With our roads being the state they’re in, is it any wonder on the 5th April Hells Bells, rated as the UK’s top AC/DC tribute, are taking the highway to hell, via Devizes Corn Exchange?! But they are! Better to be thunderstruck than burst a tyre…..
Hells Bells are Europe’s longest established AC/DC Tribute Band who have performed all over the UK as well as Portugal, Austria, Russia, Belgium, Czech Republic and the Middle East since 1996.
And they’re bringing Dead Zebras, who claim not to be your typical rock revivalists. They’ve mastered the art of blending eighties nostalgia with a fresh, modern sound, and creating a cocktail that sounds like a wild ride in a DeLorean with a Van Halen soundtrack, apparently!
Tickets are a snip at £15, which you can grab online here, and Let There Be Rock!!
So yeah, not only has Cracked Machine and Clock Radio drummer Gary Martin added a letter A to his name to make it sound more extraterrestrial, he’s also fired a sonic blast back to planet Earth in the form of a whopper of a solo rock album! In Retrospect does what it says on the tin, taking inspiration from his most treasured rock bands of yore, and does it loud and proudly…..
Starter for ten, now Gary Martian, proves he’s a supernova of a multi-instrumentalist, taking the helm of every aspect from guitar to drum and the recording, mastering and distribution of this heavily-laced monster. If Cracked Machine are known for returning us to those heady days of space-rock, the intro to the opening track Lifeboats feels this is going the same direction, but in seconds we’re awash with slamming guitar and drum combos letting rip of a riff more akin to grunge. Whoa, it didn’t even wait for me to attach keychains to my flared cargo trozzers.
Yet while there’s rising and falling influences from nineties grunge like Nirvana and Therapy? I also taste nods not only to pioneers of the Seattle sound like Alice in Chains, but a broader spectrum of alt-rock too, and even rooted at the few tender moments, with electric blues and the soundscapes of Floyd, such as the closing of a few tracks, one called Bang in particular. Thing is, this value for your dollar, twelve dynamite tracks perpetually exploding at an average full four minutes each, and an epilogue song, Red Handed running into the twenty-minute margin, sublimely. Time enough then to input a carrossel of nods to every influence which has inspired Gary over time.
And there are Syd Barrett moments of whimsical psychedelia, something about Your Coffee Table, there’s metal grinding like Pearl Jam, breezy moments of The Smashing Pumpkins, such as Summer in the Autumn, and brief commercially viable moments like Jane’s Addiction. “It’s a big-ol’ rock album,” Gary told me, “inspired by the bands I love.”
I’m not in my comfort zone connoting such heavy rock and nailing its influences, I confess. I just say what I like, and like recent outfits coming out of Swindon, I See Orange and Liddington Hill, this is the kind of thing which causes me to regret my ignorance to harder rock subgenres, particularly during the ravey nineties. I guess it was all that slushy “soft metal” previously, for it was an impermanent trend which put me off track; still time for me to catch up, isn’t there?!
This album erodes the Muppet’s Animal stereotype of drummers just being drummers and bit bonkers, as Gary excels in mastering not only all the instruments required to stage an entire rock band, but also in the composition of them. In Retrospect was released across all streaming platforms and is downloadable from Bandcamp, at the beginning of the month, apologies for the delay, but this will rock your cosy Christmas foozies off!
Chippenham folk singer-songwriter, M3G (because she likes a backward “E”) has a new single out tomorrow, Friday 19th December. Put your jingly bell cheesy tunes…
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The Light at the End of The World is a fourteen tracks strong album which scores a goal directly from the kick-off with the aptly titled opener Let’s Go. Released at the beginning of the month (August 2024) the timeless goodness of hard rock is firing off on all cylinders, and it doesn’t wait for the opponent to tie their shoelaces. What did you expect? This is a band called Bottle of Dog, who use a logo design adapted from the Newcastle Brown Ale label….
Lady Red follows, then Push Up Push On, and this Chippenham three-piece indie self-defined raw powerhouse shows no sign of letting up. There’s something ZZ Top about all this love at first sight monster. The band was accidental; formed from a one-off gig, now on their two-hundredth, a splendid accident.
Their Facebook blurb pigeonholes it as indie, combining “seventies classic rock sounds with modern day indie,” yet I find it takes four tunes to meander from the outright frenzy of early eighties hard rock. The riff of Chancing hints at mod rock of the same era, something that reminds me of the Undertones, or and especially, Secret Affair. Better Than Me, which follows immediately after tingles with a goth rock edge. Clearly there’s more going on here than the initial blast, but through influence nods it never loses its frenetic, loud and proud edge.
Okay, The Light at the End of The World doesn’t dare to experiment, opting for the tried and tested rock template, and only moving from subgenre to subgenre, but it does so thunderously and with the “if it broke” notion; hard not to like unless you’re George Gershwin! And anyway, before you know it, Loveable Idiot at the halfway point has taken us back to hard rock, and you won’t be complaining. It’s authentic noise, lyrically felicitous and admissible for the bill.
Three quarters through the album you consider yourself safe from getting a slushy or moody angled track, Bottle of Dog give it their all throughout. Break the Page perhaps the pre-eminent, a rolling riff to make to hurry your fag and get back inside the pub to headbang! The penultimate Captain’s on Board, has an anti-establishment yell, providing adequate narrative over the rolling drums and a “Hey!” chorus, which leaves you confident the audience of a live gig will be singing back to them no matter how unaware of these confident originals they are, or pissed they happen to be!
And we finish with Zombie Town, which quotes London as the inspiration, alien to the communal Chippenham, yeah, keep your nose out, pal! Unsure if any inner meaning to this, or if this is quite a light at the end of any road, or album, as the title may suggest, but it sure is fiery fun, quality blaring and doesn’t come up for air. If a metaller went to a boozer expecting covers of Ace of Spades and Hallowed Be Thy Name, or punk wanting White Riot and Teenage Kicks, neither would go home disappointed if Bottle of Dog simply runs off this album.
They play the Fleece in Bristol 8th September, The Royal Oak, Corsham 2nd November, Colerne Liberal Club on 7th December.
Having to unfortunately miss Devizes’ blues extravaganza on Friday, I crossed the borderline on Saturday to get my prescribed dosage of Talk in Code…with a…
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“We can’t stop here. This is Tory country,” I chuckled while fiercely yanking the handbrake, as if Dr Gonzo was in the car. We can say that now, (wink!)
One can be infamous on Marlborough’s Facebook group by not applying sufficient handbrake on the High Street, as if K.I.T.T had a blonde moment. But I’m not here for that. I want to see their Pants….
Memories flood my neurons as I saunter to the Parade; shirking in Waitrose for a measly £2.20 per hour, hoping to get off with a goth girl outside the Dragon on New Years Eve, waiting for an older mate to return with a bottle, hiding down the alley where Victoria Wine once stood. The majority of shop facades have changed, the rest remains the same, even the most uninspiring nugget of hip hop graffiti the world over, on the wall of the alley. It’s offended the cliquey since the eighties, I checked…yep, fading but still there.
Same deal down the Parade, much the same, save The Crown is now “Dan’s,” and they’ve a posh looking cinema. Years I spent in Marlborough, no flicks, moved to Devizes where they had one, it shuts down and one opens in Marlborough. Maybe I jinxed it.
Many of those fond memories are located in the Lamb, once Vyv and Jackie’s flagship Waddies. One from the mid-nineties when we gathered to see “Moose’s new band,” which we had high hopes for, knowing the giant goth Moose Harris was in New Model Army and The Damned. Surprised but drunkenly amused upon them delivering a set of pop covers in a heavy metal fashion, whereby the theme to Bob the Builder was their showstopper!
Pants was supposed to be a one-off joke, a Marlborough Spinal Tap, but that knob jockey Jim Davidson is still touring, why not perpetually repeat their nonsensical gag? It never seems to wear thin, if it ever had any depth!
Undoubtedly the funniest interview we’ve done was with Pants, when they played the landlord’s retirement, but morso I ran it because I knew it’d be as funny as fuck, and it was..
Significant because Pants is a Lamb exclusive, a Marlborough thing. No one else would dare book them, and equally it’s likely they wouldn’t be arsed to play there! Would the new management be as inviting to this bizarre and self-deprecating ritual? Would they continue their legendary live music rep in Marlborough?
Glad to report they’ve improved on it. Less sporadic, live music is now weekly, the back of the yard has a summer ankle stage, and there’s a communal and hospitable atmosphere. Such is this community feel, the sound man for Pants, Lee Mathews has his own band supporting, The Vooz, and local legendary drummer Dan Tozer is drumming for both.
The Vooz kicks the proceedings into gear. It’s high-energy contemporary punker pop covers neatly delivered with enough gusto for four bands in one, and sprinkled with some originals, such as one about getting wasted outside Swindon’s Brunel Rooms, indicating there’s a historic penchant for the lively and swearing for swearing sake hairdressing frontman. Lee is a force of nature, providing only vocals he bounds around the stage, banters on a local level, posing for selfies with nipples on show, and generally raises a roof even if there isn’t one; a legend in his own shirt.
Yeah, archetypal are the singalong covers, Arctic Monkeys, Green Day, and a Lemonheads version of Mrs Robinson, but it’s entertainingly tongue-in-cheek and proficient; apt for what’s to come, especially the comical Kylie cover!
With anticipation brewing, Pants took their time to set up, reminding me somewhat of the Dolly Parton quote ‘it takes a lot of money to look this cheap,’ it takes Pants a lot of prep to sound this shit! I mean, they opened in the black warlock cloaks of a heavy gothic band, only to throw them off and cover Abba’s Mamma Mia with black wig, starry spandex bodysuit and black tape crosses over nipples. And I travelled…for this!
Yeah, I travelled because we share this desire for undervalued self-deprecating and ironically overstated disparagement and weirdly define it as humour. Pants are deliberately shit, that’s the joke, beneath it they’re proficient musicians but that’s the last thing they’ll confess to being. Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band did this, Spinal Tap, Barron Knights, but rarely do we see it today. Things are more lateral, pragmatic now, you’re either a great band, or a shit band pretending to be great, not the opposite.
As darkness fell over Marlborough, the town gathered to catch a glimpse of something as traditional as the Mop Fair. Pants covered every pop classic you wouldn’t want them too, Don’t You Want Me, Turning Japanese, and from Girls Aloud’s Love Machine to Sparks This Town Ain’t Big Enough of Both of Us. Tiger Feet at the finale I’ll give them, but they rolled out medleys of Kung Fu Fighting with You Sexy Thing, they used an out of time hooter for Tainted Love like it was a bloody seventies quiz show with Bob Monkhouse, they did Hey Mickey and the Theme from the Sweeny, for crying out loud, what is wrong with them?!
They tried so hard to make this gig as shit as they possibly could, but even failed to do that. The crowd lapped it up, it was highly entertaining, hilariously tongue-in-cheek, but like a kebab, you need a few pints inside you to fully appreciate the silliness of a Pants show, and being I was driving…Still, I managed more than my quota of laughs.
The Lamb rocks, the Vooz are fantastic and Pants are no Y-fronts, proper comfortable silk boxers. I’m glad I’ve seen them again after thirty plus years, and look forward to 2054 when they’ll hopefully progress from the seventies!
Meanwhile, next Saturday is another Famous Hangover Session at the pub, with a number of bands playing, worth the trip… or try a tea room with Danny K, whatever floats your boat!
Ah, hark the beatific resonances of an adolescent choir, in their prime; Swindon’s metal-skater-punk three-piece Drag me Down have a new single out, destined to take no prisoners.….
Released on 26th August (2022) Invincible is fresh loud and proud, if contemporary pop-punk bands like Sum41, just as a for example, are sounding tad commercialised and lite, either/or, Limp Bizkit be too rappy for your palette, this local garage powerhouse packs the punch of metal’s finest hour and plunges the rest of said genre against the ropes.
And they sent it to me for my appraisal, unaware I’m approaching fifty and should be looking over my glasses at them in disgust, complaining about skateboards in the park while sucking on a pipe and adjusting my slippers until the nurse passes me my meds; and I reckon it’s having it.
Its intro is unpredictably electronica, but kicks within ten seconds with a grungy carefree “this is our time” notion, and rolling drums of pop-punk is the hook which confirms it is exactly that, a beguiling up-to-date anthem. If, like me, you were unaware of these guys, this will permanently scar them into your neurons as they go from strength to strength, claiming to have learned “a few new tricks along the way.”
Formed in Swindon, the band have been friends since their pre-teen years and suggest they’ve “gone through every trial a young person could face while growing up in the UK,” yet emerge from the other end as a “no-nonsense unit of friends with only one goal: to put smiles on the faces of everyone who listens to us.” Ah, I can’t give ’em that, sorry, they don’t know they’ve been born!
If there was any truth in what I just said, least they’ve top marks on how to rock.
In true counterculture ethos, they’ve a DIY label, Whatevercords, and have teamed up with The Bottom Line, Hightail, and From Here On Out producer Zac Pritchett to whisk an ever-growing discography. They’ve played Furnace Fest at Swindon’s Level III with the likes of Polar,TRC and our purveyors of noise buddies NervEndings.
I forgo my right to a free bus pass unless it’ll take me to a Drag me Down gig, because based on this single alone, they’ve got every ingredient firmly placed for the lively, youthful denotation you need to be at when it goes off. So, yeah, I’m predicting these kids will go far, and as for pensioner whinges I’ll stop at: if not I want a full enquiry into why not.
Pre-save said ticking-timebomb HERE, and wait for detonation Friday week (26th August.)
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You ever have one of those almost comical “you want some, do yer?” type confrontations, whereby your drunk challenger is absolutely determined to fight you? No matter how passive your posture, regardless of complimentary reactions, they only retort the precise opposite, even if it jeopardises their own reputation; as in, “no, thanks for asking, but you look very tough,” and the reply thickens the plot, “no, I’m not!”
Or is it just me, with “one of those faces?!” After seventeen years idle, Bradford-on-Avon rockers Peace return under a new guise called Tickle Your Fancy, to blast the musical “in your face” equivalent, and it absolutely kicks back, residing in retrospective hard rock rather than ear-bleeding all-out grunge or thrash…which better floats my boat, subtle hints of the take-no-prisoners punk attitude, et al.
For five three-minute heroes in this name-your-price download or cassette EP aptly titled “Hard Rock Lifestyle,” never settle, never meanders off up sentimental stairways, or drifts to Mordor, rather similar to an edgy ZZ Top, AC-DC at the top of their game, they don’t come up for air.
Just when I was pondering a possible method of introducing Led Zeppelin to my daughter today, by suggesting while those screamingly gritty vocals might be cliché in contemporary metal, these guys were the originators, they set the bar, Tickle Your Fancy come at it so insatiably, it’s compulsory to toss annotations of platitude aside, like a groupie’s bra, and just rock out in its sublime portrayals of an after-party in the green room of a Kiss concert.
Akin to the irony of their past name, being doubtful if they were ever best described “peaceful,” “Hard Rock Lifestyle,” rarely tackles serious issues “that fill our everyday lives,” as disingenuously claimed, other than suggesting partying through an apocalypse. Yeah, there’s a sample in the finale of a fictional cold war nuclear strike newsreel, which, like the fact it’s released on cassette, only increases the idea we’re living in a time of pre-soft metal yore; hard rock’s finest hour, an era when long-haired men belted out songs about gorgeous ladies carefree of chauvinistic ripostes. I mean, said sample appears in an anthemic song called, Pull Down Your Pantz, for crying out loud; coupled with a cover of a chic businessman skateboarding to the office, it kind of says it all about the tongue-in-cheek nature of this crazy ride.
Good old, untroubled rock n roll is what’s on offer here, adroitly captured. Predominately themed of fun-loving carnal appreciation, tracks like Hot Blondes and One O’clock Gun reek of ZZ Top’s Legs, and thus said party begins with an eponymous opening tune. Top marks for a release of energy I was unsure of which way would go in appeasing to my personal taste, but I’m locked into this direct-to-audio cassette release from Wiltshire’s Crest Studios, by Garlic Bill of The Raw Data Recording Company. You can’t escape it’s hold; it targets you and won’t give up until you attempt to swing a punch; Tickle Your Fancy will give it yer!
At the beginning of the month Devizine covered Trowbridge’s musical renaissance, highlighting The Village Pump and Town Hall’s dedication to introducing a variety of upcoming local bands and performers. Explaining Sheer Music’s Kieran Moore had “big shoes to fill,” taking over as chief event coordinator for the Town Hall from Gavin Osborn. Well, the proof is in the pudding, and that dish has made it off the serving counter and onto our table.….
Not forgoing, the programme is already in full-swing, with Truckstop Honeymoon at the Pump on Friday, (18th) a cider swiggin’ scrumpy and western hoedown with The Skimmity Hitchers and our great friends, and the Boot HillAll Stars supporting at the Town Hall on Saturday.
Boot Hill All Stars
Such is the fashion for live music in Trowbridge, Fridays at the Pump, Saturday at the Town Hall, aside some great happenings at Stallards and Emmanuel’s Yard, comedy and more commercial nights at the Civic. Gecko appears next Saturday at the Town Hall, and all-day Sunday there’s fundraising session, Kalefest, a family-orientated mini-festival for some musical equipment for a teenager with a severe brain injury, in which Zone Club, Pete Lamb’s Heart Beats and The Relayz play.
Marching on atop this free six-week interactive course of workshops for 16- to 18-year-olds, covering all aspects of the music industry, next month sees a continuation of great bookings, of which we highlighted in the aforementioned preview, here. What we’re here today for is to check in on Kieran, see if he indeed “filled” those shoes for the ongoing season.
So, just revealed, April and May listings at the Town Hall and Pump, which have equally exciting news, as, perhaps, Mr Moore asks the shopkeeper for a shoehorn. Isle of Man’s recent export to Wiltshire, Becky Lawrence, the musical theatre singer-songwriter who wasted no time fitting into the local circuit, joining established local bands, The Bourbons UK and Clyve and the Soul City Foundation, teams up Bristolian country singer-songwriter Zoe Newton to pinch-punch April at the Pump.
Zoe Newton at Bradford Roots Festival
Whereas, in the name of variety I’m surprised to see The Town Hall hosting a “rum and reggae night” on Saturday April 2nd; it’s as if they’re calling to me! Seriously though, I’d wager youngsters reading this are asking Siri what the hell a shoehorn is.
But nice surprises flow, as Gavin Osborn himself plays The Pump, Friday 8th, with his band Comment Section. Regulars at Stallard’s, locally-based indie-rockers Riviera Arcade arrive at the Town Hall with Gloucestershire’s electric-punk favourites, Chasing Dolls on Saturday, with (udated) Devizes/Swindon NervEndings headling the show.
NervEndings
Alcopops Records’ Croydon duo, The Frauds play the Pump on the 15th, with Ipswich’s experimental indie-pop darlings, Lucky Number 7, while Henry Wacey and Dan O’Farrell are there on Saturday. Surreal stand-up, Welsh hard rockers The Vega Bodegas are at the Town Hall on the Saturday, with support from Wiltshire-based metal trio newcomers, Last Alvor and self-confessed “degenerates,” synth-punk noise-makers Benzo Queen.
If that weekend is atypical of what I’d expect Mr Moore to assign, the following, Saturday 23rd is different. Kieran is no stranger to asking what acts local giggers would like to see via social media, as Brighton’s Chap-Hop legend Professor Elemental comes to the Town Hall, with support from my recommendation, Bristol’s fantastic veganomic ska-punk-folk crazies, Boom Boom Racoon, who’ve we fondly followed in the past on Devizine.
Boom Boom Racoon
If I’m excited with boom boom coming soon, while “Sunday league” songwriter Tom Jenkins finishes off April on Saturday 30th, May is positively booming too. Local soul-hip hop DJ, Mac-Llyod gets the crowd prepped for another of my personal favourites, Bristol’s bouncy boom-bap virtuosos The Scribes, on Saturday 7th May. Aching to encourage these guys a gig more local than Salisbury’s Winchester Gate, I’m delighted to see this on Trowbridge Town Hall’s listing; they’re definitely calling to me now!
Pan-European ‘inventive and thrilling’ alt-folk duo, singer-songwriter Tobias Jacob and double-bass playing multi-instrumentalist Lukas Drinkwater play the Pump on Thursday 12th May, whereas I’m notified Saturday 14th’s do at the Town Hall will be a “pipe and slippers rave,” of which I had to inquire if, as it sounds, it’ll be an old skool DJ rave type thing, and this it was confirmed, “that’s exactly it.” If they’re calling me, now they’re mocking; the feet in my slippers were stomping in mud when you were an itch, whippersnappers! “Honey, where’s my whistle and white gloves?”
Sheffield’s award-winning finger-style guitarist, Martin Simpson breathes some folk to the Pump on Friday 20th May, while the Town Hall blow cobwebs off with Trowbridge’s own hardcore metal quartet, Severed Illusions. With nine years under their belts, they opened for Hed PE at the now defaulted Beirkeller in Bristol, and played metal festivals’ assemblage M2TM. Joined by doomcore fourpiece Eyesnomouth, and Salisbury’s screaming metalcore Next Stop Olympus; that’s going to go off.
The Lost Trades
From here gigs are pencilled in, June sees Martin Carthy, Jon Amor with Kyla Brox, Hip Route and Billy & The Low Ground feature, but be certain the near-future looks bright and varied for Trowbridge’s live music scene, particularly as the last gig of May is our beloved folk-harmony trio The Lost Trades on Saturday 28th. Bring in the summer with Graham Steel’s award-winning Phil, Jamie and Tamsin, what more could you ask for?
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Swindon’s one-man red-hot chilli pepper, Webb is about to blow your mind, speakers and pants off with his new EP Disenchanted; I’ve heard it, and live to tell the tale….
First impressions last, and I’m having one of those mornings. Perpetual drizzle, darker mornings conspicuously drawing nearer, and other trivial irritations which I can’t quite put my finger on, are building to a generally low-spirited mood. Tedious has the eighties pop mix I’m listening to become, even nostalgia cannot help me. I stop for a break, knowing I’ve got Ryan Webb’s new EP Disenchanted to review, which promises to mark the emergence of WEBB’s new, heavier direction. This is displayed by the forename being dropped, saving as Webb.
I consider playing the Lost Trades, for their folky calmness will do wonders for my wellbeing, and I suspect Disenchanted might have the opposite effect. Though I acknowledge it will be of high quality, Ryan’s sound has always been substantial, heavy rock or metal isn’t my bag, and I’m usually highly critical of it. Don’t do it, I deliberate, last thing they need is for me to be set to whinge mode. But I did anyway, and given all algorithms, I worried this could head south rather quickly.
The five track EP includes the previously released track “DON’T!”, which we reviewed in May last year. I didn’t headcount the tracks but noted, after a while, I’d heard the one playing before; it’s gone around on repeat unnoticed, I’ve been sucked in, and it surpassed my preconceptions by a country mile. Ha, turns out it did suit the mood after all, in fact, it fitted all too well, and is, essentially a magnificent piece of music.
Now, given all I’ve said, about heavy rock not being my cup of tea, and this is something rather special even to me, if you are partial to the heavier weight of rock, it’s got your name all over it.
So, now I’ve awarded my mind the task of figuring out why it works so well. And to do this is to honestly unravel why I maintain qualms about metal. Don’t get me wrong, after the hip hop boom in the eighties became somewhat tiresome, like many I looked towards the soft metal genre for solace; I was shot in the heart too, just like Bon Jovi, longed for crazy, crazy nights, and if Heart sang how canI get you alone one more time when all they had to do was ask me, I’d be content. And as student years rolled in, I lost myself in the classics. Noting if it was compulsory for every soft metal band to sound like Jimmy Page, which while this is no bad thing, the vocal trend over time seemed to metamorphize into a hackneyed caricature of the voice of Satan. My qualm begins here, you don’t know if Satan actually sounds like that, all coarse and demonic, he could have a camp voice for all you know!
There it is, the negativity, the hellish themes of death and destruction, and the long hair; I don’t want to bring my, or anyone else’s daughter to the slaughter, if you don’t mind. Even if it’s tongue-in-cheek, times when I want to push the extensive fringes of metallers from their foreheads so they might see the beauty in life, the positives. Nu-metal, I say, feels like a long stretch to the elements I favour, the frenzied driving passion of Zeppelin, of The Ace of Spades, even Black Sabbath’s Paranoid I’ll give you.
And here’s where Disenchanted fits; contemporary with nods to the classics, the vocals more on Page than Beelzebub, and Webb can hold a note like a tenor, while sublime drums roll over it blissfully. This fits because it’s precisely the opposite of mindless headbanging for headbanging sake, it’s composed and constructed with clarity and a truckload of talent.
The reason the EP rolled on unnoticed is because it captures all that is positive, all the elements I appreciate of the genre. Webb says, “I’m really excited about Disenchanted. It’s an EP that I am really proud of, and I feel that now I have found the right direction for my music,” and proud he should be, for in technical jargon, Disenchanted can be summed as oomph; here,have a bit of that.
It amplifies a quote from my review of the single, “a one-man red-hot chilli pepper.” Ryan wrote, produced, sang, wailed his guitar, recorded and mixed this track in his studio. The only collaborators being Dave Collins on Don’t, the mastering engineer for Metallica’s last album, and Pete Maher who mastered the whole EP; he’s mastered the Rolling Stones and the Killers to name but a few.
Within seven seconds it pounds, the stunning lead single Concrete Beds; oh, those rolling drums, proficient howling guitars and Webb’s mighty soulful vocals; it rocks. Disenchanted demonstrates the multi-instrumental talent that makes him unique.
There’s acute narrative to boot, Concrete Beds aptly homelessness themed, I’m Standing Here erotically scorching, the third track though, Secrets is a haunting ambient caution to bottling up, and debatably the most poignant on the EP. When Darkness Falls lifts the tempo once more, and is heavy, but I’m still engrossed, then the finale, Don’t rips you a new arsehole, the riff beguiling, the considerable power and passion launched into this is exceptional.
The test of good “driving” rock is just that, your foot’s tension on the accelerator is judge and jury, and Disenchanted will have your pedal to the metal. It’s unleashed to the world next Saturday, the 14th August, and tickets are now available for the launch show at The Vic, Swindon.
Perhaps one of the biggest surprises in music reviews for me this year was Typhoidmary’s Death Trans back in October. Genre-wise, everything about it suggested it wasn’t going to be my cup of tea, but realigning myself, I delved deeper into its emotive and distressing ambiance, and found fondness in its exquisitely dark portrayals, as it progressed thrash metal, gave it a newfound edge of sentiment.
It was released by Gloucester-based unprejudiced universal rock, metal, punk and folk label ScreamLite Records. And now they’ve sent us news of a colossal compilation album which will drop on their Bandcamp page as soon as Big Ben hits midnight on New Year’s Eve, likely making it the first new release of 2021. Better say a few words about it now, then. Constructing words into comprehendible sentences is tricky enough for me at the best of times, let alone New Year’s Eve.
While it’s going to be one long runaway review to critique it track by track, being it’s a mahoosive 65 tracks strong, it’s worth mentioning some key facts about New Hero Sounds. Most importantly this album will be a varied range of the genres and styles on offer at Scream Lite, and their friends, being as it’s 50% made up of artists signed to the label, and the other half independently contributed from upcoming artists under parallel genres. Thus, making it the perfect sampler to open you up to the world of contemporary punk, nu-metal and folk-punk. Though, there’s much more on offer here and certainly too much to pigeonhole.
PLUS, as well as introducing you to a truckload of upcoming talent, there’s a worthy cause it fundraises for. ScreamLite Records’ Director Chris Bowen said, “we’ve all had a tough year, and we decided we should give something back to the frontline NHS staff that have been tirelessly working this year to keep us safe and well.” New Hero Sounds is a charity album in aid of the NHS Charities Together, and all artists have contributed freely.
Broadminded with one eye focused on variability is what you’re going to need to take this one on, even my eclectic self was bowed by the assortment on offer here. MadaMercy gets as trip hoppy as Morcheeba, yet is a rare genre on offer. In addition to an aforementioned Typhoidmary track, ScreamLite’s roster offers nu-metal and punk, such as Stolen Dead Music, or Burning Memories, which can be in your face at times, but at others smoother, like the Clay Gods and Foxpalmer, both of which I enjoyed. Taking the rough with the smooth there’s something for everyone with a taste for indie; which is nice.
Giving credit to upfront festival boom of Venture, the flamenco folk style of Cut Throat Francis, acoustic rockabilly of Joshua Kinghorn, and the delicate angelic vocals of Forgotten Garden. There’s eighties electronica indie with Conal Kelly, post-punk with Jack Lois Cooper, and Gypsy Pistoleros are described as “flameco sleaze glam” revealing multi-genre in just one tune. But, there’s too much to sum this compilation up easily; a Now That’s What I Call Music for misfits, but for a good cause too.
Here’s the track listing with links, then, so you can make up your own mind and follow the ones you like…..once you’ve sampled them from this crazy and full compilation, which is coming on New Year’s Even, here, remember?!
Vast developments in the later days of breakbeat house saw a split in the blossoming rave scene. Techno-heads being directed away from the newfound UK sound found solace in a subgenre dubbed “happy hardcore,” whereas the trialling occurred in the dawn of drum and bass, or “jungle” as it was known at the time. Yet it was still underground and reserved for the party. No one considered a concept album, myself included, until I heard A Guy Called Gerald’s Black Secret Technology. I bought it on a memory tip-off, I loved the late eighties acid house anthem Voodoo Ray. It was like splinters of drum n bass over an ambient soundscape, and wasn’t for everyone, but while I was still gulping about it, Goldie released Timeless and the rest is history.
Creative outpourings too radical or experimental for the time are commonplace, and perhaps our necessity to pigeonhole excludes Manchester’s Mango Thomas. He emailed with a list of rejections from specific music blogs and radio shows, being if one part did, the rest of his new EP “Goes De,” out today (22nd Nov) didn’t fit their restrictive agenda. There’s part of me which says I don’t blame them, this is a hard pill to swallow, juxtaposed randomly at breakneck speed, it’s a roller-coaster alright; you have no control where it’ll take you.
Mango Thomas throws every conceivable psychedelic genre of yore into a breakcore melting pot, and pours you a jug; if you take a sip you might as well down the whole thing, for it works fast, it’s a trip and you’re in it for the duration. You have to be, if only to wonder what’s coming next. And in that, it has to be one the most interesting things I’ll review here for a while. Yeah, it uses contemporary breakcore, but at times nods back to drum n bass of yore, but it funks too, it rocks, unexpectedly, and if you thought you could be shocked no more, it even mellowly bhangras at the finale, as if Ravi Shankar wandered in.
There are so many elements to contemplate in this hedonistic frenzy of chaos, yet with crashing hi-hats, stripped down rhythms, sonic belters, echoes and reverbs, it primarily relies on dub techniques absorbing industrial metal and hardcore. Imagine an alternative universe where the Mad Professor is remixing Bootsy Collins, but in this realm Bootsy actually fronts a thrash metal band, and Frank Zappa peers over the mixing board putting his tuppence in; something like that, but more bonkers.
Picking it apart, at times you’ll contemplate Mango Thomas’ location and hear shards of the Madchester scene, other points will wobble you over to the Butthole Surfers, for if it is industrial hardcore skater, it’s done tongue-in-cheek. But it doesn’t come over dejected, as such a genre archetypically does, rather showy and egotistical like a funkmaster general. The man himself explains the effect will leave you “mangoed,” I’ve a tendency to agree.
It’s four major tracks with reprises and clippits between, often Bonzo Dog Doo-Dah Band fashioned, bizarre, amusing or deliberately belligerent to the mainstream, in true counter culture fashion. Do I like it, though, that’s what you want to know, isn’t it? Damn you and your demands, fuck, I don’t know. It’s always going to be something you have to be in the mood for, certainly not drifting Sunday afternoon music to take a snooze to after a roastie. A younger me would lap it up, as it twists so unexpectedly. Any psychedelia gone before doesn’t touch it for cross-genre experimentation, and for that, in my artier moods, I give it full points. A sensible somebody as I’d prefer to strive for might suggest it’s too far out there. But it entertained me for sure, so it has its place.
Can I suggest you throw caution to the wind, listen and see how long you can bear to hold out for? If you like Tim Burton, Zappa or Lee Scratch Perry you’ll be partly prepared. Try though, as the finale is something quite astounding and as an erratic mishmash it mirrors A Guy Called Gerald’s Black Secret Technology for pushing new boundaries, but it mirrors Sgt Peppers, the Doughnut in Granny’s Greenhouse and Bitches Brew too.
See, I like an ordinary cuppa like the next Englishman, but there’s lots of varieties of tea, some I’m impartial about, others I outright don’t like. To say it “isn’t my cup of tea” doesn’t mean it definitely tastes like shit, to others it might be the best thing they’ve drunk.
It’s far harder to review something “not my cup of tea,” then something which is. If you think my reviews have been flattery recently, you’ve strayed from the ethos; there’s been lots of timelessly brilliant music released, most agrees with me. Yet, what if it doesn’t?
The evaluation is simple; on my opinion anyone producing original music outside the safety-zone of the commercial industry deserves a medal of bravery, I make a point not to outright slag something off, rather not review it at all and provide constructive criticism directly to the creator.
First impression of the newly released debut album independent Cheltenham-based record label, Screamlite kindly sent, Typhoidmary’s “Death Trans,” was borderline. Pragmatic about the name choice; throughout her life, Mary Mallon fiercely denied she was the cause of infection, and consequently hated her nickname. Who, in their right mind, would deliberately label themselves Typhoid Mary? Perhaps that’s the point, there’s an unparalleled clandestinely dark, clinically insane tenet to this album.
This, coupled with my initial revulsion to the substantial thrashing guitars and accomplished but screeching yells which explodes within six seconds on this album, I predicted drafting a reply explaining why I wouldn’t review it. The fact I didn’t, and the review is here, means something changed my mind.
To confine my eclectic tastes to particular genres, see, gets kicked in the teeth when something defined under my few detested pigeonholes impresses me. Metal and grunge are a couple of my off-putting genres, yet when Motörhead blast the Ace Of Spades, or I catch Nirvana’s Smells Like Teen Spirit I understand their worth, and while I might draw the line at stagediving a mosh pit, I rock the fuck out! If it does what it says on the tin, points are bestowed.
Given director Chris Bowen stated, “it’s one of the best albums I’ve heard this year,” I decided to throw caution to the wind; it deserves a really closer listen. For its production is quality, with eminence in the delivery. What I discovered was an emotive outpouring of tension and anguish like no other, the very reason why I’m reviewing it after all.
It drifts between ambiance to these thrashing guitar executions of temper, expelling strains of interrogative quandaries, discharging a bruised wreck of an authentic character, angry and confused at their sexuality and orientation, and the relationships which develop, or fail to, from it.
While gothic outcries of depression and anxiety are not my thing, this is accomplished in a manner fiercer and more emotional than anything I could contemplate to compare it to. Be it the post-punk of Siouxsie And The Banshees, commercialised gothic of Fields of Nephilim or Bauhaus, the battering metal of Slayer of thrashing hardcore skater sound of The Dead Kennedys and Black Flag, they all pale in compassion to the appetite and antagonism displayed by Typhoidmary, and Death Trans takes anguish to a whole other level. It spat in my tea, then smashed my cup; spilt boiling fucking tea on my lap! And for that alone, I award it full credit.
With distant soundscapes separating these ten tracks of haunting annotations, resonating desperate pleas and cynical cries over driven, hard-edged gothic-come-thrash metal riffs, Death Trans is not for the fainthearted. It’s a musical equivalent of Nabokov’s Lolita or Spielberg’s Schindler’s List, in so much as it takes you to a place you’d rather not be, but intrigue suspends you there.
Typhoidmary has released this spellbinding album for streaming and on her Bandcamp page, Screamlite aims to distribute it to all major digital stores on 16th of October. Fans of such goth and grunge will be bowled over with its exquisitely dark portrayals, yet if, like me, you’re a window shopper of such shadowy and adversative genres, this might be the album which drags you inside with your purse open.
Myself, I confess, I pretended to like Robert Smith in order to get off with pale, sorrow-filled rich chicks with black hair-dye and a chip on their shoulder, which, I might add, rarely paid off! Perhaps then, the younger me is the archetypal predator this album wedges a knife into, but it drove even me on an emotional roller-coaster ride, caused me to regret, and changed my preconceived ideas about the genre. Sod it, I’m off to get my nose pierced!
Okay I confess, in my last article I did, didn’t I, state there was a trend of indie music taming to mass appeal? And yeah, I suggested this is no bad thing. There will, however be exceptions to the rule, and rock will, and should always retain its hard edge; we have room for all here. Swindon’s Ryan Webb, for instance, who’s just dropped a new single, “Don’t,” takes no prisoners.
This is militantly metal, with spikes. It rocks with edge, it doesn’t hang around with an ambient intro, stop for a melodic break, the bridge is reached in seconds, the rolling guitar riff perpetually quivering your bones. A one-man red-hot chilli pepper, Ryan wrote, produced, sang, wailed his guitar, recorded and mixed the track in his studio. The only collaborator being Dave Collins, the mastering engineer for Metallica’s last album, who mastered this too.
It must be said, this not the template of Ryan Webb, who quotes influences ranging from Pink Floyd, Joe Satriani, and Zeppellin, to Coldplay, Muse, and Kings of Leon. He has the range encompassing any rock avenue, and projects all with comfort and competence.
“Don’t” though, whoa there Ryan, I’m inclined to put my frayed denim jacket over my AC-DC t-shirt and head-bang my way to the highway from hell, and I’m not usually one for all that; haven’t even got an army surplus bag with badly grafted pictures of Eddie the Head and Megadeath logos!
So yeah, if I like it, you iron maidens will love it! What is more, the track is “a plea to anyone contemplating suicide to take a step back and see that they have a lot going on for them in the world. Even when times are really bad, it’s important to talk to those around you.”
Ryan has chosen All Call Signs as the beneficiary for any sales from the single. All Call Signs is a UK organisation set up by two veteran soldiers, Dan Arnold and SJ James, in order to help other vets/serving military personnel who may be finding life difficult. They have also created an app which helps locate those reported missing and in need of urgent support.
Introducing Shrewsbury’s five-piece rock band, Cosmic Rays. With a new album proving they’re Hard to Destroy….
As my daughter shoves her phone to my ear with her home-made eighties’ music quiz playlist, memories she will never know of blissfully return. “If I could be like Doc Emmett Brown and whizz you back to my era,” I think aloud, but maybe not such a good idea, she’d never survive; no Wi-Fi. What is apparent with the classic pop from my time she has picked is that it spans genres unconditionally, because she hasn’t lived it to confine her to one viewpoint, to guide through that era, where the categorical conflict for top of the pops changed overnight; what side did you fight for?
Pigeonholing divided the early-to-mid-eighties into alienated youth cultures, unique from one another and only alike for being experimental and innovative. While there may be nothing particularly ground-breaking about Shrewsbury’s five-piece rock band Cosmic Rays, what they do have is a dexterous ability to weave these genres back together in an original and affable way. I have their March released album Hard to Destroy to snoop upon, and I like it; pass my black hair dye and metallic leather high boots.
Initial reaction was thus, partially gothic with nu-metal wailing guitar and archetypical dejected romance as a running theme, and while it’s not my cuppa, it’s produced lo-fi and agreeably subtle. So elusive indeed you don’t pre-empt the changes, though may yearn for it. Post-punk and new romantic are lobbed into the melting pot by the second tune, tickling my personal taste buds better.
With the sensation of jaggedly Velvet Underground, in parts, its retrospective nods soon confine to aforementioned eighties genres. I’m now left contemplating everything from The Cult to Depeche Mode, and The Dammed to Blancmange. For which they are, just nods, as the all-encompassing sound is something original and exclusive, in so much as the combination of influences fuse so unexpectedly well. Perhaps no more adroitly composed than a central track called Lost Paradise, as while it mirrors synth-pop electronica, it also explodes midway with a wailing guitar solo akin to Slash’s contribution to Jackson’s Beat It.
The Bandcamp blurb explains new guitarist Rob McFall is a major factor to this album being a whole new direction, though while I ponder what the old direction was being I’m new to the band, I have to tip my hat to the guitar sections, but like I say, it’s the placement of them too, unpredictably located. That, I think, makes it more exciting than a band simply replicating a particular sound from a bygone era.
Just when I’m expecting it to rest there, a tune called Me & Jimmy bursts out upbeat joyful vibes. Unquestionably the most pop-tastic track on the album, it smiles House Martins or even the Fine Young Cannibals at me. Though the last two tunes finish by reminding you this is indie, Seeing Green with a winding goth ease and Walk on Water, where a sombre electronica beat rises again. If you’ve heard such a fusion tried before, you’ll be forgiven for thinking this could be encumbered and muddled, yet I feel you need to listen, for the juxtaposition works on all levels, making Cosmic Rays interesting and defiantly one to watch. By the way, my daughter’s eighties pop quiz, I nail it every time!
Hard to Destroy by Cosmic Rays is available to sample and buy from BandCamp here.
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