Suicide Generation – 1st Suicide

Basking in its own dirt and scuzz, the Suicide Generation sound is a fervid rush of trashy goodness which ensures the band’s new album is an unmissable treat for all fans of uncompromising rock ‘n’ roll. The bastard son from a salacious collusion between members of Atomic Suplex, The Cavemen, and Trash Culture, the London based punksters feverishly graze ears with a raw wash of garage punk/rock from start to finish within their debut full length 1st Suicide, sucker-punching the senses along the way with rapacious hooks which just worm into the psyche like a virus.

Supposedly coming together “to fill in for cancelled support slots across the Tuesday night London gigging circuit”, Suicide Generation has quickly become an eagerly devoured proposition on the capital’s live scene with their chaotic and explosive shows; their attack and intent as unpredictable as their sound. Recently linking up with Dirty Water Records, the band is now gunning for bigger attention with 1st Suicide, a release which swarms through ears like a plague of buzzsaw carrying harpies.

The album descends on ears with opener Suicide Generation first of all; one minute and a handful of seconds of clanging rock ‘n roll led by the exasperated tones of frontman Sebastian Melmoth. Every aspect of the track is as muggy as it is concussive but veined by intricate melodic acidity which winds seductively around the fuzzy antics of Emily Crowler’s rhythm guitar. It is a potent, enticing smog of sound swiftly out powered and shone by Why Can’t I Play With You. The second track needs mere seconds to lay down heavy seductive hooks within a similarly intensive weight of sound. A Cramps-esque hue smokes vocals and sound alike, Suicide Generation finding a gripping rawness which even their assumed inspirations would have eagerly embraced as the song flirts and dances with garage rock and punk irritability.

Set Me On Fire has a certain air of The Reatards to its similarly crotchety rock ‘n’ roll straight after, guitars scything across the senses as rhythms rumble with tenacious zeal, while Nora aligns a fifties smoulder with seventies punk waspishness for its individual stomp. Both tracks have the body and imagination eagerly throwing discord loaded shapes before London Blues strolls along with dirty blues punk falling like drooling saliva from every note and syllable. An open psychosis oozes through voice and music alike, its mercurial heart unpredictable and constantly in flux as it captivates and assaults the listener.

They are instantly involved with the brawling escapade of Love Is Hate straight after, the track a beguiling animus of sonic and emotional testiness enjoyably harassing the senses with the clamour of guitars and the spite of rhythms. It is a mix also fuelling next up Little Mama, the track resembling The Phantom basted in rock ‘n’ roll filth whilst sending the hips into an anxious frenzy.

That same instinctive primal sound infests Evil Everywhere and once again the band twists it into something distinct within the release and other propositions; the track a hyperactive dirt ball of sound and energy leading into the closing treat of You Love Me. Initially prowling ears with a devious glint in its creative eye, the band’s punk instincts soon ignites in a high-strung blaze of sonic causticity and wired verbal dexterity driven by rhythms which just seduce attention whether the track smoulders or roars.

1st Suicide is a collection of songs which just please themselves with a similarly arrogant creativity, in turn their brashness and swagger turning on ears and an ever keen appetite for unpolished rock ‘n’ roll. The Suicide Generation is here and openly ready to tear up your world.

1st Suicide is out now on Dirty Water Records @ https://suicidegeneration666.bandcamp.com/releases and http://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/Suicide-Generation-First-Suicide-album-download/p/86922972/category=2749844

https://www.facebook.com/suicidegeneration666/

Pete RingMaster 12/07/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

 

Sly Palms – Self Titled EP

As they introduced themselves to us with their debut release, we introduce you to the individual Weirdo Wonk sounds of Sly Palms and one magnetically enjoyable self-titled debut EP. From the ever giving Bristol music scene, the British quintet brew up their own individual fusion of garage, psych, and blues rock described as “Nick Cave meets Go Go Bordello through the Doors.” All are references which add up as you listen to the five tracks making up their first release but also imagine the involvement of essences from My Baby, 13th Floor Elevators, and Horse Party and you have a fuller if still not quite accurate inkling to the band’s imaginative adventure.

Recorded at Malthouse Studios with Dom Mitchinson (Spectres, Oliver Wilde), the EP quickly has ears enticed with Bottle Of Sin, the new single from Sly Palms. Immediately the opener teases and tempts with its spicy percussive grooving and new wave like movement, early XTC coming to mind in the song’s unpredictable quirkiness before things settle a touch around the vocal lure of keyboardist Louise Schwarz. Poking beats and jabbing swings collude with her fine vocals, that eighties hue merging with a brewing blues revelry as the song grows even more flirtatious and irresistible with each passing second. Additional discord only adds to the pleasure, the song mere notes away from chaos at times and only blossoming with boldness because of it.

Things are a touch more reserved from hereon in across the EP but no less enjoyable as the swarthy rock ‘n’ roll of Spanish Song proves. With sultry blues melodies uniting with hazy psych nurtured sighs, the song has the same mischievous nature as its predecessor but strolls along with a less agitated gait. Lead vocals this time are taken by guitarist Ian Cross, or it could be fellow string picker Alex Davies or indeed drummer Jake Cheesman; whoever the supplier their grainy tone only adds to the Tom Waits spiced proposal swiftly tempting and pleasing ears. The warm keys and floating harmonies of Schwarz similarly enthral and add to a creative drama which is no less potent within next up River Rhein. With a rockabilly/country rock coaxing to its catchy shuffle, the song has the body bouncing, gently at first but with increasing vigour as crescendos of rock ‘n’ roll erupt across its increasingly heated body.

The bass of Jaime Botella is a perpetually appetising throb within all tracks, adding an instinctive pulse and often growl which is especially alluring within the more unkempt climate of Slaughterhouse. The track is superb, challenging the first for best track honours with its rowdy rock ‘n’ roll and expectation defeating devilment of sound and imagination.

The more lo-fi presence and touch of Wall brings things to a potent close, the song a dance of harmonies and rattling rhythms as the band weaves another slice of off kilter sound as blues, garage, and psych rock as it is simply ear exciting rock ‘n’ roll.

With potential as vocal in every song as existing imagination and adventure, Sly Palms have made a powerfully persuasive introduction to themselves with their debut. Already they have nurtured something unique about themselves and intriguingly we, like they, have only just scratched the surface.

The Sly Palms EP is released July 14th.

14/07/17 – E.P. Launch Party @ The Old England

10/08/17 – The Louisiana, Bristol

24/11/17 – St. James’ Wine Vaults, Bath

https://www.facebook.com/SlyPalms/

Pete RingMaster 11/07/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Snakerattlers – This Is Rattlerock

If ever there was a sound epitomising the dirty trespasses of the graveyard and the unbridled fetish escapades of cultish deviancy, it is that of British duo Snakerattlers. Like the occupants of those domains, the band’s sound is a lo-fi sonic trespass stripped to its bare bones but wearing the raw traits of a wealth of styles and flavours, all dirt sodden, feverish, and forcibly compelling. It is self-penned as rattle rock and is uncaged in full force within the pair’s ear gripping, spirit rousing debut album This Is Rattlerock.

The band is the creation of husband and wife Dan and Naomi Gott, previously of garage punk band The Franceens. Their new project, Snakerattlers unknowingly had its seeds sown when Naomi wanted to learn how to play drums. Going along with her to practices with his guitar, a sound and creative spark instantly caught their attention and thoughts that there was “the potential to be a lot more than just a rehearsal room jam band” in their exploration. What emerged is a fusion of garage rock, death punk, and psychobilly embedded into a rockabilly heart; a bold bare arsed roar of sound which now rips, rattles, and rolls the senses within the band’s sensational first album, a proposition recorded on reel-to-reel tape by Adam Richards of Leeds rockabilly outfit, X Ray Cat Trio.

Imagine the creative instincts of Link Wray, Hasil Adkins, The Cramps, Dick Venom, and The Creeping Ivies entwined and twisted and you get a flavour of the Snakerattlers infestation of ears and imagination. As mentioned, it is a raw and often scarring trespass which challenges and inspires whilst simultaneously thrilling and lustfully exciting from the opening seconds of first track, I Won’t Hold Back. The opener hits attention with a great guitar jangle initially, Dan’s vintage spice an instinctive lure soon joined by the punchy swings of Naomi as a Cramps meets Johnny Burnette like intrusion trespasses the senses and a swiftly established appetite. With the guitarist’s vocals an equally potent lure, the brief song prowls the listener, jabbing its lingering toxicity into the passions like a slow but determined tattooist.

The great start is continued by Let You Go where a thick almost throaty jangle is the tease into a more rampant and feverish stomp of swinging beats and tenacious riffs. Old school rockabilly infested by current day garage punk devilry and a plague of hooks which refuse to relinquish their hold of the imagination, the track is a roaring addiction within one listen, an eternal nagging thereon in but equalled by the more controlled but just as scuzzy exploits of Rattlerock Rumble. As a jungle of rhythms ensnare feet, guitar exploits use hips like a puppeteer in the predominantly instrumental incantation before Oh My Love lurches into view with a dark swagger and clamorous nature though both are wrapped in a restraint which only adds fuel to the song’s magnetic fire. Like Johnny Carroll meets The Novas, the track is pure bewitchment with an occasional venomous bite.

Let The Devil In Your Soul is another encounter which stalks the senses, its keen but controlled stroll belying a predatory nature taking swipes through the poised but examining beats of Naomi and the angular clamour of Dan’s guitar. With his vocals a soothing but equally volatile enticement, it is again impossible not to be hooked on the song’s seduction or indeed in turn on the more tempestuous instrumental rumble of Death Valley Driver which follows. It is an unrelenting road trip which has the body in motion and thoughts conjuring, both aspects again busily employed by the cinematic suggestiveness of The Love In Me. Like a sweaty kitchen sink drama, the song is a bare and honest hug of sound and emotion, its lines fuzzy and touch raw and oh so tempting. Even so, the great song is still eclipsed by the breath-taking stomp of Sweet Sixteen; a scuzz ball of rock ‘n’ roll woven from the decades of the genre and delivered with a fried electricity and concussive energy which leaves the senses reeling and blissful.

The zombie crawl of Bones infests the psyche next; its lumbering tenacious surge into the imagination littered with rhythmic bites and viscerally sonic waves as Dan’s vocals alone coax and prey. Once more submission to sound and album is swift and full leaving the final track to cap an already done deal between band and certainly these listeners. Ripper Rattle Rock simply lives up to its name like a fractious yet salacious fusion of The Cramps, Hasil Adkins, and Into The Whale. The track is rock ‘n’ roll in its unfussy prime but equipped with all the primal lures and seductions you could wish for as the album comes to one glorious unsterilized raunchy conclusion.

With The Franceens coming to an end earlier this year, the York pair have the time and energy to solely concentrate on Snakerattlers and they are going to need all of both if This Is Rattlerock catches the fire of attention that it simply deserves.

This Is Rattlerock is out now through Moon Skull Records @ https://moonskull.bandcamp.com/releases

http://www.snakerattlers.com/about.html    https://www.facebook.com/snakerattlers/

Pete RingMaster 28/06/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Rotten Mind – Self Titled

photo_by_Mikael_Lindqvist

Talking about the band’s new self-titled album, Rotten Mind vocalist/guitarist Jakob Arvidsson stated that, “Our main idea was to work in a new way. We had no rush and the songs were written during a period that lasted for over a year.” Whether that intent and process was the reason or the spark, the Swedish quartet’s second album has emerged with new maturity and creative roundedness in sound and songwriting. Without losing the punk snarl of its predecessor, it is a proposition which has attention on board within a handful of seconds and firmly held until its final breath.

The album sees Rotten Mind uncage their distinctive fusion of punk, garage rock, and post punk, a sound which simultaneously feels familiar yet forcibly fresh. It is a mix which saw their debut full-length, I’m Alone Even With You, eagerly received and praised upon its release in 2015, its success followed by a torrent of live shows and two tours across Europe. Indeed the writing of its successor, taking over a year, simultaneously occurred as shows came thick and fast; songs relishing the experiences and inspiring sights found to push on in all aspects from its predecessor.

As evidenced from its opener alone, the album flings physically gripping hooks and imagination inciting melodies at will; all keener and more powerful than anything the band has conjured before while rhythmically the release is a cauldron of anthemic temptation. It is fuelled by the scuzzy almost suffocating Rotten Mind sound which marked the first album and the Uppsala hailing band’s potent live presence; Wish You Were Gone starting things off revealing all of those established  attributes and plenty of new ones.

Dangling bait sonic initially, one soon entwined with a spicy melody, the first song soon bursts into a virulent stroll, the album’s first essential hook from Johan’s guitar wagging an irresistible finger as the rhythms of bassist Rune and drummer Victor collude in rolling infectious bait. The temptation only increases as the track boils, Jakob’s vocals just as magnetic as that first strand of piercing persuasion continues to persist while revealing psychobilly tendencies against the track’s intensifying punk punch.

There is a touch of Psychedelic Furs to song and release, nothing concrete just a scent which continues in the more irritable rock ‘n’ roll of Things I Can’t See. At times, as beats jab and riffs bite, the song feels like it is slamming its fists down on the table temperament wise but discontent aligned to a catchy restraint ensuring great volatility in the rousing incitement of sound and enterprise. The track is one of two singles laying down potent teasers for the album earlier this year, the second following straight after.  Still Searching sonically shimmers before laying down a trail of rhythmic manna, the brooding voice of the bass courting rapacious beats. The track’s post punk persuasion makes swift slavery of ears and appetite, its bait only accentuated by the subsequent acidic hook and swinging groove loaded gait of the song. Kind like a mix of The Jesus and Mary Chain and Sex Gang Children, the track, as the album, simply seizes ears and appetite with relish second by second.

Dark Intentions bounds along with contagious energy and rhythmic dexterity next, its atmospheric and emotional shadows just as potent as its melodic suggestiveness before Got Me Numbered reveals a seventies inspired punkiness recalling the likes of Buzzcocks and The Vibrators. Both tracks have the body bouncing and spirit ignited while When You Come Back meanders along in a web of wiry melodies as rhythms grumble. Infectious vocals especially within the potent chorus only add to its lure, its tapestry of flirtatious strums and inventive persistence demanding inevitable and lustful listener involvement.

Through the creatively and emotionally agitated Real Lies and Out Of Use with its darker predatory hues,  enjoyment is an eager torrent, the first captivating with robust rhythmic incitement and hard rock infused melodic jangle while the second prowls the senses with a union of primal and fiery contrasts. There is a surface similarity to many tracks within the album, but a deception greater attention defuses with both tracks showing potent diversity, with the second especially bold.

The rock ‘n’ roll clash and holler of Safer Place keeps things feverishly lively, its dark haunting textures surrounding a sonic blaze of invention before I Need To Know brings things to a richly satisfying close with its boisterous croon.

It is a fine end to an album which brings greater individuality to the Rotten Mind sound though there still feels like there is plenty of room for greater uniqueness to blossom which on the thick enjoyment of their album only adds further excitement for the future.

The Rotten Mind album is out now through Lövely Records @ https://lovelyrecords.bandcamp.com/album/rotten-mind-rotten-mind

https://www.facebook.com/rottenmindua/

Pete RingMaster 27/03/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Madjive – Business first

All work and no play makes…. well you know the rest though no one seems to have told French rockers Madjive. There new album suggests that it is Business first but it is a sentiment which does not stop the band taking the listener on a feverish, mischievous, and riotous rock ‘n roll romp which is all about fun, fun, fun…

Hailing from the east side of France, Madjive has been unleashing their creative devilry since 2008. As their third album reveals, theirs is a sound which evades guidelines and rules, Business first a cavalcade of various styles and textures woven into a proposition as punk as it is hard rock, as garage rock as it is funk. Across two previous albums, a trio of EPs and a split vinyl release, the band has only cemented and increased their reputation while live Madjive has stomped across the broad landscape of Europe to matching acclaim, sharing stages with the likes of Powersolo, Richie Ramone, The Phenomenauts, Fuzzy Vox, The Jancee Pornick Casino, The Inspector Cluzo, Nada Surf, Lords of Altamont, VCPS and many others along the way. Business first is the wake-up call to those yet to be infested by the outfit’s devilment, a boisterous and excitable encounter which would not surprise if it incited global attention.

Ignition program turns the album’s key, its scything riffs and tenacious beats wrapped in a vocal web before leaping into a punk rock stroll sparking the body into a blur of eager movement. The funk growl of the opener twists into the punk ‘n’ roll of I am addicted. Again guitars chop and entangle the senses with their agitated jangle whilst rhythms shuffle within the quickly established funk infested saunter of the song. Led by more lively vocals, it continues to bounce and infest ears with a persuasion causing reactions living up to its title.

Its masterful temptation is swiftly eclipsed by the salacious lures of Same bone; a feisty charge of bold rock ‘n’ roll with the growl of Rocket From The Crypt and the instinctive devilish catchiness of  The Phenomenauts. At barely a handful of breaths over a minute in length, the glorious pleasure is sadly sort lived but imposingly memorable and thrilling before A spooky bargain brings its own haunted impishness to the party. Hooks escape its imagination at will, keys and guitars alone conjuring seductive bait as vocals colour and incite proceedings with mutual dexterity. Hints of Neal Hefti, the creator of the classic Batman theme tease throughout; the adventure recalling his finest moment within creative shenanigans all Madjive.

The contagious punk rock of Kid bazooka bursts to life next, it too equipped with appetite piercing hooks and devilment before the album’s title track declares its intent with rousing vocal unity quickly joined by forcibly persuasive rock ‘n’ roll. The track feels like a prelude to the bigger picture of Draft, sketch and outlines, the meeting’s  minutes setting the tone before its successor twists and turns with forceful enterprise and garage punk meets funk rock roguery. At its final statement, a moment of jazzy rascality comes over the album and ears, its unexpected detour leading to the blues funk playfulness of I can’t complain, a track somehow managing to sound like a hybrid of Red Hot Chili Peppers, System Of A Down, and Kings Of Leon without making such influences more than a whiff of a scent.

Both the previous tracks leave pleasure full if without quite at the heights of earlier tracks or found in the heavier rock ‘n’ roll of Rigged show. The track is a muscular and gnarly yet controlled and flirtatious encounter demanding subservience to its scything beats and sonic antics. There is hint of bands like Cheap Trick and Golden Earring to the song, but small hues in a certainly seemingly familiar but distinct escapade.

If the last song was relatively composed, We’re clear let’s manic traits fuel its character as it escapes speakers and the enslaving restraints of life to stir up body and imagination ready for the stormily sultry adventure of Desert peddler. The Morricone laced climate of the song is pure western drama, suggestiveness bound in similar descriptive intensity and artfulness to which Helldorado revel in, and quite glorious.

The album concludes with the vocal and melodic chicanery of Another guidance, a track trying to be composed and refined but it just cannot keep its punk heart chained, involving ears in a thrilling burst of garage rock high jinks with more than a keen nod to old school rock ‘n’ roll.

Business first, from its first dose of addictively satisfying and enterprising misconduct, inspires a hankering to get back with it as soon as possible, even before it actually comes to an end. It is a powerful lure from a stomp any fan of rock ‘n’ roll knavery will find a lusty appetite for. Throughout it does seem to persistently nag and remind of one band in particular, though one our thoughts have still yet to pin down, but Business first only announces Madjive as a band ready to stir up the rock world with inventive capers.

Business first is out now across most stores and @ https://madjive.bandcamp.com/album/business-first

Upcoming live dates:

16.04.207 – Clou – Grünberg – Germany

22.04.2017 – Cafe Ohne – Emerkingen – Germany

12.05.2017 – La Rodia – Besançon – France w/ Imperial state electric

16.06.2017 – Festival Erbasons – Etupes – France

30.06.2017 – Atelier des Moles – Montbéliard w/ CJ Ramone

25.11.2017 – La Taverne – Nevers – France

http://www.madjive.fr/    https://www.facebook.com/Madjive/   https://twitter.com/Madjive

Pete RingMaster 21/03/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

King Salami and the Cumberland 3 – Goin’ Back To Wurstville

If there is one band in this fast paced world which gives the body an even more intensive and thorough workout it is undoubtedly King Salami and the Cumberland 3. This is a band where an Automated External Defibrillator should always be on hand at every show they play, waiting and ready to revive the inevitable wasted bodies.  Now that need has been transferred to the band’s records. When playing all three of the band’s albums back to back, apart from a danger to health, it is a hard choice to say which is best, all in their openly individual ways an equal treat, but without doubt Goin’ Back To Wurstville is the most demanding and exciting for heart and limbs yet.

The new album from the Sultan of Sausage and his fellow creative rascals is a blur of incitement, a cavalcade of irresistible temptation for feet and hips. Each of its thirteen songs teases and infests the psyche, sharing groove woven rhythm & blues punk ‘n’ roll to lose all shades of sanity to. As ever, it is a busy time for the quartet; gigs coming up at a rate of knots across the globe before and even more so after their highlight performance on the BBC show The UK’s Best Part-Time Band last year. With the outfit in the middle of a UK tour right now and featuring in Roger Corman’s movie, Death Race 2050, you can be sure that Goin’ Back To Wurstville is only going to accelerate the demand on the boys and their riotous sound.

Featuring Spencer Evoy from fellow body contorters MFC Chicken and his salacious sax, Goin’ Back To Wurstville quickly gets down to business with Pineapple Mama, the song feeding off the album’s lively Intro with an initial bass groan and flames of fiery sax, they leading to an insistent romp of riffs and rhythms led by King Salami’s inevitable energy and vocal revelry. It is party time, the song swinging from the rafters with body enslaving grooves dangling their insatiable bait to further ensnare ears and limbs. Soul, r&b, rock ‘n’ roll and more excitable flavours all get involved in the multi-flavoured proposal, King Salami and co straight away feeding greedy hopes with a fresh new adventure.

The pugilistic rascality of Nosebleed Boogie is next, guitars and sax colluding in a devilish enticement of melodic theatre as King Salami uses Ali like vocal footwork to evade the rhythmic punches, his magnetic prowess like a blend of Bo Diddley and Little Walter before offering even feistier fun in the boisterous romp of Busy Body. An infection of spicy grooves and virulent riffs, the song ensures the listener is on the end of major manipulation echoing its title before the glorious adventure of King Ghidorah rises up from its oriental bed with sixties cinematic adventure fuelling its melodies and rhythms. With King Salami a dramatic narrator, T. Bone Sanchez’s grooves are a three headed tempting of flirtatious hookery, melodic seduction, and tenacious persuasion, theatre skirted by the addictive rhythmic rumble of bassist Kamikaze UT Vincent and drummer Eric Baconstrip.

There is no escaping the frisky intent of the following King Size Love, its rockabilly nurtured stroll manhandled by addiction shaping rhythms and coloured with more of the salacious enterprise which continually and artfully springs from the guitar of Sanchez across the album. Feet and hips are swiftly lost to the song’s shuffle, lungs already gasping for breath by this point within Goin’ Back To Wurstville but managing to find plenty more air for the blues strung jungle of She Was A Mau Mau and after that, the garage punk lined surf rock lit antics of No Stoppin’. The first of the two is a sweltering near on muggy affair for the heart whilst its successor is a blaze of instrumental rock ‘n’ roll which has the body at its most frenetically subservient in the hands of the album.

The treats just keep coming too; Tiger In My Tank keeps the listener moving like a puppet on tricky strings of rhythmic pestering and melodic misbehaviour, all urged on by the saucy blasts of sax and King Salami’s inexhaustible energy and spirited character.

Stutterin’ Sue leaps around with garage rock rapacity and raw captivation next while Camel Hop after that sees roving basslines and agitated beats stir up another voracious contagion of sound and spirit rousing enterprise, sultry Arabian scented  grooves winding around ears and appetite as rock ‘n’ roll rumbles in the belly of song and listener. Both tracks are an epidemic of temptation, unrelenting creative persistence more than matched by the Johnny Kidd and The Pirates hued Shiver which follows.

Concluded by the double diablerie of firstly the album’s dirt encrusted rock ‘n’ roll road trip going under its title track moniker and lastly the carnival of Latin summer fun that is Caramba!, the sensational Goin’ Back To Wurstville is bliss for ears and soul. With each of the King Salami and the Cumberland 3 releases we seem to offer nothing but lustful praise so with their third full-length we were determined to find something which might be suggested the band could improve upon. Quite simply we failed, though you know the band will still find something fresh and bolder next time and with regards to best album question, listening it as these fingers tap, yep Goin’ Back To Wurstville wins the debate.

Goin’ Back To Wurstville is out now on Dirty Waters Records @ http://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/King-Salami-and-the-Cumberland-Three/c/2793708/offset=9&sort=normal

https://www.facebook.com/KingSalamiandtheCumberland3/

Pete RingMaster 22/03/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

The Masonics – Obermann Rides Again

masonics_RingMasterReview

Giving an instinctive passion for rock ‘n’ roll as big a work out as hips and feet, UK rockers The Masonics recently uncaged their ninth album, Obermann Rides Again, offering fourteen slices of their feverishly distinctive and tenaciously addictive sound. The trio rock and rumble through their new proposal with more of the beat infected garage punk which has seen them become the leaders of the Medway Beat first instigated by Billy Childish. In saying that, it equally breathes and roars with freshness again bringing something new and inspiring to ears and the scene around them, and most of all raw zeal and excitement to the listener.

The band consists of vocalist/guitarist Mickey Hampshire who was in the Milkshakes in the early 80s with drummer Bruce Brand who had played alongside Childish a few years earlier in the Pop Rivets and bassist John Gibbs once of Scottish group, The Kaisers. As The Masonics, the threesome have persistently cemented their position as one of the heads of British garage rock/punk with a sound becoming one of the essential inspirations of the ever eager charge of the genre’s young pups.

Released by Dirty Water Records as a limited 500 copies editions ahead of a series of limited vinyl and download releases from The Masonics’ back catalogue, starting with Outside Looking In and a new singles compilation, Obermann Rides Again swiftly reveals why the stature of the band remains stately. It all starts with I Ain’t Hurting For You and a guitar twang which provides the spark for a strolling jangle and rhythmic incitement forcibly engaging ears. The magnetic vocals of Hampshire are soon adding their lure; the boisterous sounds around him echoing his honest unfussy delivery. Within a handful of seconds feet are physically involved, appetite and those instincts just as eagerly hooked before the excellent opener hands its pliable slave over to the even more energetically captivating and persuasive Don’t Torment Me. With a Bo Diddley like stomp at its heart, the track twists and turns in its relentlessly vigorous shuffle with rhythmic rowdiness and sonic vivacity its virulent fuel. Rock ‘n’ roll was never meant to be flamboyant or polished to clean-cut limpness and this superb roisterer and its dirty ways proves why.

art_RingMasterReviewYour Dangerous Mind has a less undisciplined bounce, its saunter more flirtation than aggression and just as irresistible as Hampshire with grainy texture croons, backed by his cohorts within tangy grooves and hip inciting rhythms. The r&b essences of the song are just as ripe as its brisk punk serenade, chaining a body and imagination which is soon firmly hooked again by the sultry rumba of I Don’t Understand Her Any More. As with most tracks, a collusion of decades is at masterful play, sixties garage pop and seventies surf rock hues potent spices as too the fuzzy buzz of organ in the gentle but keen canter of a song.

Rhythm ‘n’ blues dexterity becomes even wilder in next up You Don’t Have To Travel; the beat swinging, hook casting romp has a flush of King Salami and the Cumberland 3 to it,  a more mild-mannered but no less devilish cousin enjoying juicy melodies and the temptress vocal charms of Ludella Black alongside Hampshire. It also pushes the already keen diversity of sound within the album on again, as even more so does I’m The Unforgiver. The track is glorious, a dark rock ‘n’ roll saunter with Cajun spicing evocatively colouring attitude loaded vocals, the fiery shimmer of harmonica, and heavily loping rhythms. It infests ears and psyche like the mutant offspring from a dirty union between Th’ Legendary Shack Shakers and Ray Campi; quite simply it is garage punk to get truly lustful over.

The following and equally outstanding You’re A Stranger leaves body exhausted, senses punch drunk, and spirit ablaze next with its contagion loaded punk rock carrying a touch of The Mobbs to its rowdy exuberance while You Won’t See Me Again finds a predacious edge to its swinging, deviously catchy garage rock bred swagger.

Throughout the whole album, there is no escaping the physical manipulation of Brand’s nefarious beats or Gibbs infernal rhythms whilst Hampshire’s wiry melodies and jangling melodic hooks are trespasses more often than not breeding slavery. All are at bold play in the beat punctuated blues flamed I’m A Redacted Man and straight after in the smouldering fifties rock ‘n’ roll/sixties pop spun What Do You Do. A procrastinating stroll and anthem for lost love and its enslaving grief, the second’s raw seduction roars with soiled Walker Brothers like charm and salty melodic spicing reminding a little of The Birds.

Come On My Little Darlin’ bounces around like a dancehall ruffian after them, sonically tempting and rhythmically taunting as a mouth harp again seduces before You Gotta Tell Me shows its blues breeding with intoxicating hooks and intoxicated keys for a salacious slab of imposing but controlled rock ‘n roll. Both tracks continue the album’s appetite igniting prowess though both are quickly eclipsed by its closing pair.

The swinging country rock a-scented beat ‘n’ roll of The Unsignposted Road is sheer infectiousness with Black back courting ears alongside the band as one passion stoking hook persists and old school melodies flame. It is delicious to the ear but too is slightly shaded by the brilliance of the album’s title track bringing devilment to its exceptional close. Punk ‘n’ roll calling on the goodness of past decades, it stomps around and grips body and soul like The Pirates, both the Johnny Kidd and seventies eras, meeting Thee Headcoats as the likes of The Blue Cats spur them on; a glorious end to an equally stirring and enjoyable album.

As suggested earlier, The Masonics are the head boys of UK garage goodness and Obermann Rides Again is evidence they are in no mood to hand over that position.

Obermann Rides Again is out now on vinyl on the band’s own Grand Wazeau Records and digitally through Dirty Water Records and available @ https://themasonics.bandcamp.com/album/obermann-rides-again

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Pete RingMaster 05/03/2017

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