The Long Tall Texans – The Devil Made Us Do It

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     To create rock ‘n’ roll alchemy as scintillating and fresh as this you just have to suspect that the horned one did have a hand in its breeding as the title of this voracious riot suggests. The Devil Made Us Do It declare The Long Tall Texans on their return after eight years with a new album, but whatever part he had in its creation and the type of dues met all credit and ardour goes to the Brighton band who after two and a half decades still stand mighty in creating essential blistering rock n roll.

      Jammed to the rafters with predominantly Garry Castleman penned songs brought to insatiable life and realism by brother and guitarist Matt, drummer Theo, and vocalist/slap bassist Mark Carew ( also of The Hotknives), The Devil Made Us Do It rampages over and with the passions in a thoroughly captivating and enthrallingly expansive manner. It is a feisty merger of rockabilly, psychobilly, punk, and country twisted in one unique and impossibly contagious riot of rock ‘n’ roll. It has to be said that The Long Tall Texans has been doing this for ages, since day one to be fair, but their thirteen track stomp fest undoubtedly is their finest slab of devilry in a long time. Produced and engineered by Mark Roberts at Empora Recordings and mastered by Tim Rowkins, it is the first essential blaze of rock ‘n roll in 2014, a fire you suspect which will still be heading the field in this year’s twilight moments.

      The album turns the ignition for the ride ahead with the instrumental Taxi, a flaming climate of melodic heat in a western environment which is more sunset than sunrise and a wholly addictive start to the album. With a breath of surf rock to its smouldering temptation it makes way for the rascality of Girlfriend, a contagion clad stroll of sonic grooves and irrepressible hooks wrapped by a blend of rockabilly soaked in fifties irresistibility and just a little salacious enticement. The song requests rather than demands attention and the listener’s vocal assistance but the outcome is the same, full submission to its call.

   The cantering psychobilly charge of Kamikaze Killer is the band recalling its early days in many ways, a rapacious anthemic temptation of a song which again refuses to take no for an answer in its request on emotions and limbs. A glorious guitar sculpted blaze only adds thicker allurement to the track before the western swung Kill Me saunters in and seduces the ears all over again in its own individual enrapturing style. Four tracks in and every song on the album has been of unique character and presence to each other but uniformal in their efficiency in securing the fullest allegiance to their rock ‘n’ roll driven desires and nothing changes across the rest of the release.

    The stalking rabidity of Sex, Beer & Psychobilly chews on the senses next whilst simultaneously seducing them with grooves and riffs which demand a returning lust for their teasing. The guitar of Matt conjures a weave of addiction forging lures around flumes of melodic acidity; it is pure sonic manna and with the thumping beats of Theo caging recipient and song within the predatory sway of Carew’s irrepressible slapping, the song is another peak in the mountainous range of The Devil Made Us Do It.

     The pop lit Terry and the following riveting Let Me Go powers through the ears with a punkabilly urgency and growl which in the case of the first reminds of Australians Living End whilst the cowpunk spiced second of the pair offers an evolving roam through magnetically rich and varied flavours of rockabilly. For a great many the band deservedly is up there with the legends such as The Meteors, Demented Are Go, Batmobile, Stray Cats etc. and these songs alone prove to newcomers just why, whilst the album simply puts in stone the fact that The Long Tall Texans are masters now and then of raucous and mercilessly virulent rockabilly in all its off shooting guises.

     The excellent I Hate Myself again ventures into more punk based alchemy whilst its successors, the ridiculously addictive Covered In Sin and the country seeded What Part Of Fuck Off Don’t You Understand?, exploit the established rampant appetite for the whole release with their own epidemic of sonic inducements. The first of this pair is the stealer of top honours on the song, the dual vocal styling as potently compelling as the ravishing spree of musical toxicity led by riffs and hooks carrying more barbs than a jigsaw. Its companion is an argumentative encounter lyrically and a taunting slice of country rock musically veined with spices of country swing alongside tasty rhythm and blues additives, it and its predecessor continuing the extensive variation of the release and craft in songwriting impressively.

    The outstanding I Fell In Love With A Zombie and the simply exceptional I Used To Feel Funny provide more rigorously stimulating slabs of prime rockabilly and danger drenched psychobilly respectively, though as always it is just half of the story as numerous flavours stoke up the fires within the songs and the now over fed but still greedy emotions receiving them. The closing Feels Like Ice brings it all to a towering conclusion with a sensational heavily weighted brawl of intensive psychobilly scored with rockabilly lunacy and glam rock wantonness. If The Sweet were rockabilly you suspect they would have sounded like this hellacious bone rattling stamping provided by the album’s finale. Listening to it again as this is written maybe that best track decision is still under review after all.

     The Sunny Bastards released The Devil Made Us Do It is quite simply one of the greatest rock ‘n’ roll albums of the past decade with little more to be added except to say that The Long Tall Texans still makes  the majority of bands, rockabilly or psychobilly sound like mere novices.

Check on https://www.facebook.com/groups/196671022357 to keep up with news of band and releases.

10/10

RingMaster 14/01/2014

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The Brains – The Monster Within

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Room for one more on the list of Album Of The Year candidates?

It may be full already but there is always a place for albums as irresistible and explosively potent as The Monster Within, the latest album from Canadian rockers The Brains. Fusing insatiable encounters of psychobilly and horror punk with straight down the line rock ‘n’ roll, the fourteen track release is one determined and virulently contagious ride before which resistance is futile, especially if the genre ignites furnaces of fire deep inside like for us.

The Monster Within is the band’s sixth album and stands before the ear to prove once again that The Brains just continue to get better and musically they are full bodied like vintage wine with each passing record. The band has lit up every corner of the world through their breath-taking live performances, which haves seen them play with the likes of Mad Sin, The Offspring, The Reverend Horton Heat, The Real McKenzies, The Creepshow and many more, no continent safe from their epidemic toxin of sound, but it might just be that their new album is their finest moment yet. Released via Sailors Grave Records and Stomp Records in Canada, its towering presence can be best described as Rezurex meets Grumpynators with Volbeat, Calabrese, and Tiger Army adding their juices to the mix. What emerges is a sound and release which is truly distinctive to The Brains and an incendiary device for the heart.

The trio of vocalist/guitarist Renè De La Muerte, bassist Collin The Dead, and drummer Pat Cadaver do not hold anything back from the Press_Cover_01opening note of the first up title track. Energy and riffs are immediately enslaving the ear with relish and hunger as a storm of rockabilly and heavy rock, from which you almost expect Lemmy to step out of, absorb the senses with the outstanding tones of De La Muerte holding court. The music embraces him in powerful and melodic enterprise, everything feeding the awakened passions before them. It is a storming mix of light and dark wrapped in an infection to which escape is impossible from song and subsequently the album as it unleashes more individual but just the same addictive alchemy.

Give It All takes over with a slightly more restrained attack though no less lethal for resistance, its anthemic chorus and full on rhythmic temptation just one of its many lures. The varied and textured mix of sound and flavours across the album ensures that every moment is ridiculously compelling and this track is no exception, in fact one of the most intensively submission ripping triumphs.

A Stray Cats tonic sprays out as Misery unveils its frenetic dance within a blaze of vibrant melodic flames, a cage of frenetic rhythms trapping the passions in a state of ardour whilst the swagger which drives the track home only lights stronger rabidity for what is to come, something which the likes of The Damned and Bleed only encourage further with their devilish teasing. The first of the pair is a smouldering melodic caress hanging onto a rapidly coursing rhythmic and energetic gait whilst its successor lays down a trail of schizophrenic beats and riffs for the melodic breeze of vocals and guitar seduction to light deeper far reaching flames. There is a heat to the song which transports the imagination to climes where sweat on the brow is a given, the same result as achieved by the driving predation of the excellent Stay Back, its uncompromising rock ‘n’ roll passion igniting another anthemic union.

There is not one moment of weakness or a lull in the flow of the album’s quality and glory, the scintillating Electrik Shock with its underlying teasing Cajun twang and the demonically tempting Rest In Pieces with its venomous narrative simply sucking greater rapture from the heart whilst the glorious surf rock instrumental Cucaracha In Leather  finds a somewhat carnivorous fascination for the senses and imagination to work with. The track is a shoe-in for a Tarantino movie somewhere surely.

Suddenly the album seems to lose focus and control…yeah as if. Both Kill Kill and Suffering And Pain seize their moment to ravage and simultaneously exhilarate the ear, their different but kindred charge of rhythmic rapacity and melodic paintwork adding another unique gloss to the emotions. The first finds a low whisper of Eastern mystique to its body whilst the second strolls confidently with a wily enchantment of those ever persuasive vocal harmonies and twisted mischievous guitar invention.

Devil In Disguise and Lies combine to ensure the album does not leave until a visit to their blood drenched sinister hop is taken, their exceptional control of the listeners limbs, voice, and energy surely meaning they are on the most wanted list of perpetrators. They leave Rolling Down to mop up the sweat soaked floor with its melodic, almost pop like croon, though all it wants to do is dance which it does successfully with guitar and drums expanding on the bass led potent diablerie.

The Monster Within is just magnificent, an album with all the majesty to be looked at as one of the true rock ‘n’ roll classics. The Brains has just become the new lust for the site, come join us.

https://www.facebook.com/TheBrainsMTL

10/10

RingMaster 06/09/2013

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Listen to the best independent music and artists on The RingMaster Review Radio Show and The Bone Orchard from

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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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