Fungal Punk: Oh! Gunquit "Eat Yuppies and Dance"
Looking on the bands Facebook account prior to tapping out a careful, honest and decently detailed account of what is happening here I see the band label themselves as Rumble-Bop, Trash, Blitz and Surf. Nice! Hailing from London Oh!Gunquit interbreed many sub-flavours, create pregnancies from many raw-boned chemicals and give birth to a sound that, although not bursting with originality, has a very convincing vitality and identifying slant. I am forever wandering and weaving in and out of different sound pools and here again I find something delicious and untypical to salivate over.
Into the 'Sinkhole' we go, a low-fi accented tympanically ticking piece of sub-trashy spillage that is tossed around the bowl of sound, given a condiment splash of shadowy clashed spice, invaded with a pseudo-sci-fi inflection and vocalised over with feisty garishly coloured girliness (something to be proud of). The assistance of he hollers and crisp string quivers all accentuate the song and give it a tidy ass wiggle that appeals, although from here on in I am expecting a rise in stature - what a greedy pig I be. A shady noir-esque tremor welcomes us into the stated grandeur of 'Head Bites Tail' a strutting and sleek member of the musical montage with a feline feel that slinks in part and now and again raises its fur and shows a real acute side that will surely go for the peepers if any messing is had. Glintings, whoa hoa's, mean furrowed intentions and some absorbing directions taken, this piss and patch up delight is well admired and although not a routine pill to swallow make sure you chew on it and consider!
And on into 'Caves' we go, a ditty with a straight off the bat grab twang that itches in to a grasshopper like flicker lick and cool tongue seduction. An apparent tension is always present, a certain stress on the tonality that is on the precipice of eruptive releases but is somehow held in very serious check. Visions arise of Go Go Girls caught in a wires of a tuned web of glistening intrigue with each thread providing perfect trembles to tease - how odd? 'Bad, Bad Milk' is a groovy tune with simplicity and good old rock and roll passion juiced up with some brassage in the passage and she-bop desire that enhance the somewhat sexually active vavoom that pours from every orifice of this animated celebration of jigaroono sound. The tumbling essence is held together with trained mitts of melody and I reckon we have a nice squeaky clean routine to satisfy here.
Cracking on and 'Hope In Hell' initially duels before hollering repeated 'hey's to grab the attention. The reclined smoky delivery is adequate, the soulful sass is always present, the responsed rhythm and rolling 'take it on the chin' attitude that snaps back at the wasted chance of unity is applaudable and if some wake up, jig and dig and get off their arses in the process then its a big win situation. A sweet track galloped after by the chirpy chap known as 'Pony Boy', a song dominated by the lead lass and her liberating trill and tonal triumphs that coarse through the listeners veins with energising effect and leave one all a shakin'. The tumbledown loose wristed pseudo-skiffle in the rear stops, starts, rustles and keeps our front lady operating to full effect. A complimenting mix as ever and although not as thoroughly fluid as some may want this is articulate noise played with an acute exactness.
A final brief flourish of four with 'Into The Woods', a ditty with a trepidation filled start before bold strides are taken via a great retro rockin' roll of undulated, masturbated noise that sidles up, embraces and insists one grooves to the waves. The chorus isn't as effective and contrasting as it should be and gets lost in the blend but the production levels are spot on and so some salvation is had. 'I Need Help Now' sends out warning tympanics, strings with pronunciation high, bass plucks briefly before a scatty shindig opens up and staggers around with epileptic assistance and busy bumble activity engrained with an almost sub-merged spookiness. It is that suggestion of the fear factor and overall vim within that will give this one a good chance of having farther and wider appeal - let us hope so. The starting point will get you straight in the mood for what is to come and hopefully at the end you will need a few more dousings just to be sure that what has passed was most gratifying. 'Voodoo Meat Shake' is a pulsing nag, tenderised and terrorised with a 'crypt'ic feel that punctures the epidermal layers, causes sweet injury and pricks the dead eyed corpse into spasmodic activity and de-zombified life. A regenerating song that hints at B52 lunacy and horror rock and roll with a nicely yelled and saxified jungle jive built in. Tribally tuned, unsettled and determined this one whereas the following 'Lights Out' is similar but has a meaner drive, a more zoned in focus and may it be said a greater grasp on the shaft of the orthodox. This switch off segment is an apt closure and perhaps, just perhaps, may be the best song of the lot - now a bad way to finish hey?
That all folks, a 10 tracker to tease yer inner genitals and 10 tracks to tickle many, try a few and turn off the odd tone deaf turd. This isn't regular chuggage on my turntable but is ideal for breaking up the usual and adding a bit of joy de vivre into proceedings. Try it out, I just think you'll like, albeit in small doses or huge big mouthfuls.