Snakerattlers – All Heads Will Roll

They came, they infested, and they ignited a lustful appetite for their ravenous rattle rock sound around two years with a debut album which was all cunning lure and feral deviancy. Now UK duo Snakerattlers has unleashed its successor and a new tide of unbroken snarls and untamed sound greedily hungry to devour a new expanse of hosts.

Consisting of married couple Dan and Naomi Gott, Yorkshire hailing Snakerattlers breed a sound which whilst chewing on the raw essences of rockabilly, garage punk, death punk and prime rock ‘n’ roll has already shown its unique character through that first album, This Is Rattlerock. It is a proposal which may be in some ways sowed its seeds in the pair’s previous band, garage punk trio The Franceens, but bloomed and grew within the Snakerattlers first full-length and is an even bolder rapacious and irresistible holler within All Heads Will Roll.

All Heads Will Roll opens up with Aither’s Theme; Naomi’s beats a slow but suggestive crawl soon entangled in the sonic threads woven within Dan’s guitar. There is a whiff of menace to both but equally a hue intimating a waiting triumph which is soon in full blaze as the album’s title track bursts free from the final acidic melodic throes of its increasingly infectious predecessor. The second track initially teases with the voice and hooks of Dan, again they a controlled tempting courted by the heavy foot beats of his partner. Every passing chord and rhythmic jab brings greater contagion and enterprise, the pair’s ever rapacious vocal bait alone inescapable as garage punk and hell bred rock ‘n’ roll colludes around them.

That instinctive contagiousness flows as freely through next up Lose My Mind, a song embracing sixties garage rock flavouring as keenly as more punk and rock nurtured feverishness and aggression. There is a definite Cramps-esque lining to its catchy trespass and equally an instinctive wildness which is as eager in bands like The Creeping Ivies. Having seduced and devoured, the song makes way for the inescapable primitive manipulation of Do The Rattle Rock. Beats and chords incite as vocals implore; it all uniting in an invasion of willing ears and a body soon boldly rocking to the song’s voracious inclinations.

Old school rockabilly seeds the following dark seduction of She’s Strange, its dark lures and senses winding coaxing a devilish virus of sound and temptation while the skilfully voracious Rattle Rock Stomp simply unleashes restrained but barely contained bedlam in its rivetingly compelling swing. Dan’s vocals alone just infest the senses and pleasure fuelled appetite but add the ever resourceful and devious scything beats of Naomi and the almost corrosive clamour of guitar and it is manna for certainly these ears.

The album’s best track is swiftly backed in organic temptation by the melodic causticity that is I’ll Destroy Your Soul, the song a portentous romance for which an eager embrace or a quick fearful flee from is an equal option. It is another delicious sonic plague in a sound which has just further blossomed and evolved from that which created such a riveting debut for the band, a growth as potent within Standing On My Own and in turn Ooga Booga. The first of the two merges dark surf and angst lined melodic rock ‘n’ roll in its fiery infection, an infiltration becoming more magnetic and inventive as well as unpredictable by the second. Its successor is sheer sonic nagging against voodoo rhythms; a glorious incitement of sound and intent which had us mercilessly moving to its tune like participants in a devils puppet show.

The album concludes with firstly the equally sonically wily and rhythmically unscrupulous Snake Rattle Rock, Snake Rattle Roll, a track which had us bouncing without inhibition under the forceful direction of ever persuasive vocals. The track is pure demonic and masterful rock ‘n’ roll and another of the album’s major peaks in nothing but and matched in all aspects by the closing predacious prowl of Wild. It oozes menace though a threat wrapped in melodic acidity and under a controlled if feral hand which uncages more of its chaos chord by chord, corrosive blaze by blaze.

Together they bring a rousing end to an uproar of sonic anarchy and imaginative commotion going by the name of All Heads Will Roll. The first Snakerattlers album may have corrupted the passions of a great many but it pales against the howling magnificence, inexorable virulence and expected slavery of acclaim and new slaves now unleashed by Snakerattlers.

All Heads Will Roll is out now via Dirty Water Records, available @  https://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/Snakerattlers/c/33534229/offset=0&sort=normal and https://snakerattlers.bandcamp.com/album/all-heads-will-roll

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Pete RingMaster 01/08/2019

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Baronen & Satan – Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? / Satan Is A Lady

As each year passes it seems harder to find something truly unique to feast upon so those encounters which do carry that special character make a most striking impact and hopefully temptation. The sound of Swedish outfit Baronen & Satan magnificently fits that claim and hope, its nature a psyche twisting trespass and voice a senses searing incitement which together go to make one glorious seduction on body and imagination.

Though formed in 2014 after guitarist Philippe Jean-Piere Dominique Sainz met vocalist Linda Rydelius, the pair uniting in love and creativity once meeting, our introduction to Gothenburg hailing Baronen & Satan is now through Dirty Water Records USA and their releasing of the band’s new EP, Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? in tandem with the re-release of 2016 album Satan Is A Lady. It is a long overdue meeting as hindsight shows the band has been teasing attention across a horde of tracks and years but one we like so many others are greedily devouring. Completed by bassist Marie Bergkvist and drummer Stefan Young Sik Olsson earlier this year, Baronen & Satan create what we assumed has been self-penned as “Garagedeath”.  Whatever you call it, the Baronen & Satan sound is a wonderfully invasive yet flirtatious trespass of reverb grafted adventure conjured from a mix of garage and psych rock, garage punk, noise, and punk rock with plenty more teasing away in its predacious and haunting swamp thick sonic psychosis.

Produced by Jim Diamond (White Stripes, Dirt Bombs), Baronen & Satan’s new EP greedily consumes the senses from its first breath. Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? opens up with new single Elisa and instantly consumes ears in a tide of riffs and rhythms entangled in spicily melodic tendrils. As a bass grumble teases, beats fly with fevered energy, Sainz’s guitar weaving away with salacious grooves as the distinct and unique tones of Rydelius deliciously ‘whine’. Her presence almost steals all attention but with the devilish textures and enterprise at play around her, the whole song seduces in equal measure to get things flying.

The following Buttermilk Sky has a similar but fully individual presence and sound, its psych and garage rock bred rock ‘n’ roll an incitement to appetite and hips as it dances provocatively in ears. Its citric melodic spicing is less kind in the second track compared to its predecessor but just as alluring; the song offering a beefier intrusion taken to darker temptation yet again in the EP’s title track. With the swinging biting beats of Olsson rampant and Bergkvist’s bass sound gnarly, seduction is swift from personal tastes; add the sonic squall of Sainz and Rydelius hellish beauty in voice  and submission to the track’s rapacious rock ‘n’ roll is welcome slavery which the melodic toxicity with its tinge of Echo and The Bunnymen compounds.

All three tracks unite for one unwavering increasing addictive proposal to have us reeled in hook line and sinker; a triumph equally matched by last year’s album, Satan Is A Lady. It similarly needs mere seconds to tempt and begin brewing up a tight grip as opener Lady Creature lies its initial sonic nagging upon ears. Quickly the boisterous beats of Olsson descend and romp; the track bouncing around with eager tenacity as Rydelius casts her riveting vocal antics into the stomping devilment of a proposal. At times Scottish trio The Creeping Ivies is provoked in thought by the track but a great spicing to something again as unique as all the subsequent essences and adventures across the album prove to be, all hues in viral sonic toxins particular to Baronen & Satan.

Next up is Catwalk, its feline prowl lively and predacious with Olsson’s swings marking every step with zeal. Always fuelled by a boisterous spirit, the song stalks the listener as vocals wrap their flirtatious clutches around psych and garage infestation. Magnetic drama, the song sublimely bewitches before the even more energetic exploits of Asskisser bound in. With shimmering sonic suggestion and more rhythmic rascality, a PiL-esque sheen invading its bold canter, the track commands the listener like a puppeteer, its noise nurtured tendrils veining its wonderful manipulation.

Headcuts lurks and taunts with an instantly open Cramps inspiration, continuing to size up its victim before launching into a rapacious garage punk stroll with fifties rockabilly spicing. As its predecessor, the track is glorious; caustic manna for ears and instincts which a fine line of sixties garage rock a la Cradle to add another twist.

Expanding and thickening its ravenous enterprise and character, Satan Is A Lady hits another sweet spot with the sonic buzz of The Projects, a minute and a breath of irresistible niggly punk rock which Comet emulates in success with its own demonic affair for ears and imagination. As most tracks, its core is a relentless nagging which gets right under the skin; heavy dark bait bred on rhythmic and sonic almost wanton dexterity honed into a cauldron of virulent temptation as carefully woven as it is rabidly unleashed.

The album’s title track swings in with muscles tensed next, a riveting PiL meets Siouxsie and the Banshees hook circling ears as once more the compelling tones of Rydelius grip the bold intrusion. Sainz’s initial bait swiftly develops a Buzzcocks spiced essence as the track flexes its animated imagination, every second a beguiling and infectious scheme to enslave.

Through the psychotic stomp of Pony and its sonic Cramps meets the Orson Family moonshine pleasure only escalates, the latter of those hues a bolder essence in the dark saunter of Sugarwalls which too only inflames an already greedy appetite for band and sound. Invasively ethereal and ravenously portentous, the song also gives a glimpse of what you might imagine bands like Blood Ceremony and Jess and the Ancient Ones could sound like if mutant off springs of Lux Interior and Jim Morrison.

The album ends with the invasively haunting Underwater Love, an immersion into a sonic sea of intrigue and unpredictable imagination steered by the alluring vocal ingenuity of Rydelius. It is dark, bordering on suffocating and a compelling end to a quite thrilling and refreshing album.

Uniqueness is rare but when it comes it should be devoured especially when it bears the dark discord and beauty of Baronen & Satan.

Both Why Does The Blood Never Stick To Your Teeth? and Satan Is A Lady are out now @ https://baronenandsatan.bandcamp.com/album/why-does-the-blood-never-stick-to-your-teeth  and https://baronenandsatan.bandcamp.com/album/satan-is-a-lady respectively.

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Pete RingMaster 07/11/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Oh! Gunquit – Lightning Likes Me

This is your one time warning; prepare for your lungs to burst and veins to pop not forgetting hips to feverishly swing, rumble bop freakabillys Oh! Gunquit are back in town to tease and incite with a new album. The London based outfit left bodies sweaty, exhausted, and lustful with their first album Eat Yuppies and Dance back in 2015 but be warned it will all have felt like a warm up compared to the devilish antics Lightning Likes Me will have you getting up to.

Hints of things to come were alive in the band’s recent single Nomads Of The Lost, a track which suggested that the quintet had found wilder and even more salacious essences in their songwriting and sound; something Lightning Likes Me quickly and increasingly confirms song after song. It should be of no surprise really, since emerging in 2010/11 from the creative union of vocalist/trumpeter Tina Swasey and guitarist/vocalist Simon Wild, the band has only raised the ante and revelry of their psych-surf/garage-punk infused rock ‘n’ roll. With its members in bassist VV, drummer Alex De Renzi and newest member Chuchi Malpersona on sax alongside Swasey and Wild hailing from Italy, USA, Colombia, Spain, and the UK, there is a cosmopolitan fever to their music which in turn encourages its trickery to new heights, a plateau now set very high within Lightning Likes Me.

As soon as the fiery guitar strokes of opener So Long Sucker finger ears, the album is up and running, toning and driving the body like a puppeteer. Brass and rhythms are soon blazing and stomping across the infectious proposal, Swasey’s enthusiasm soaked vocals equally as persuasive while clad in defiance and carnal incitement. The track continues to twist and bounce like a rock ‘n’ roll dervish, every second getting under the skin and into the bones.

It is a tremendous start instantly backed up by the rhythmically tenacious antics of Get Wound Up. As De Renzi’s swings land with boisterous dexterity, sax and trumpet blaze away with suggestion and heat with Swasey all the while leaping across every strand of temptation with vocal agility. It is a song which dares you to get physically involved note by note, an invitation impossible to refuse in limb and energy before both are consumed all over again by the outstanding Nomads Of The Lost. With a swagger in its hips and confidence, the song saunters in with flirtatious infectiousness oozing from every note and syllable. Taunting riffs and sax teasing leads the way as vocals again ride the canter with their own irresistible persuasion, group calls another subsequent tempting impossible not to join as the chorus infests. Not for the last time, there are hints of bands like The Revillos and The Creeping Ivies to the devilry; bewitching essences in a captivation all of the Oh! Gunquit making.

Fireballs boogies in ears next with its garage rock psyche pop, its crescendo building surges a deceptive pleasure as they never erupt into a full-on blaze, just into the next cycle of irrepressible teasing for its own heat soaked orgasmic pleasure while Never Sorry plunders the decades for its psyche infesting rock ‘n’ roll, flirting with the inspirations of artists like the 5678’s and April March along the way. Both tracks are sheer addiction in the making though that equally applies to the whole of the album including the thicker boned Suzy Don’t Stop. The rhythmic bullying is raw feet temptation whilst the fire borne strains of guitar and brass are delicious toxins in the virulence of song and vocal exhortation.

The garage punk ‘n’ roll voodoo of Smiling Snake is a fifties bred, freshly re-animated thrill; a Wanda Jackson and Imelda May blended suggestion bound in the stringed imagination of Poison Ivy and quite irresistible though just as attention and lust is quickly stolen by it from its predecessor it is then lost to Walking The Streets which too has more than a rich spicing of The Cramps to its personality. Its creative stroll is manna to the passions and an unforgiving consumption of the hips, leading them to delirium soaked exhaustion. The track simply takes over body and spirit and take it from us just gets more potent and masterful with every groove woven outing.

Next up is Greasy Moves which, without credit on its press release or in any additional digital information sought so far, features guest vocals from someone which sounds inimitably like King Salami. The initial stomp of guitar and brass with rhythms swinging turns into a sweltering stroll of salacious suggestion, a primal dance which again has the ears and body locked into its blue kissed flirtation with no sign of resistance.

Finishing off the album with its own infernal devouring is Captain Of the Creeps; an incessant nagging of senses and limbs woven into a tapestry of iniquitous imagination and enterprise. It pretty much sums up all the attributes found across the whole of the unique rock ‘n’ roll contagion that is Lightning Likes Me, adding a few more of its own as the album leaves in rousing style though not for long as the urge to start the merciless party off again is king.

Last time around Oh! Gunquit gave us one of the best outings of the year this time it just might be the very best; there are few contenders to rival it for sure.

Lightning Likes Me is out now via Decapitator and Dirty Water Records https://ohgunquit.bandcamp.com/album/lightning-likes-me-lp-cd

https://www.facebook.com/ohgunquit/

Pete RingMaster 26/09/2017

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

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Pete RingMaster 28/06/2017

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Witching Waves – Crystal Café

Photo by David Garcia

Photo by David Garcia

Of the albums most anticipated by our particular ears was one from UK duo Witching Waves. They had us on line with their ltd edition cassette Concrete/Chain Of Command in 2014 and inescapably hooked with debut album Fear Of Falling Down later that same year but things have just got contagiously fiercer and even more sonically fascinating courtesy of their second full-length Crystal Café. It is a stunning roar of sonic and emotional dissonance fuelled by cutting hooks and feverish melodies, and that is not to forget the ever darkly mesmeric and often challenging lure of the vocals.

A mix of corrupted psych and surf rock fever with punk and post punk attitude, the Witching Waves’ sound mighty be better suggested by casting it as a union of the punk antagonism of The Raincoats and the garage punk ‘n’ roll devilry of The Creeping Ivies in collusion with the raw and virulent off-kilter pop of The Adult Net , Morningwood, and Delta 5. To be truthful, the London band has a sound which has always been its own individual but now forcibly so on Crystal Café. Intrigue for what the band will reveal next is always company to eager anticipation and indeed expectations, and it was no exception this time around, especially with the duo of founding members, vocalist/guitarist Mark Jaspar and vocalist Emma Wigham, having grown by one with the addition of bassist Ed Shellard since that previous impressive album.

Crystal Café opens up with Twister, a song shedding drama with its first surge of guitar. As it hits a heady stride with scything beats lining the brooding bassline of Shellard, the track has ears and imagination onside with ease, even more so as the siren like tones of Wigham collude with Jaspar’s sonic tendrils, all hot spice and raw flirtation. Not for the last time, a scent of The Cure certainly hits the rhythmic side of a song, adding appealing hues which engagingly merge with the fiery enterprise of guitar and voice.

art_RingMaster ReviewThe outstanding start continues in the concussively seductive Seeing Double, a roar of scuzzy guitar and alluring vocals with a sniff of almost Xmal Deutschland like post punk coldness. It is a grouchy encounter, epitomised by Jaspar’s aggressive vocal outbursts, but simultaneously also a raw melodic enticement which simply grips the imagination.

The following Pitiless uncages an anthemic rumble of rhythms as Wigham’s captivating vocals get entangled in the citric lines of just as compelling guitar spawned imagination. Juicy hooks are as frequent as searing sonic endeavour, being caught up in a bracing infectiousness which has the body jerking and senses wilting, though they do get respite from the alluring repetition sculpted instrumental Red Light Loop that follows. It is the first of a few imagination sparking interludes, a break before the raw trespass of contagion continues, in this case with Make It Up. There is a Wire like quality to the song which only adds to the pop catchy theatre that evolves to seriously excite and involve the listener. The track is as irresistible as a fondle in the shadows; offering a warm moment of pop slavery in the senses whilst they get intruded upon by the dissonance soaked soundscape of the album.

Anemone spreads a portentously melancholic instrumental breeze next, its starkly lit prowl a rising smog of discord as invasive as it is intimidatingly bewitching. The track sets up ears and imagination for The Threat, it a melodically cultured temper to the previous trespass with its boisterous surges of muscular beats and flowing vocal warmth over less kind but as riveting grooves. It too brews into a swarming sonic assault but without losing any of the pungent temptation it began coaxing ears with before the brazen temptress that is the excellent Red Light wraps its raw hunger and salacious beauty all over the listener.

The scathing sonic air and vocal angst of Receiver then takes over, its Jaspar voiced tempest bold exploration of the senses with underlying seduction added by the harmonies of Wigham, whilst after its pleasing encroachment and the evocative caress of instrumental Inoa, the album comes to a mighty close with new single Flowers. Wrapping around a glorious bassline echoing early Cure as crisp beats descend with resonating effect, strings of melodies and atmospheric suggestiveness come together, in turn swiftly joined by a dual smooch of vocals to captivate and entrance to which Wigham further adds her spellbinding lures. As seductive and inviting as it is, the track equally offers a host of descriptive shadows and sonic discordance that fester in thoughts and emotions to fine effect.

The track is an enthralling end to a simply superb release; another from Witching Waves and easily their finest moment yet. Hopefully this time around, the band gets the attention and surge of fresh appetites for their unique sound which previous releases warranted but Crystal Café demands and deserves.

Crystal Café is available on vinyl, cassette, and digital download from released February 26th via Soft Power in the UK and HHBTM Records in the USA.

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Pete RingMaster 26/02/2016

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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The Creeping Ivies – The Witch House EP

creeping ivies_RingMaster Review

All those with dodgy hips turn away now as we have one slice of physical slavery for you courtesy of The Creeping Ivies. Revealing a new wash of ingenuity in their sound which borders on pop, the Scottish band again enthrals and seduces with their unique style of garage rock ‘n’ roll which quite simply is impossible not to get a little lustful over. Consisting of three exotically and flirtatiously sonic slices of dark rock ‘n’ roll, EP and band have ventured into a broader landscape of invention and tempting which might be best described as The Shangri-las meets The Cramps meets The Revillos at a bordello of ill-repute presided over by Johnny Thunders.

The Creeping Ivies since forming in 2011 has been no strangers to acclaim here and across media and fans thanks to two dynamically thrilling and fiercely dynamic albums and a clutch of EPs which have just lit the fires of devilry. It is fair to say that each subsequent encounter has shown a potent evolution of the band’s garage punk/rock bred sound from the last, with a matching strength in temptation. Between last year’s outstanding album Ghost World and The Witch House, the band has seen one half of the duo in drummer Duncan Destruction leave and vocalist/guitarist Becca “Bomb” Murray subsequently joined by bassist Christy Taylor and stick man Ian Duncan. With a big change to a band which has also drawn constant acclaim for a live presence taking in shows with the likes of Viv Albertine, Vic Godard & Subway Sect, Bob Log III, and The Primevals amongst many acclaimed headlining shows of their own, there was a wonder of how things would move or indeed change ahead. The Witch House swiftly shows that as ever The Creeping Ivies are an irresistible creative lure revelling in their inspirations whilst breeding their own striking imagination as they go exploring new avenues. The hex that is their sound has developed an appetite for sixties inspired pop on the EP to go along with a passion for garage rock ‘n’ roll from across the decades. The result is an EP which is majestically glorious and ridiculously addictive.

witch house cover_RingMaster Review   It opens up with its title track, The Witch House flirting through the voodoo rhythms the band has so masterfully transfixes with from day one. Where Mr Destruction’s beats used to transmit intent and resonance like a virus through ear and bone though, Duncan’s beats are more tempered to match the, dare we say mellower, tones of the music yet cast an equally lingering network of anthemic persuasion. Murray’s guitar is just as swift in its spicy coaxing as her recognisable and exhilarating vocal shrills and punkish tone. Completed by the dark rumble of Taylor’s bass, the song swings with attitude and a flirtatious swagger ripe with simple but deeply rooting Ramones seeded hooks and nostalgia bred chords. The track is scintillating revelry to start things off but just the beginning of great deeds.

The following Only the Moon opens with its own infectious shuffle, led in by more flavoursome rock ‘n’ roll guitar and blossoming into a tenacious and composed canter of sparkling riffs and grumbling rhythmic shadows. From that same moment a vibrant melodic and catchy smile also brews, erupting in a chorus complete with inciting handclaps and a vocal tempting which only the deaf could refuse full involvement with. Surf breezes and a sultry air only adds to the compelling dance of the song; sixties pop meets modern garage psychosis at its very best.

The release comes to an end through Bye Bye Babe, a track as much seventies melodic infection as it is sixties garage rock and original 21st century devilment. The guitars seem influenced by bands like The Ventures and Johnny & the Hurricanes, rhythms by bands like The Orson Family and The Bomboras, whilst Murray is like a sultry Fay Fife. Wrapped in an invention and imagination which holds whispers of possible inspirations like Josef K and The Pixies, the song is honey for ears, manna for the psyche and a third kiss of brilliance in The Witch House.

There is no denying we have had a soft spot for The Creeping Ivies since day one but equally there is no argument in the fact the band just gets bigger, better, and more essential with every proposition with The Witch House EP the finest moment for the band yet. We keep saying that over each encounter and suspect it will not be the last time either. Ahead of Your New Favourite Garage Band, a forthcoming compilation of previous singles as well as EP and album tracks from the band, this moment in time feels like The Creeping Ivies are starting a new exciting chapter with thrilling new sounds. Time to get spooked and infested guys and girls…

The Witch House EP is out now with Your New Favourite Garage Band available from October 31st, both though Flowers In The Dustbin.

RingMaster 18/08/2015

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

Witching Waves – Fear Of Falling Down

Witching Waves press small

Having been hooked by the band with their limited edition cassette single Concrete/Chain Of Command earlier this year, there was a fair few tingles running through anticipation with the announcement of the debut album from Witching Waves. Those urges have grown to lustful proportions now that Fear Of Falling Down has infested ears and psyche, the release confirming all the promise and thrills experienced before whilst showing a broader adventure and creative resourcefulness in songwriting and sound.

Hailing from London and formed in 2013 as the brainchild of duo Emma Wigham and Mark Jasper (Sound Savers Recording Studio), Witching Waves through their unrelenting appetite for performing live and songs swiftly drew keen attention their way. Fusing as many essences of punk as you can imagine in a noise and discord sculpted garage pop incitement, the band bridges the DIY essence of the late seventies and the voracious causticity of modern invention; kind of like Swell Maps meets The White Stripes but for a truly unique and tenaciously addictive proposition.

Released via Soft Power Records, Fear Of Falling Down sees the duo now a threesome with the addition of a bassist, though we cannot tell you the name. The band’s fourth release, after Witching Waves LP Cover Artthree cassette singles, is a master class in raw sonic temptation and primal rhythmic slavery; each song united by a certain anthemic swing and creative tenacity yet alone in warped character and discordant agitation. Recorded on to 8 track tape, the album is a minimalistic yet inventively involved incitement, a cavernously toned but intimately delivered protagonist to excite ears and imagination with ease.

The album’s title track is the first to get the juices flowing, the opening jangle of guitar just the prelude to a rhythmically driven slice of agitated pop. The excellent vocals of Wigham soon join the rampancy of drums and the scrub of guitar before Jasper takes over with his equally captivating tones. Virulently catchy with a bounce to match, the track dances with ears and emotions from start to finish; every note, beat, and vocal enterprise simple but expertly creative seduction.

The post punk kissed Cold Out comes next, the contrast of the harmonic elegance and rawer expression of Wigham and Jasper respectively, alone a gripping enticement. In some ways there is an early Siouxsie and the Banshees feel to the song but also the flowing melodic quaintness of a Morningwood, the combination an addictive proposition, though soon surpassed by the poppy endeavour of Better Run. A slight spring of surf rock runs through the garage rock bred song whilst again vocals are as broadly bewitching as the slim but pungent sounds around them. As most tracks on the album, it is hard for feet taps and vocal participation to restrain from joining the band during the progress of its gently cacophonous croon before it makes way for the post punk infused stroll of Counterpoint. With repetitious riffs and infectious rhythmic bait, the song is a more challenging persuasion with its soaking of acidic discord and off key dynamics, but another to leave ears and passions basking.

The raw charm of Concrete comes next, its opening Buzzcocks spiced hook an instant attention grabber whilst a courting stride of rhythms draw their own submissive response. The plain almost disillusioned monotone vocals of Jasper contrast perfectly with the fluid melodies of Wigham, whilst the throaty melancholic bass prowl simply adds an addictive icing to the enthralling coaxing of body and mind. Like an unhinged blend of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The Cramps, the song is an aurally dishevelled but controlled temptress, and the perfect appetiser for the brilliance of the following Creeping. Stalking ears with rhythmic eagerness, the song stomps with muscular and concussive beats as riffs and basslines flirt with their own rowdy enterprise. There is for not the first or last time, a similarity to Scottish duo The Creeping Ivies about the band’s sound across the album, here being a potent comparison though again Witching Waves emerge as individual and original in every sonic aspect.

Both the outstanding News, with its hypnotic rhythmic baiting and spicy garage rock keys around a creative drama, and the intrigue drenched Wait Around keeps the adventure of Fear Of Falling Down on its highest plateau. The first of the two is a web of colour rich discordance and imaginative confrontation honed into a ridiculously infectious trap which simply leaves ears, thoughts, and emotions grinning whilst its successor juggles sonic abrasion with warm pop harmonies for another song which takes longer to reach the peaks of others, but only adds to the unpredictable and captivating climate of the release.

Fear Of Falling Down closes with the excellent Barber where garage punk and eighties post punk meet for a contagion filled stamp of punchy beats and wiry hooks aligned to velvety heavy bass lures. It all of course infused with the wonderfully clashing and superbly united vocal attack of Wigham and Jasper.

If Witching Waves have impressed before with their early appetisers then the album offers a fuller and more flavoursome meal of dissonant and melody bred noise. For those new to one of the UK’s most thrilling propositions, Fear Of Falling Down is a sonic lust in the making.

Fear Of Falling Down is available via Soft Power Records as a Limited Edition Vinyl LP (250 Copies) and digital download @ http://softpowerrecords.bandcamp.com/album/fear-of-falling-down

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RingMaster 08/12/2014

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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The Ghost Wolves – Man, Woman, Beast

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Rock duos have never been an absent feature of rock ‘n’ roll across the decades, the likes of The Everleys, The Carpenters, and alongside all those which spring to your mind right now The White Stripes all notable irresistible protagonists. It feels right now though that there is a real wealth and strength in depth to two-pronged innovative rock bands. The UK has the caustic garage punk/rock ‘n’ rollers The Creeping Ivies, Canada the raw and sonically insatiable might of The Black Frame Spectacle, whilst the US can offer up the country punk of The Barnyard Stompers and the blues punk fire of In The Whale. These are just four of the savagely potent enticements within the underground to which you can forcibly add The Ghost Wolves.

Hailing from Austin, TX, the duo of husband and wife Carley and Jonathan Wolf create a delta blues/garage rock inspired storm which stirs up the imagination and steals the passions like a fully loaded dose of sonic moonshine. Its raw and addictive recipe is irresistibly unleashed in a diverse mix of flavours within the band’s debut album Man, Woman, Beast. It is a rugged yet fuzzily seductive stomp of an encounter which leaves senses sore, bloated, and desperate for more.

Formed in 2011, The Ghost Wolves has spent the years since garnering more and more acclaim and support as well as a feistily growing fan base. Released on Nashville’s Plowboy Records, Man, Woman, Beast follows the success of the band’s 12” EP In Ya Neck! of 2011 and the following year the 7” single Getchya Hip Thrust, both on Pau Wau Records. The album already acclaimed in their homeland, has all the abrasing charm and enthralling enterprise, not forgetting sheer unruly beauty, to push the band into a wider world bred spotlight,

The first slice of infection is Shotgun Pistol Grip, the opening track an immediate sizzling bait to seduce ears and emotions. The heavy throaty tones of Carley’s guitar ignites ears right away to be joined within a breath or two by the tgw-620x620similarly coaxing crisp beats of Jonathan. There is an almost cantankerous swagger to the track, its rhythmic shoulders and melodic intent as feistily imposing as they are engagingly alluring. It is rapacious bait which steels its sinews to hold is tempting as the mischievously cute and flirtatiously melodic vocals of Carley caress ears, assisted as impressively by hubby. There is also an underlying surf rock breeze to the song which embraces the senses before making way for the fiery Gonna Live. Brewed in a richer distillery of blues, the track is an instinctively alluring prime rock ‘n’ roll canter. Guitars flame and groan with scuzz kissed toxicity whilst the vocals and chorus produce a rock revelry which demands attention from feet and emotions.

The ridiculously potent and thrilling start to the album is continued with Baby Fang Thang, a song which swings its melodic scuzz wrapped hips like a lap dancer from the first sway whilst beats punctuate the seduction with their own distinct potency. As with so many of the songs, verse and build ups are siren-esque especially vocally, but it is the toxicity of the chorus which sparks lustful passion, and in no greater success than on the third song. With a temptation which is like a fusion of Daisy Chainsaw and Karn8, the song licks at the senses with the salacious wickedness of a temptress and naive charm of a sultry breeze.

Both the coarse boned Grave Dollas and Ride The Wolf keep things aflame in quality and ears, the first a anthemic romp of energised rhythms and swinging vocal lures within another squalling blaze of blues lilted guitar colour. Its successor is a slow prowl of salaciously grinning vocals and sonic beckoning, the sultry seductive air of the song again reminding strongly of Karn8 whilst the heavier garage rock predation which equally crawls over the senses has a seventies psychedelic essence which also embraces flavours to be found in artists like Hasil Adkins, The Cramps, The White Stripes, and Morass of Molasses.

I Was Wrong uncages another sinew built stomp, rhythms casting a firm net for the twin vocals and smouldering guitar attack to tease ears with devilish efficiency, before the next up Itch unveils an earthy groove to lose inhibitions to. Whereas the last couple of songs richly pleased but lacked some of the lust breeding power of earlier tracks, this song is another Devil spawned seducing which wakes up the imagination and ardour fuelled passion like popping candy in the mouth, every note and beat a frenetic but fluid croon to set passions of eager edge. A welcome easily exploited by the intoxicating I’m Yo Mudda, its winding and swerving blues filtered grooves pure sonic manna.

The riveting limb enslaving Attack, Attack, Attack hits another pinnacle for the album, its veins pumped with fevered rapaciousness and hungry suasion driven by rhythmic stabs and vocal pokes. It is a sensational stomping which leaves the body breathless and hunger burning as greedily as the passions. Ensuring that the song’s glory is pushed to the final song, Dangerous Moves stands before ears with vocal enticement blazing radiantly within waves of blues toned guitar caressing, both leading to another crazily addictive and wonderfully toxic choruses. The song is a brilliant and pungent furnace of sound and anthemically evocative hues which sums up The Ghost Wolves perfectly.

Now we said these were the last songs and they are on the download version but we suggest going for the CD which comes with an extra trio of songs, tracks recorded live which you do not want to miss. The slow lumbering almost erotic beauty of Lies I Told is alone a treat but White Lily is the big prize, the song a scuzz lined dance of captivating beats and irrepressibly magnetic grooves all under the spell of the dual vocal temptation. The hypnotic rhythmic hex which opens up Mosquito is also a massive draw whilst the song once into its heart lays down a mesh of sonic bruising which ravenously grips an unrelenting appetite for the album.

Man, Woman, Beast is one of the real triumphs and pleasures of the year and The Ghost Wolves, a band to set the primal heart and beast in us all free.

Man, Woman, Beast is available now @ http://theghostwolves.bandcamp.com/album/man-woman-beast-2014 and on CD/vinyl through Plowboy Records! @ http://plowboyrecords.com/store/the-ghost-wolves/

http://www.theghostwolves.com

9/10

RingMaster 14/07/2014

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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Witching Waves – Concrete/Chain Of Command

WW Concrete Cover Art

Duos especially within the ranks of garage rock and punk are becoming a real source of imaginatively flavoured treats this year, the likes of the garage punk blessed album Ghost World from The Creeping Ivies and the sixties garage pop punk glory of the self-titled Kristy And The Kraks EP just two examples currently igniting the passions. Now we have a further mesmeric abrasing triumph from UK band Witching Waves to enthusiastically drool over.

Hailing from London, the band is the creation of Emma Wigham (Weird Menace) and Mark Jasper (Sound Savers Recording Studio), two musicians bringing the maybe now expected union of guitar and drums for a fevered grip of noise. What does not feed expectations is the imaginative caustic beauty of the two songs making up the limited cassette single, Concrete and Chain Of Command simultaneously seductive and rapacious as well as strikingly dramatic. Sound wise the band brew up a raucous and evocative mix of garage punk and post punk, but also a healthy melodic acidity which teases and captures the imagination even further. It is an abrasive encounter but one with incendiary tempting to fire up ears, thoughts, and passions.

Witching Waves began in the April of 2013 and since forming has bred a strong reputation for themselves through their stripped down attention grabbing sound and their appetite to share it across as many shows as they are able. There is a definite ’77 independent feel to the sound and presence of the band, in their approach to music and a DIY attitude. The new Soft Power Records release follows the band’s self-titled release on Suplex Cassettes last year and threatens to cast Witching Waves into a whole new intensive spotlight.

First track Concrete wraps itself around the ears with a scuzz kissed lure of guitars and belting rhythmic incitement, the track teasing whilst demanding attention. The opening hook has a definite Buzzcocks lilt to its grazing potency, an enticing call coaxing in the similarly pleasingly honest vocals of Jasper. The song manages to be melancholic and vibrant at the same time, never favouring either trait but giving both a healthy voice to intrigue and involve thoughts. The entrance of Wigham’s equally unfussy voice sparks a small urgency in the beats though the song never breaks a sweat across its enthralling body. For just a two piece there is plenty of variation and adventure within the encounter, the outcome bringing the idea that if the Yeah Yeah Yeahs became The Cramps it would sound like this.

The song is a masterful persuasion and skilled provocation of emotions but only an appetiser for the outstanding Chain Of Command. The song is glorious and outshines its companion with ease. An opening croon of guitar with its slight surf rock twang steals full attention first before an additional citric groove weaves its way around the senses. Both provide a sultry suggestiveness to cling tightly too, rhythms only caging their potency until the song erupts into a thumping stomp of flaming dishevelled sonics, coarse melodic toxicity, and anthemic rhythmic and vocal seducing. The track scorches the senses with its sonic fire, at times meandering and exploring barely connected pastures before reeling it all in for ridiculously infectious and insatiably addictive choruses, maybe better described as orgies of seductive brawls. The song alone will make you develop a stalker like appetite for Witching Waves and in companionship with Concrete provides evidence that this is potentially a boundary pushing band of the future.

The single is a very limited proposition so it is suggested to act fast, its 25 blue cassette option already sold out leaving 75 baby pink versions to be snapped up, though there is a 12” vinyl EP planned for the summer also on Soft Power.

Concrete/ Chain of Command is out on April 21 via Soft Power Records.

http://softpowerrecords.bandcamp.com/album/concrete-cassette-single

http://witchingwaves.tumblr.com/

9/10

RingMaster 20/04/2014

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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The Creeping Ivies – Ghost World

The  Creeping Ivies

Taking senses and imagination on another psyche ripping helter skelter of raw and sonically sculpted rock ‘n’ roll, Scottish duo The Creeping Ivies unveil their second album Ghost World and prove themselves yet again to be one of the most exciting provocateurs of primal incitement. The new full-length from the band is a riotous seduction of garage punk and naked rock ‘n’ roll with plenty of spices from psychobilly to punk rock. It also sees the band at its most potent and insatiably virulent yet, the release loaded with deliciously caustic and masterfully magnetic, to steal from the title of one of their earlier songs, buzzbombs.

The Creeping Ivies consists of Becca Bomb providing piercing, coarsely sirenesque vocals and raw sonic guitar vivacity and Duncan Destruction who brings heavy thumping, rapaciously intruding beats to the thrilling equation. Their union is a simultaneously primitive and precisely sculpted enslaving of the senses, one which from day one intrigued and wildly enthralled. First release the Rock N Roll Party EP in 2011 stirred up attention and emotions with its synapse searing acidity and voracious rioting, that an ever present trait expanding with greater potency on the following Ghost Train EP and debut album Stay Wild, both in 2012. Inciting audiences just as dramatically with their live performances, which has seen them share a stage with the likes of  Viv Albertine of The Slits and Vic Godard & Subway Sect, the stature of The Creeping Ivies has increased constantly within the underground scene, their sound recalling many influences but undeniably unique to them. Last November the release of the double A-sided single What Would Joey Ramone Do? / Ramona Wolf teased and tempted as the band showed a continuing to evolve invention to their sonic exploits and imagination. It certainly led to the anticipation and expectations of their next album to intensify. The two tracks hinted at the possible magnificence of Ghost World but it is fair to say that its haunting intrusive delights have emerged as a far greater and dangerous triumph than hoped.

The Dundee pair open up the adventure with the album’s title track. Instantly a haunted caress of guitar glances over ears with a caustic kiss coverin tow as well as a rub of riffs and the joining tub thumping beats of Duncan. Immediately enticing in its noir lit breath and grazing ambience, the track pulsates as it worms its way under the skin laying irresistible bait for the entrance of Becca’s vocals. As ever her voice holds a definite Wanda Jackson meets Siouxsie Sioux texture and magnetism to it, intensity in her delivery searing flesh and air as she and the song hit their stride. With an addiction spawning groove and the delicious occasional blaze of harmonica from guest Homesick Aldo, the track takes little time to secure full submission for its tempting whilst showing the evolution in sound and songwriting maturity poised to consume the senses  in hand with the expected sonic feverishness of the band.

The following entangling chords of The Bridge provide an instant variation to the toxicity of the album; its opening fifties bred melodic teasing charming the listener before thrusting sinew packed beats and the wonderfully torrid vocal tones of Bomb into the appealing recipe. The hook which drew the first spark of ardour as the song started continues to vein the stomp whilst a resonating shimmer to the sound engulfs and exhilarates the senses. As with all their songs, the premise is uncomplicated and minimalistic but always thick in presence and invention leading to fully textured and imposing encounters.

The intimidating shadows of The Creeps consumes attention next, their threat and imposing provocation sizeable but defused by an excellent revelry of keys, vocal wails, and the urgent dance of hooks and harmonies. Short, sweet, and irresistible, the song is then put in its appealing place by Love Kills, a brilliant blend of sixties pop, garage punk, and rockabilly energy. Imagine The Shangri-Las and The Cramps in a saucy romantic triangle with Australian band Valentiine and you have the brilliant Love Kills. The track sways and romps with revelry and mischievousness to cast a perfect raw pop song on the passions.

Ramona Wolf just sounds better with each encounter since its single release last November. It’s almost spatial opening ambience paves the way for the vocal seduction of Becca to spread a temptress like devilry, a sonic medusa with a delivery writhing with searing harmonies and enslaving qualities. Musically the song is a repetitive narrative, punchy beats and scalding guitar probing and grazing respectively with singular intent beneath the harsh atmosphere of the tale. It is also quite glorious as is the next up Dream Baby Dream. Providing irrepressible flirting from the sax of Andrew Pattie within its scintillating fifties pop ravaging and punk seeded ravishing, the song stomps over and challenges the senses for another unruly treat, Bo Diddley meets Helen Shapiro at the home of The Trashmen.

Both Trippin’ Out and Haunted High School finger the passions in their individual ways next, the first a heart rapping rampage of jabbing beats and scarring riffs skirting the sinister drama. It is a tale of ghostly enterprise and inescapable rapacious shadows with a heartbeat which resonates through the bone and core of the evocative tale whilst melodic acidity and vocal colouring courts its intent. The excellent fierce smouldering is soon exceeded by What Would Joey Ramone Do?, a song which sculpts a raising of the spirits of Gene Vincent and Lux Interior with that of the song’s namesake. The track provides all you expect and much more, the Cochran/ Poison Ivy Rorschach like mix of guitar sound with the impossible contagious punk stomp of the song an epidemic for the passions.

Arguably the band saves the best till last, though every listen offers a different favourite. Forever Leather fuses sixties girl pop with a raw voracity, the song like the punk infected offspring of The Crystals and The Stooges with a heady dose of Siouxsie menace. It is a scintillating end to an outstanding album. The Creeping Ivies continue to impress as they evolve and push their boundaries, doing so without losing any of the elements which made them an unbridled addiction certainly for us since their early days. Whether their sound will ever find the major spotlight it deserves is impossible to say, such its uniqueness and undiluted rawness, but it will definitely recruit the most passionate and feverish passions from an increasingly growing legion of fans we suggest, it just needs the opportunity to make that infectious strike.

http://thecreepingivies.com/

http://thecreepingivies.bandcamp.com/

10/10

RingMaster 24/03/2014

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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