To date every Dirt Box Disco album has been a reason to romp and stomp, to unleash the instinctive punk and rocker inside with the British band’s own devilish intent. Of course their new proposal, Poppycock, is no different, a fifth album which turns body and spirit into a mischievously brawling blur of flying limbs, riotous fun, and lustful habits.
The Burton on Trent quintet has long established its own punk ‘n’ roll sound across four voracious albums and a host of EPs and singles. Fair to say that Poppycock brings more of that belligerent rock ‘n’ roll rascality but yet again the band manages to tap into something fresh. It is not necessarily a definable essence though the STP Records released album has a pop catchiness to its attitude loaded, middle finger raised rampage, but something which just gives the album its own character and the DBD sound a new twist.
In another year seeing the band relentlessly cause live havoc across the UK and Europe, DBD set it all up perfectly an album leaping upon ears with the same hunger as opener The Bullshit Kids bursts into life. Rambunctious rhythms and voracious riffs join group calls to get things started, a wiry vine of guitar temptation from Danny Fingers escaping the roar as the track spreads its bait. With lead vocalist Weab.I.Am standing antagonistically but invitingly astride the muscular stroll, band and track barge around with contagious revelry, DBD instantly showing they are still kings of the rebel rousing, listener involving chorus.
The following Finger Blast opens up with a Stiff Little Fingers like air, Deadbeatz Chris’ burly bassline and the swinging aggression of drummer Maff Fazzo courting the spicy hook and subsequent surge of caustic riffs set loose by Fingers and Spunk Volcano. Raw pop punk relishing its inbred rowdiness and sonic enterprise, the song has the body rocking and primed for the immediate incendiary incitement of Punk Rock Riot, a track as you would expect living up to its title with virulent aggression and anthemic contagion. With a slight whiff of The Adicts to it, the track is an inescapable persuasion to raise hell.
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.
DBD show their pure rock ‘n’ roll instincts with Snorting Crack From A Girls Top Rack, a virulent and raucous UK Subs/Sham 69 meets Showaddywaddy roistering providing an almost two minute spirit stirring yell. A pinnacle amongst only peaks, the track leaves body breathless and attitude inflamed ready for the lighter but still imposing incitement and swing of Lazy Bastard, its raw captivation subsequently eclipsed by the metal infused rock of Slapdash And Haphazard. Part pub rock, part hard rock, and all punk, the third of the three roars with creative zeal as sonic tendrils offer a scorching flame within the aggravated air of vocals and song.
The tenacious and uninhibited exploits of Geronimo are a bruising addictive charm to persistently knock around, as too the bolder poppy shenanigans of Imaginary Friend; both raffish sing-a-longs that vocals chords yearn for. The vociferously grouchy and rousing Somethings Are Better Left Unsaid is no different, its lures more metal nurtured but instantly involving rock ‘n’ roll to stride through the world with.
Poppycock closes with the tantalising swing and shuffle of I Hate This City, a ska/reggae kissed stroll with a touch of The Members and Ruts to its initial saunter. Boiling up with every passing second, the track hollers and thrills, and though it is not the best song on the album it leaves an irresistible and lingering imprint just impossible to shake off.
Upon the first listen or two of Poppycock, as impressive and highly enjoyable as it was, it seemingly did not make the same immediate impact as predecessors. That suggestion was soon dispelled as songs imposed their infectious claws in thoughts far away from their home in no time, returning as they pleased. Poppycock creeps up on you as well as creating a thrilling clamour in its presence while again Dirt Box Disco create musical havoc, emotional incitement, and the kind of rock ‘n’ roll that has body and heart stomping and howling with sheer pleasure.
Poppycock is out now through STP Records @ http://www.stprecords.co.uk/page3.htm and https://dirtboxdisco.bigcartel.com digitally and on CD with its vinyl release April 5th
Upcoming live shows:
http://www.dirtboxdisco.co.uk http://www.facebook.com/pages/DIRT-BOX-DISCO/129060477115572 http://twitter.com/dirtboxdisco
Pete RingMaster 16/03/2017
Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright
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.
Whilst The Lost Refuge was a rousing tempest in ears from the first roar, Box of Chaos takes its time to build and entice even greater greedier reactions. Certainly its first play and touch is a potent lure but each listen reveals greater depths and imagination at the heart of the release which only adds to its strength and drama. There is also seemingly richer old school punk and rock ‘n’ roll hues this time around, essences no doubt bred from inspirations to Honey-Jones and Courson such as Sonic Youth, Hole, Sex Pistols, Bauhaus, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Iggy and the Stooges, and David Bowie. One band which our thoughts most leaned to as a reference across the new album though is Penetration; a similarly evocative nature and tone to the great County Durham band spicing the band’s adventurous sound from the off with both Nice n Sleazy and its successor Never Want It Again. The opener emerges on a sonic shimmer with waiting riffs quickly stirring into predatory life as ears continue to be enveloped in that initial mist. Rhythms are soon just as pressing as Coulson’s magnetic voice seduces, her tones a smouldering caress within the rising fiery heat of the song. It is an increasingly virulent protagonist grabbing swift involvement of the listener, setting them up for more riotous stroll of Never Want It Again. It is a tenacious canter though superbly twisted with ska/like asides as rhythms and vocals flirtatiously swing with mischievous intent within the otherwise busy attitude loaded rock ‘n’ roll of the song.