The Cavemen – Born To Hate

TC_RingMasterReview

It did not take the release of recent single Too High To Die/I’d Kill to stir up eager anticipation for the new album from The Cavemen, that instinct bred by the band’s debut album last year, but it certainly added to the energy of the lustful welcome offered to Born To Hate. Native New Zealanders now UK based within the “grimy streets of London”, The Cavemen is one of those proposals you naturally take to or not, but for raw and uncompromising spirit stirring rock ‘n’ roll, the quartet’s punk driven garage rock takes some beating.

That previously mentioned single suggested a new primal ferocity and trashy tenacity had been bred in the band’s sound, a lascivious urgency which again fuels Born To Hate. In many ways the release is a continuation of The Cavemen’s self-titled debut album; more of the same lo-fi devilry but with this fresh impetus of sonic corruption, the band breaches a new plateau in their salaciously dirty rock ‘n’ roll.

Savage is the first assault on ears, its blues scented impurity a swift involvement of ears and appetite as sixties garage rock puts on its punk pants for a stomping trespass driven by the rhythmic slaps of drummer Jake and the moody bassline of Nick. As with most songs from the band to date, involvement with feet and vocal chords is swift and full, its ease of persuasion just a warm up for the joys to come as I’m A Mess swoops in straight after. A teasing spicy hook starts things rolling, its inescapable lure soon backed by tenacious rhythms and the scuzzy enterprise of guitarist Jack, in turn his great unpolished vocal backing to the punk attitude bred delivery of front man Paul creating a rousing union hard to resist.

swamp-cover_RingMasterReviewI Hate Art romps in next, its raucous hook littered confrontation assaulting and exciting like a fusion of The Sonics and Eddie and The Hot Rods and quickly in control of hips and feet whilst stirring up a litter of trouble before Satan Is Her Name stalks ears and imagination with the same trashy deviancy and demonic wantonness as bound in its centre of attention. Fair to say floorboards bounce when the song is around, its infectiousness enslaving and instantly matched by that uncaged by the corrosive sixties pop bawdiness of In Love With You complete with eagerly chopping riffs and fab four inspired howls.

There is a taste of Motorhead to next up Speed Of Death, its harsh ferocity and virulent antagonism as catchy as anything taunting from within Born To Hate while showing a broader diversity within the familiar Cavemen sound. That variety continues across the album as songs like I Hope They Drop The Bomb On Me bullies and flirts with its sonically befouling seventies punk/power pop inspired antagonism and straight after the crazed punk ‘n’ roll of Ain’t My Baby ignites an even greedier reaction and union between listener and release.

The band drops down a gear for the excellent Dead To Me, its meaty croon though still loaded with muscular energy as it strolls rabidly through ears with its psychobilly laced garage rock before Nasty Girl Nasty Boy whips up the passions all over again with its The Pirates meets The Flys romp. Pure rock ‘n’ roll in its most primordial punk breeding, the track is irresistible; a certain pinnacle though closely chased throughout the album by songs like the psychotic UK Subs coloured C.H.A.R.L.I.E. and the ever glorious I’d Kill (To See You Dead). One of the tracks on the last single, it is a belligerent nagging of the senses carrying a great groan of The Saints and The Lurkers to its grouchy contagion.

Born To Hate is completed by the persistent fingering of Why Won’t You; a song as seventies pop glam as it is punk in its sonically ravaged way, and an inescapable infection to bring a thrilling release to a boisterously rousing close. The band’s songs might and will draw comparisons to others at certain times but every flavour is devoured, twisted, than corrupted again until emerging as part of a riot unique to The Cavemen and right here helping create an album which simply leads you into dirty habits.

Born To Hate is available via Dirty Water Records at https://thecavemennz.bandcamp.com/album/born-to-hate  and http://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/#!/The-Cavemen/c/18119001/offset=0&sort=normal

 

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Pete RingMaster 29/11/2016

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

The Cavemen – Self Titled

The Cavemen_RingMasterReview

With a name like The Cavemen, you instantly give a suggestion of sound and character before a note is flung at ears. Thoughts imagine something raw and primal; a sound stripped to the bone with no concern for niceties and that is exactly what you get in the New Zealander’s self-titled debut album. The Cavemen creates attitude driven garage punk ‘n’ roll which simply stirs up the punk inside and twists it into songs which are as addictively contagious as they are belligerently mischievous.

Formed by a quartet of high school teens, The Cavemen emerged in 2012 after spending “several years of under aged drinking and loitering around the various basements, graveyards and parking lots of their home city.” With their dirty and intrusive sound honed to the virulently imposing height found on the new release, the quartet of vocalist Paul Caveman, guitarist Jack Caveman, bassist Nick Caveman, and drummer Jake Caveman soon began stirring up their homeland’s live scene. That success though was soon facing obstacles which led to the band to looking at moving over to the UK, Paul explaining with the thought, “No bar will have us, no station will play us… We might as well bugger off to the other side of the world.” So now London based, The Cavemen has linked up with Dirty Water Records for the global release of their debut full-length, an album having already ignited eager appetites with its previous limited vinyl release via 1:12 Records.

Think The Cramps and The Stooges meets The Damned, in their early days, and The Ramones and you get a clue to the incitement leaping out from the album’s opener alone. Mentally Ill swiftly has ears and appetite gripped with its brawling lo-fi devilment; guitars and bass creating a swiftly gripping tempting as beats trespass the senses with their antagonistic swing and vocals deliver every syllable in a rabid squall of tone and attitude. Garage rock meets ’77 punk rock, the track is an attention grabbing start to the album instantly backed and eclipsed by the irritable confrontation of Fuck For Hate. Hook and grooves entangle as the song stirs up ear and spirit; vocals egging on the track’s rebellion and discontent as it worms under the skin.

cavemen front sleeve_RingMasterReviewIt too is then over shadowed a touch by the outstanding Stand By Your Ghoul. Straight away the collusion of guitar and bass hooks has lips being licked, then smiling broadly as Hamond-esque keys dance devilishly on the imagination within another handful of tempting seconds. The prime bait reminds of seventies band The Piranhas, or more specifically their single Jilly whilst the bare boned roar of the track manages to come over as something between The Dirtbombs and The Horrors in their early days.

The album’s punk driven rock ‘n’ roll continues to seriously involve and excite body and spirit as the fifty scowling seconds of Scumbag leads to the minute and a half invasive seduction of Rides With The Reich. Barely a track goes by without escaping the two minute mark, a short sharp riot approach which does not stop songs like this also uncaging the most contagious of hooks and swaggers within senses bracing tempests of multi-faceted punk rock.

Rock ‘n’ Roll Retard bristles and romps next; wearing its old school punk nature as sonic belligerence before At The Pub barges in with its gang mentality punk ‘n’ roll. Again there is little resistance from feet and vocal chords as participation to yet another song from The Cavemen is inescapable; a submission given time and time again to its persuasion and to brawls like Fucked In The Head and Drink Driving. Again that garage rock flavouring creates great flames of eventful contrasts in the creative truculence stirring up ears, the second of this pair managing to find an oi! like challenge to get even greedier over too.

The limb throwing swagger of School Sucks offers a fractious anthem next whilst Crimes Tonight squeezes some power pop revelry into its sixties/seventies infested rock ‘n’ roll; a fusion of flavours casting something that is The Sonics meets The Saints like. Both tracks, it goes without saying by this point in the album, has the body bouncing and emotions defiant, the latter aspect even more so with the dirty Motorhead tinged rock ‘n’ roll of Glass Breakfast.

The album closes with the irresistible furnace of Trash Talkin’ Paint Huffin’ Girl, a final fevered stomp of incendiary punk and rock devilry as raw and primitive as it is ferociously galvanic. It is a rigorously boiling end to a thrilling blaze of rapacious rock ‘n’ roll from a band which sparks a new flame, song by song, in the bushfire of pleasure which runs through album and its thorough enjoyment.

Time to free the primitive in us all with The Cavemen!

The Cavemen album is released via Dirty Water Records on April 25th @ http://www.dirtywaterrecords.co.uk/shop/ and digitally @ https://thecavemennz.bandcamp.com/

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Pete RingMaster 25/04/2016

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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The Terraces – Extra Time

TT2

Bringing forth the original breath of punk rock aligned to the voice of the people and their rebellious streets, The Terraces stand as one of the truest and undiluted bands snarling from within the genre. The Australia based quartet offers no diluted narratives and passions but the voice and energy of truth, the common man, and football grounds. Following their acclaimed and impressive self-titled debut album the band now unleash the Extra Time EP, consisting of six insatiable and belligerent slaps on the chops of society.

Hailing from the UK and the suburbs of Melbourne, the foursome of vocalist Gary Buckley (ex-One Way System founder member and bass player), guitarist/vocalist Dean Tsolondres, bassist Stephen King (ex-Rose Tattoo), and drummer Henry Hollingsworth are hitting the UK with their Punks of Mother England tour alongside Electric River as you read this which follows up a successful debut tour across the country last December including the band supporting Cock Sparrer and Rancid. With the album and now new EP giving more fuel to a greater anthemic fire for their live shows expectations that the band will elevate to the top favourites of UK punks and the worldwide echelons of the genre are hard to suppress.

The Blast Records released EP opens up with the industrial sound of the street which breeds an introduction for Britannia of jangling 945042_10151540814527794_709494224_npungent riffs and equally rich expressive vocals from Buckley. Soon into its stride with the guitar of Tsolondres lighting sonic flames across the muscular stance, the track takes no time to make its call on thoughts and voice, enlisting their assistance in the contagious chorus whilst feet dance to the tune of the contagious hooks and thumping rhythms. Carrying a UK Subs lilt to its sinews and Dropkick Murphys breath to its attitude the song is instantaneous addictive bait from band and release.

The following Who You Looking At stomps from its first second, the persistent groove carrying a whisper of the Sweet to its swagger, honestly, whilst the oi bred romp from its heart merges Sham 69 and Cock Sparrer whilst being honed into something distinctly The Terraces. It is an infection clad bruise which bounces with the passions in tow leading to a climax which instantly brings up spices of The Saints and The Outcasts to its snapping invention.

Billy opens with an undefined familiarity, its invitation recognisable but impossible to pin down whilst elevating the persuasive lure of the song to greater depths. Like The Living End meets Serious Drinking, the track shifts and twists its drive through to the emotions and thoughts, the guitar crafting a fiery web veined by punchy rhythms and stalked by the husky laced scowling vocals of Buckley who certainly here with the sounds offers a Mensi (Angelic Upstarts) feel. The song completes three brand new songs on the EP and is the best of the trio though all only confirm the rising stature of the band whilst heightening the appetite upon them.

Next comes an exceptional cover of The Clash classic Complete Control, and though it is fair to say the band do not muck around with it too much they deliver a thrilling and fresh take on the track without losing any of its toxic declaration. Injected with extra adrenaline and spite it is old school majesty thrust into the antagonistic selfishness of the now to emerge as a renovated anthem for today which despite the power and quality of the rest of the songs steals top honours.

The final pair of songs are two which have been revisited by the band, though neither Care About Nothing nor The Hustler leap out as having had a major overhaul from their album appearance. Both stomp and nudge the passions into another riot of energy and greedy union, the first a barracking prowl with blues flair to the guitar flames and predation to the rhythmic and vocal chest prodding and the closing song simply pure contagion, riffs and hooks taunting and dancing on the ear whilst the group vocals open up another virulently infectious reaping of limbs and voice from which resistance is futile. Reminding of Dirt Box Disco it is the perfect end to an exciting reminder of how good this band is.

If The Terraces have yet to feel your feet, attitude, and energy romping alongside them then Extra Time is the perfect turn-style into their honest punk rock arms.

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8.5/10

RingMaster 15/08/2013

Copyright RingMaster: MyFreeCopyright

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