention with matching prowess through its crepuscular serenade woven upon a skeleton of big rhythms coated in vocal passion and bound in the sonic and melodic intimation escaping guitar and keys. Both songs simply bewitched though they are still slightly eclipsed by the mighty cavort of The Leviathan Stomp. Bestial yet agile in its dynamics and twists, the track as to be honest all, simply had us gripped in its temptation soaked hands.

The cinematic fears of Devil By a Nail initiate a lively shuffle of funk and psych rock eagerness next, the song casting its own Machiavellian enterprise to enslave ears and involvement before The People Who Come Out of the Ceiling creeps into the psyche where it seduces with a tantalising and mesmeric croon with volatility in dark heart. At certain moments Scott’s ever riveting presence and tones are joined by the delicious lure of female vocals though we cannot give a name to their siren whilst in sound the song simply stalks and prowls with rapacious desire; it all together uniting for our favourite moment within the album.

Night of the Nighty-Night Slasher completes the plethora of ghastly tales, its blood strewn romp a tempestuous roar of Ripper like goodness bringing To The Monsters to a mighty and ravenously rousing close.

There are times when we are truly bowled over and lustfully devour the exploitation of our inherent weakness for rabidly inventive but organically hearted rock ‘n’ roll however it is designed and To The Monsters stamps down one of those; an instinctive love of creepy tales and horror fuelled rascality only added extra icing on the pleasure The Spider Hole has undoubtedly unleashed.

To the Monsters is out now across most stores.

https://www.facebook.com/pg/TheSpiderHole/   https://twitter.com/TheSpiderHoleAZ   https://www.instagram.com/thespiderhole/

Pete RingMaster 11/07/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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

The Dahmers – Down In The Basement

For any sporting or physically demanding endeavour it is advisable to go into some sort of training. With music it is not a requirement that is until you come up against the new album from Swedish rock ‘n’ horror fiends, The Dahmers. The band has just released Down In The Basement, a beast of a record bursting with eighteen tracks of rock ‘n’ roll fever as ferociously energetic as it is virally infectious. From its first heartbeat to its last the bands third full-length is an insatiable incitement keeping the body rigorously and eagerly bouncing.  It is relentless, exhausting, and pure pleasure from start to finish.

Bromölla hailing, the Dahmers has been no strangers to keen attention having released a pair of ear enticing albums in Demons (2015) and In the Dead of Night (2017). Each has shown and evolved a sound which is bred on a patchwork of numerous flavours ranging from garage and classic punk to vintage rock ’n’ roll, sixties pop and garage rock. Each of those releases certainly pleased ears but have now been imply blown out of the crypt by the simply irresistible and irrepressible Down In The Basement.

With a mass of tracks the size Down In The Basement offers you would expect a few fillers here and there but they are conspicuous by their absence; from the opening surge of Blood On My Hands the album a full-on meal of prime cuts. The first track bursts into life on a tide of voice and guitar bred persuasion, straight away twisting and turning like a dervish whilst unleashing a wave of catchy mischief. The vocals of Christoffer Karlsson lead the way in manipulation but more than matched by his and fellow guitarist Josef Underdal’s devious hooks and the rhythmic salaciousness of bassist Tobias Augustsson and drummer Karl-Oskar Hansson. Something akin to The Hives meets Asylums the track simply stomped into ears and the passions setting the album off on a mighty course.

The following Murder Ride is just as reckless and tenacious in its own punk infused charge, sending insistent grooves and rapacious hooks through ears with a fifties rock ‘n’ roll meets seventies punk irreverence before Street Of the Dead brings its garage rock/indie pop boisterous to the already devilish party. More reserved than its predecessors but just as equipped with ripe catchiness, the song had the body fully employed in no time.

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.

As suggested the album is a perpetual rush of treats which simply continue with the revengeful punk ‘n’ roll of I Spit On Your Grave and the fiendish infestation of Demon Night. Both had the body twisting like a possessed soul, their pop seeded rascality pure manipulation and inescapable corruption in the outstanding second of the pair.

Classic rock gets a nudge within next up Creepiest Creep, another track with hooks and grooves which worm under the skin like invaders into a six foot buried offering while Reoccurring Dreams is just a punk rock scourge of temptation draped with surf molestation. Both make a play for best track honours though already the list is a fair size and only about to grow as Without a Face declares its option through a sixties pop ‘n’ rock spiced saunter abound with rousing vocals and rhythms heated with fiery melodic flames.

The cinematic breath of Kiss of Dario has the imagination as busy as ever, Man Obsessed straight after sparking grinning lips as it flirts with Blondie for its prime hook as it teases an already lustful appetite for the album. Even so both are outshone by the voracious rock ‘n’ roll rascality of No One and a quite glorious cover of the Devo masterpiece, Social Fools. Both tracks show The Dahmers at their most irresistible, the first a prize roar of their untamed imagination and boldness, its successor of their inimitable punk ‘n’ roll enterprise which did not improve on an existing gem but certainly re-energised its might.

The final pair of November with its deceptively calm sixties hued, pop coated calm and dark instrumental The End brings the album to a magnetic close. The last track is another moment of cinematic intimation, an industrial creased piece which replaced a bouncing body with an imagination conjuring suggestiveness to keenly intrigue.

Down In The Basement is a momentous offering from a band due bigger and broader attention; it is not just us saying that but a collection of tracks which demand your soul.

Down In The Basement is out now via Lövely Records across most online stores.

Upcoming Live Dates:

02/11 – Skövde In Rock Fest   Skövde, SWE

03/11 – Halloween Meltdown   Eskilstuna, SWE

04/11 – Kulsturkvarteret   Kristianstad, SWE

15/11 – Cinema   Aalst, BEL*

16/11 – Dusseldorf   Ratinger Hof, GER*

17/11 – Eindhoven   Helldorado, NL*

* Supporting The Dwarves

https://www.facebook.com/Dahmers/

Pete RingMaster 26/10/2018

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright