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

MFC Chicken: Music For Chicken

Sometimes things are just meant to be and that is the strong feeling when it comes to rock n rollers MFC Chicken and the background story to the band. It all started with the arrival of Canadian Spencer Evoy who with his trusty sax in tow moved over to the UK around a year ago. On what he called a pilgrimage to the recording studio of Joe Meek he found himself outside a fried chicken shop on Holloway Road, London. With stomach yearning for the delicacies within but pockets financially incapable to fully assist, Evoy slipped out his trusty friend…his sax you naughty people…and proceeded to busk for his supper. His sounds made their eager way through the window of the flat above the shop leading to its occupant bassist Bret Bolton to call out his appreciation and thus two musical brothers were united from that point on, the pair within days forming a band named after the now closed down shop, MFC Chicken.

It is a story which almost reaches fact is stranger than fiction heights but surely is the proof that this band was destined to bless the world with its presence, and wow does it do that with its debut album Music For Chicken. The release is pure joy from start to finish, Evoy and Mancunian Bolton alongside Brazilian Alberto Zioli on guitar, and London boys Reverand Parsley and Ravi on keys and drums respectively, unleashing the purest joy with their poultry themed party of garage rock n roll driven rhythm and blues. There is one warning though, for some reason it will make you feel rather hungry by the end of its final slice of pleasure.

Released August 6th via Dirty Water Records, a label which cannot do any wrong right now with its releases it seems, the album strolls up to the ear with a confident swagger called Chicken, Baby, Chicken. With initially the guitar teasingly showing off alongside great group harmonic shouts, the song erupts into an eager tonic for the heart through a fiery blend of Billy Haley, Johnny Burnette and Hasil Adkins. It is a great start easily matched by the following Every Girl on The Tube. From its first surge of Evoy pumping the senses full of tenor sax goodness the song ignites a feisty air for its greedy sounds, a garage rawness which lights the fuse for further submission and adoration. The guitar of Zioli is as keen and wonderfully teasing as the sax play and combined with the beats, keys, and playful bass sounds makes for one exuberant track.

As each song leaves its crazed energy the album simply gets better and better. It is not that the latter songs are any better than the earlier ones just that the accumulative effect is overwhelming and leaves one grinning like a man who just got lucky, which I guess is what happened. Tracks like the hot and crazed instrumental  Wild Safari with its elephant sax sounds and slight Batman theme sounding hook has limbs and emotions jumping even if the lack of rampaging chickens and stampeding cockerels noises is disappointing, whilst the  throbbing Laundromatic  is a scorching melodic blitz upon the ear with seeds in the band which has influenced MFC Chicken by their own admission the most The Sonics, which simply excites.

Music For Chicken at times offers up flavours which are easily recognisable in other bands and songs though you always feel it is merely coincidence such as with Chicken On The Bone, the song a dead ringer for a Showaddywaddy song  well if it had been given steroids and introduced to Johnny Kidd and The Pirates. Wine, Women, Rock’n’Roll is another with familiarity from a seeming heavy spice of Johnny Carroll splashed with a wash of Screamin Jay Hawkins.

The album closes as magnificently as it started with the trio of Man-Sized Tissues, Family Value Meal, and Fifty-Seven Acres of Pain ensuring every drip of pleasure is wrung into the heart of their recipients. The middle of the three is especially wonderful, its explosive melodic beauty of keys and guitar punctuated with sensational sax clucking a delight not heard since the fifties Fat Daddy Holems song, strangely enough called Chicken Rock.

Music For Chicken is nothing but total pleasure and a party for the ear and heart to gate crash relentlessly  whilst MFC Chicken has one diving into the fridge, damn them.

https://www.facebook.com/MFCChicken

RingMaster 10/07/2012

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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