Always a dirtily feisty and rousing mix of punk and raw rock ‘n’ roll, we can announce that Spunk Volcano & The Eruptions has managed to breed an even more ravenously incendiary fusion of both within their new and third album Not Wired Up Right, a proposal living up to its title in character and intent whilst stomping around like a bull elephant in heat.
Having set their 2017 off in fine style with the aggressively raucous Ram Raid EP, Spunk Volcano and co devilishly finger its raw virulence and fresh whiff of bruising rock ‘n’ roll to a new aroused state within Not Wired Up Right. It has been a riotous clutch of years since Dirt Box Disco guitarist/co-songwriter Spunk unleashed his own project with the aid of drummer Maff Fazzo, bassist Deadbeatz Chris, and guitarist Ste Lingard; a time kicked off in striking style with a self-titled EP and an insatiable persuasion only perpetuated by debut album Injection that first year, 2014, its successor Shit Generation two years later and the aforementioned Ram Raid EP a few months back. Each release has had the body stomping and a defiance driven attitude roaring; a triumph unsurprisingly just as rampantly repeated with Not Wired Up Right.
With its current line-up completed by guitarist Tom ‘G Force’ Batterbee and newest addition in lead guitarist Stu Page alongside vocalist SV, and fellow DBD members Maff Fazzo and Deadbeatz Chris, the band gets straight down to it with contagious antagonism and bare arsed rock ‘n’ roll through the album’s opener and title track. Not Wired Up Right instantly preys on ears with its corrosive metal bred riffs, a hungry tide of guitar soon driven on by the senses battering swings of Fazzo as SV unashamedly roars. It is a minute and a touch of hook lined punk manna, a storm of balls swinging rock ‘n’ roll swiftly backed in listener manipulation by Nobhead. With a title like this you just know at some point you will be bellowing in zeal fuelled unison with the song and that point comes within thirty seconds of a vocal and riff set up breeding eager anticipation for that incoming moment. The infectious lure of Chris’ bass courts the unspectacular but seriously compelling riffs of Batterbee in the meantime; together laying down the landscape over which the melodic scythes of Page lure and of course the moment to leap on board with vocal energy to match that of SV erupts.
The following Shutdown offers its own collusion of punk and metal lined rock ‘n’ roll next; prowling riffs and biting rhythms a predacious incitement matched in success and intrusive magnetism by a litter of hooks and vocal unity. Standing at the fore SV is the trigger, his tones a belligerent yet welcoming cause to get on board with whilst the bass simply seduces the appetite with its devious groove. The track rocks the joint with ease, bodies and speakers rocking just as tenaciously through the more corrosive presence of Gatecrash and in turn by the seriously irresistible of Fuck This For A Game Of Soldiers. The first of the two lacks some of the sparks of its predecessor, such the former’s inventive bent, but still has full command of again throat and physical participation with its dirty punk ‘n’ roll while the second simply snarls and invades the senses with its primal hearted, melodically catchy antics. Initially a predator in sound and invention, it evolves into another SV anthem which chews up the listener whilst stirring them into an outpouring of unbridled energy. Not Wired Up Right features a special guest in Ginger Wildheart on guitar and backing vocals on three tracks and it would be no surprise if this superb dirt-fest of a romp was not one of them such its unsterilized gutter nurtured rock ’n’ roll.
Next up, Your The Bastard has the same kind of seeding in its punk clamour, a Motorhead meets Grumpynators fuelling which makes its minute and a handful of seconds irrepressible and irresistible before Out Of The Blue reveals to its inescapable tempting a poppier nature contaminated with the band’s ear grabbing stag rock ‘n’ roll. Across all tracks Page adds a broader styled enterprise ranging from melodic metal, punk rock, and of various rock ‘n’ roll seeding but here afforded a clarity which really shines alongside the band’s infection loaded harmonies and chorus. His presence has certainly brought a new fresh air of flavouring to the band’s sound without defusing its distinctive character and presence, Dementia Hurricane another prize example within the release; an encounter which if you are not boldly hollering with its chorus by its second round, deafness of worse may have descended.
Smack In The Teeth is just the same, an eye balling prospect of getting battered which of course the senses do with the rhythmic antipathy and caustic riffery backing up SV’s threat. You can just imagine venues chasing fear into surrounding streets as band and fans inevitably vocally unite in the song’s virulent incitement live.
The album concludes with two of its major highlights amongst nothing but peaks. First up steps Knuckledusters & Scars with an initial surge of rancorous riffs and stabbing beats which alone ignites the passions; metal, heavy rock, and rapacious punk rock soon entangling in its delicious steely tempest with emotional rabidity and primal imagination just as prevalent in its gloriously uncompromising yet still ridiculously catchy howl. Somehow though it still gets eclipsed by the simply captivating Purely Medicinal, a song brilliant in its resourceful simplicity, inspired in its captivating croon as SV opens up heart and suggestion within a subdued but oh so potent web of sound.
It is a final two minutes epitomising the creative strength, new adventure, and instinctive epidemic like catchiness of the band’s sound. Sometimes when review after review of a band’s releases carry nothing other than drooling praise you almost set out to look for faults. Spunk Volcano & The Eruptions relish that challenge and from the first seconds never allow anything other than ardour to once again arise with us.
There are two bands which are making British punk n roll the most exciting it has been in a long time, maybe ever been, and both embrace the headstrong creative instincts of Spunk Volcano and indeed Maff Fazzo and Deadbeatz Chris. Enough said!
Upcoming live dates:
Sun August 6th – Blackpool – Winter Gardens (Rebellion Festival)
Sat August 19th – Cambridge – BOAT HOUSE
Sat September 30th – Northumbria Students’ Union (NE Calling)
Sat December 23rd – Manchester – Star & Garter (STP Xmas Show)
Fri December 29th – Birmingham – Venue TBC
Not Wired Up Right is released August 3rd on STP Records; for more info
http://www.spunkvolcano.co.uk https://www.facebook.com/pg/spunkvolcano/ https://twitter.com/SpunkVolcano
Pete RingMaster 01/08/2017
Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright
The excellent Little White Lie romances the senses with its multi-vocal union and warm textures next, all fuelled by the wilful and headstrong energy and sound expected of the band while its successor, Working For Wankers, has vocal chords at full volume in unity with its sentiment and defiance. Blending explosive and calm pastures, choppy riffs and melodic teasing leading to ferocious expulsions, the song has ears and appetite hooked within seconds, success equally found by the snarling Fat Kid with its carnal metallic riffs and toxic grooves.
There is no moment to calm down either as the belligerent punk rock of Stop Looking At Your Phone roars in ears, its antagonistic charge and dispute irresistible. It is a wall of sound and protestation, a torrent of violent riffs and equally uncompromising rhythms driven by the vocal antipathy of Spunk and the band. At barely a breath over a minute in length, the song is like being given the juiciest steak and only allowed one bite before it is whipped away, but what a mouthful it is.
Drunken Nights whips up attention with its harmonic vocal calls and niggling hook next whilst Alright follows with a great Stiff Little Fingers like character to its full throttle stomp. Both provide choruses which instantly spark eager participation; again a constant success which is just as inescapable in the likes of Isn’t Where It Ends, a seventies scented oi! bred track which might lack the final spark of previous tracks but still whips up nothing less than thick enjoyment.
The outstanding start is quickly matched by Run for Your Life. From its first breath bluesy guitar caresses hit the spot, their coaxing soon taken up a notch by the throbbing lure of Carly Quinn’s bass which in turn sparks a fresh wave of agitation in guitar and rhythms. The song’s prime hook has the imagination ensnared just as swiftly, its devilment carrying a great Rocket From The Crypt air to it. Soon though, Blackey is standing centre stage with her great contentious expression and sandy throated tones, as around her melodies infuse an increasing scent of the blues into their and the song’s feistily infectious rock ‘n’ roll endeavour.
It is a storming entrance into the album which is matched by its title track straight after. Mixing strains of garage and hard rock into its seventies punk toned defiance, the song as the first, has feet and voice involved in no time, a quality all tracks present with unwavering success as shown by the outstanding XR3. This is a track all certain car owners are obliged to blast out whilst on the road. It is a web of gripping grooves and emotions arousing vocals and simply another best friend in waiting within the release. Within the first four words of its chorus, vocal participation is a given, a quality which is repeated throughout Shit Generation as shown by DNA Failure and after that Send The Boys Round. The first of the two stomps in on another virulent chorus built on band chants; that same infectiousness infesting verse and the tenacious song’s cantankerous punk ‘n’ roll confrontation whilst the second uncages even thicker aggressive sinews to sculpt a heavy rock spawned challenge.
The excellent start and flavouring carries on into the raucous and cranky charge of Eufuckinphoric, where initially choppy riffs funnel into ears this time around as Woodstock adds bearish vocal weight and coaxing. The riffs and hooks of Paul Moose and guitarist Daiv Tap bite and serrate the senses with sonic hostility all the while too whilst the rhythms of drummer Jack Destruct swing with contempt. It is a unity which should send you running but instead simply whips up an impossible to resist call to arms.