If there is one band in this fast paced world which gives the body an even more intensive and thorough workout it is undoubtedly King Salami and the Cumberland 3. This is a band where an Automated External Defibrillator should always be on hand at every show they play, waiting and ready to revive the inevitable wasted bodies. Now that need has been transferred to the band’s records. When playing all three of the band’s albums back to back, apart from a danger to health, it is a hard choice to say which is best, all in their openly individual ways an equal treat, but without doubt Goin’ Back To Wurstville is the most demanding and exciting for heart and limbs yet.
Runners-up? Runners-up, really? When last year the London rhythm’n’punk band appeared on the BBC as part of its search for Britain’s Best Part Time Band they should have been a shoo-in to win. Alas, terrible ska band Bombskare won. Which, on reflection, is probably for the best, because the band should first and foremost be known for the music and the shows, not winning some quickly thought-up show to fill the TV schedule of BBC Two. The band are a constant inspiration to all who come across them, working tirelessly to entertain us kick-seeking fools via many recordings and countless tours.
Here's where the real sausage party starts people. London based band King Salami and The Cumberland Three are an eight-legged groove machine sent here to make you move your feet and shake your ass with their irresistible brand of ‘50s and ‘60s inspired grooves.
So the dastardly Dirty Water deviants throw a split single my way and force me into a clattered corner where 2 units instead of one batter my brains. These kind of releases always cause a cerebral problem that has me worrying if what one band offers is shite and the others donations are bright, then how bad will Fungal look when he does his truthful and temperamental bit. Ah the wonders of the reviewing lark, tis all shit in the fan, blowing against one man and leaving him battered and bruised. Good job my thickened skin and utter belief is holding firm, bah the bastards.
Not even a year has passed since the brash’n’saucy garage-psych quartet who hail from Phoenix [AZ]/Los Angeles [CA] began their recording career. And now here is a full debut LP proper, following their previous two six-track EPs (released as a single album via Dirty Water earlier this year). In this whirlwind of activity it’s pertinent to ask whether two dozen songs in a year of action mean anything substantial could have been produced.
Having spent some time with Me.Ow the answer is a firm ‘hell yes’.
Arizona/Phoenix-based The Darts return after a year of globetrotting in support of their previous EP collection to release their full debut proper on Dirty Water Records. Louder Than War’s Nathan Whittle checks it out.
Back in 2012, New York street-level punk band Dirty Fences comprised of high school buddies from Boston Jack Daves (vocals/guitar), Max Comaskey (bass), and Max Hiersteiner (drums) and Brooklyn recruit Max Roseglass (guitar) released their first self-titled EP, a debut which was well received. Since then, they have released two full-length studio albums, gaining attention as a band who works hard and delivers when it comes to their live shows. Now, they introduce two new songs to be featured on the reissue of their debut EP, “2X2” and “Sell Your Truth.”
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.
The band themselves claim to be "a great band to clear a party" but I'd have to say that any party this lot are playing at I'd want to be there! Formed in New Zealand over a shared love of glue sniffing and wild rock 'n' roll, the band have now relocated to London to begin spoiling for a fight this side of the world and it's a promise that I bet they keep.
There are few rock ‘n’ roll parties as thrilling and irresistible as those provided by Spanish rockers Los Chicos, an experience they offer once again with new album Rockpile of Shit. Offering fourteen tracks which embrace everything from garage to pub rock, punk to funkily soulful shenanigans and plenty more, the release is a feast of boisterously rousing rock ‘n’ roll and a delicious echo of the Madrid quintets’ inimitable live show.
Let’s get it out of the way, up front. The two members of Archie and The Bunkers are teenage brothers from Cleveland, Ohio, who live with their parents. You need to know because media types will get hung up on that fact if and when these kids get better known.
That neither 17-year-old Emmett (on drums and vocals) or 14-year-old Cullen (organ and vocals) O'Connor is old enough to ask for booze on their backstage rider doesn’t matter. Not a jot. They pump out simple, and simply good, stripped-back punk sounds that are bereft of bullshit.