I’ve been hearing good things ‘bout Aussie colonial punks The Currency for a while but the single 888 is the first opportunity to official hear the band and I am truly blown away. Powerful, folk punk with a decidedly Australian stamp. Very much looking forward to hearing a full album (soon).
February 2008
‘Lost in Belgium’ is a warts ‘n all live document of Boston based Country/Celtic punks, Three Day Threshold, recent tour of Europe’s low countries. Recorded over 2 nights on 2 stereo mics set up in the same corner of the same club, this is raw, un-dubbed, no frills Rock’n’Roll – “Live and Dangerous” this ain’t*. I would say the best way to experience 3DT is live in person but if you can’t get the opportunity to see ’em live then ‘Lost in Belgium’ will give you a taste of the experience.
*Thin Lizzy’s classic but heavily overdubbed in the studio “live album”.
February 2008
Ornery (adj.): having a contrary disposition; cantankerous
Yosemite Sam is a prime example of an ornery character well known to all. And The Wages Of Sin play purely ornery music. By burning the sugar and gloss off the surface of rockabilly, they effectively reduce it to its folksy roots and then take it waltzing around the saloon floor while grizzled prospectors spit their ‘baccy and whoop it up. While their second album Gringo Mariachi has all the rustic bluster of Yosemite Sam on a goldfields rampage, it also showcases a particularly rich depth of musicianship rarely seen in punked-up folk. This milieu is male, all-the-way-male, and sepia-tinted at that. But the misadventures of messy, flawed men is bedrock material for country music. Long may it be so.
The card game opens with Skull Creek Logger, a folk punk bone-rattler as pleasingly gutsy as its name suggests. The rolling war drums are reminiscent of Rum, Sodomy & The Lash-era Pogues. Men fight the elements of the New World and shout back into the wind as they are decimated by forces beyond their control. Fury and fiddle music provide a terrific unholy union. Then onto the album’s prettiest firecracker The Drunkard’s Prayer; if anyone was ever in any doubt about the direct lineage shared by American folksong and rockabilly/rock & roll then this song settles all arguments. And best of all, it carries the wistful, lonesome and fatalistic essence of such roots music all within a hollered chorus of “tur-a-lur-a-laddie”. There are countless songs of rambling and alcoholism churned out by any band that dares to brand itself with the Jolly Roger but this one really stands out. Lead Sinner Jesse Stewart has delivered a classic traditional song which every greaser and Bettie Page girl from Seattle to Sydney will immediately appreciate. Hellcat grooves. And unsentimental, too: “I woke up in the street and all the birds were singing, so I went back to the bar while the church bells all were ringing”. Been there, drank that … Prayer just tells it like it is. Belly Of The Whale is 18th Century scurvy and bilge rats stewed and steeped in biblical prophecy. The imagery would not be out of place in an early Flogging Molly song and the minor key keeps it grim.
Black Lung Blues brings Steve Earle’s bare knuckled storytelling to mind, a bitter chronology of generations of mining men and their lives of battle and toil. A rich vein of subject material is tapped here. Haymarket opens with a neat gypsy banjo quick-waltz but soon surges into pure countrybilly. This one must be a live favourite. New Orleans Eulogy is country rock of sorts, crammed with swampy imagery and doomed sentiment; “a southern gothic tragedy, an angel’s grievous fall, Sin City got your money, liquor took your voice”. Bible & A Gun continues with Steve Earle’s vision of the ‘modern’ folk ballad, a tale of incessant drug running against a background of old time religion and military misadventure.
Razor In My Pocket is something straight out of that Irish folksong softback you keep stashed away with that cheap banjo you still haven’t got around to learning (LEARN IT, you lazy bastards). Razor is a ‘Gangs Of New York’ tale minus the ridiculous accents of that film (Day Lewis excepted). Portrait Of An Evangelist stands out on account of its stark Appalachian gospel introduction, unsettling and reeking of brimstone. Then it’s back on the salty decks with Ten Fathoms Deep, very much in keeping with the sound of The Wages’ first album, Custom Of The Sea. But there’s a theremin in here somewhere (!). The Righteous Stranger by mandolinist Marc Robben is a scalding political stream, totally contemporary and therefore something of a departure for the band. And then … (here we go) … and then a banjo and mandolin-powered take on The Clash chestnut White Riot. You can’t really go wrong with that. The album ends with a no bullshit country death song – Stull – a solid and typical Wages broadside that serves to illustrate the fact that country death song lyrics sit happily alongside heavy metal lyrics; “I’d like to say I’m on the righteous path, but I’ve done things that might incur God’s wrath”. ‘Cept there’s a county sherriff in here, so you know it’s The Wages Of Sin.
The good folk of Seattle should be very proud of The Wages Of Sin. Great musicians to a man, they take roots music in their own direction with confidence and clout. And to all of us flawed gringos who have rambled, brawled and woken up in the street, they show that has always been thus. But also that redemption is always lurking in the wings. Manana, manana, a gringo’s life for me.
February 2008
Will Swan November, Sydney 2008
Solid is the word I think of after giving some serious spins to ‘Iron Rations”, the debut from PA based Birmingham Six (named after 6 Irish men wrongly convicted of bombings in England in the 1970s). The Six (4 actually) play solid contemporary Irish-American rock’n’roll that occasionally veers into punk – influencs include The Pogues, The Clancys, The Who and Flogging Molly. The tracks are a nice mix of traditional/standards and originals. My favorite track is “His Favourite Spot”; an ode to a well loved bucket of blood and of course if you’re in that particular bucked of blood on Paddy’s day and Birmingham Six are playing a great time is guaranteed (though you might not remember anything the next day).
February 2008
The Zydepunks are going to be huge someday. Move over Gogol Bordello, you suck. If you haven’t heard The Zydepunks before, you’re in for a treat. They are a high speed, accordion dueling Yiddish-zydeco- Klezme-Celtic-Cajun-Slavic folk punk outfit from New Oreans. Totally original, incredibal musicians and tight as the preverbial ducks arse. Finisterre, their 3rd release is the least Celtic of the lot but don’t worry Paddy Punks you’ll still love’em and maybe you’ll even improve your French and German language skills.
Like I said, The Zydepunks are going to be huge someday, so before some prick at Rolling Stone tells you that that, remember you heard it here first.
February 2008
I’m convinced. This band is one of the few playing hardcore the way it’s meant to be. One listen to this album and I think you’ll understand what I mean – like the cover shot of a knife about to find a home in the throat of some poor fucker, Think I Care plunge forward like said shiv, and twist and tear through flesh and veins, before curbing your corpse on the sidewalk. This is hardcore sounding violent again, just like it should.
TIC is among a newer crop of hardcore bands (RNR, Violent Minds, Knife Fight, and many more on the DeadAlive label ) that have me reinvigorated with the genre I was ready to write off a few years back. This is hardcore like an old skinhead remembers. The comparisons with older SSD (as well as a slew of other older Boston bands – a little Deep Wound here, a little DYS there) are accurate: the vocals are pissed off, growling and in your face, daring you to turn the CD off, yet daring you to listen. The music is, in one word, hard. And the whole package leaves me thinking this is one of the better bands of the last ten years.
The lyrics deal with themes common to the genre, yet do it in TIC style: the opening cut prays for a broken neck for those knocked off their soapbox, 28 Visions begs for teeth on a curb, It Surrounds describes the rigors of everyday life and the sheer hate associated with dealing with it. But it’s in the final song, Bitter End, that TIC offer some light at the end of the tunnel, and sum up what they’re about: “Try my best to never break or bend/Staying true til the bitter end.”
When you see this record, pick it up. When this band plays in your area, get to the show. They are among my saving graces of old-style, pissed off hardcore.
September 2003
Review by Sean Holland
Italy’s the Bloodline have been getting a lot of press recently, from good reviews in zines, to a stateside tour with DC’s own CounterAttack, to an upcoming CDEP on one of America’s finest labels, Reality Clash – word of mouth on the Italian skinheads has been all positives.
I recently acquired a copy of the Razorstrike LP to see what all the fuss was about. I’d heard them called “Negative Oi,” “Horror Skins,” and “Bleak Skinhead Rock-n-Roll” along with many other choice misnomers; upon listening to the record several times, I’d say those are pretty apt descriptions. I myself would liken the band to a combination of: the 4-Skins jamming with a few members of Rose Tattoo (bringing the rock) with lyrics by Misfits-era Glenn Danzig. Weird description, I know – but it’s all I can come up with.
The album’s main theme and lyrical content seems to be a horror movie come to life – with song titles like “Worms Under My Skin” and “Night of the Living Dead” the lyrical comparison to Danzig becomes obviously apparent – but these guys do it skinhead rocknroll-style, and it’s impressive all around.
The musicianship on the album is first rate; at times the playing almost reminds one of a more Oi-inspired Motorhead. Heavy and melodic. The vocals are tough-as-nails, gruff and fit the horror theme to a tee, as the singer at times sounds like a sledgehammer-wielding madman, and at other times like his victim. Many of the songs contain great ominous singalongs, which contribute to the eerie feel that this whole thing is a soundtrack to an old splatter film. The horror movie references don’t end there – the album contains audio samples from Night of the Living Dead, as well as a musical sample from fellow countrymen Goblin’s score to the Dario Argento classic Deep Red on the track by the same name.
My favorite cuts are “The Bloodline,” the awesome “Razorstrike” “Buried Alive” “The Basement,” and “Deep Red,” although the whole album is top notch.
The Bloodline are a refreshingly original skinhead band in today’s sorry world of “oi oi, boots, braces, byrds and bovver” crap. Pick it up and hear something damn good and damn different. The Bloodline are the real deal – heavy, horror-filled skinhead anthems. Believe the hype.
September 2003
Review by Sean “SMH” Holland
There are 3 reasons to buy “Every Goddamn Time”, the newest CD from NYC’s (the outer boroughs) Lancaster County Prison and 1 reason not.
Reasons to buy:
1. LCP are the loudest, most rocking, outlaw Country’n’Irish’Punk band to ever strap on a banjo and plug into a Marshall stack and “Every Goddamn Time” does justice to that tradition. This is loud, raw, shit kicking country with a nod to the Ramones and Motorhead. I honestly believe LCP are truly closer in spirit to the late Johnny Cash then any of those mullet wearing, music by numbers clowns presented to us as country these days.
2. This is the nearest thing to something new from Shane MacGowan in a long time. Shane shares vocals on 4 tracks (plus a hidden bonus track) and co-wrote one of them (“Satan is Waiting”). Shane is in decent voice and particularly strong on “The Town I Love So Well”.
3. LCP are the ultimate anti-boy band. Sick of pretty boys with slick dance moves. LCP are the perfect antidote.
Reasons not:
1. Your Justin Timberfake. Did anyone else think it was hilarious when he got bottled when playing with AC/DC, I suppose he should count himself lucky he was in Canada, the Brits piss in the bottles before they chuck’em.
September 2003
So it’s Friday night, let’s just say late October, and you decide to tell the lads you’re not going out on the town with ’em tonight. There won’t be any drunken group sing-a-longs of The Wild Rover, or Streams Of Whiskey with the boys just yet. It’s one of those nights you decide to hang out with a wee lass ya just met. Maybe it’s dinner, or maybe a movie, whatever, but there is one thing for certain, there will be drinking, oh yeah, lots of drinking. So let’s say you end up in some swanky jazz joint. Not excatly familair stompin’ grounds, but, whatever, you’re just trying to have a good time with your new freind. The drinks keep a comin’ and the night smoothly rolls right along. The table piles up with beer, cocktail and shot glasses.You get up and waltz with her a little. Eventually, it becomes late, real late, and both of ya repeatatly get cut off by the bar staff, so the two of you stumble back to the house. Laughing, stumbling, and slurring, the two of you use each other for leverage on the short tek back to the pad at 2 or 3 in the morning.
You unlock the front door, and both of you drunkenly fall right onto the floor, and you crawl across the rug. Finally, you’re safe on the couch and you turn on the CD player, it’s time to decide the rest of the mood for the evening/early morning. Loud punk guitars? naw. Screamin’ vocals? nope. It’s a perfect night for this band from Toronto, Kevin Quain & The Mad Bastards. It’s not really celtic, nor is it punk, sure it’s a wee bit folky, but more in a ballad sort of way. Actually, it sounds alot like a Tom Waits meets a Shane MacGowan/Nick Cave ballad in some downtown, smokey, late night, cocktail, salsa-lounge on Halloween. Almost a dark, drunken-romantic album if you will. Lots of great piano, smooth accordian, even some Spanish guitar. The best thing in my opinion are the poetic lyrics, (I like to think of the Oscar Wilde quote: “We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars” as an example) Add on top of everything those rough smoke filled vocals that sound like somebody’s shoveling gravel. So, if you’re ever in Toronto, and it’s a late night, you can see what I’m talking about. The band plays over at The Cameron Public House every Sunday from 10pm-1am.
Simply put, if you’re a fan of Waits-MacGowan-Cave ballads like I am, then it’s an album to get for sure.
(Okay, back to your normally scheduled Celtic-folk-punk review.)
September 2003
Review by Brian “Gutter” Gillespie
Those of you who live in the Pacific Northwest have more than likely seen the mighty Columbia River at one point or another. (The fourth largest river in North America.) Now grab yer pirate gear, and a canoe (complete with nautical pirate flag) and follow it 1,250 miles to it’s source, and you’ll find Columbia Lake. Way the fuck up in the foothills of the Canadian Rockies. Here’s a list of what you will see along the way: Sasquatch, big ass brown bears, Evergreen trees, a complete modern replica of Stonehenge, and eventually, Canucks all over the place playin’ hockey & drinkin’ Rye & Cokes.You will also find out it’s home to The Honeymans. That ska-skankin’ folk-funk-fiddle fest of a band that’s impossible to describe unless you’ve heard it already.
Based on their sound, I always thought these guys were either from Vancouver, or maybe Calgary, or at least in a place that has concrete. I never thought they lived in the middle of the sticks, hundreds of kilometers away from any form of civilization. Okay, okay, enough of the geography crap, and on with the music. The Honeymans are the ultimate party band. Blending together funk & punk, with fiddle, folk, & ska, these guys have a true sound of their own. I know Joey Shithead of D.O.A. is a big fan and even signed them to his label Sudden Death Records.
The Honeymans just released a live album, “Plugged Up” and it was recorded at some mountain pub in their hometown of Kimberly, B.C. and sounds like they all had a damn good time. They had the fancy lights and smoke machines present. (I must also report that Bigfoot was at the gig wearing diapers, and slamdancing in the pit.) I reviewed a studio album of these guys last year, and always wondered how they sounded live. I can now tell you they are just a tight, just a smooth, as they sound on the studio albums. (Not an easy feat, considering all the mayhem involved!) “Plugged Up” contains 16 live tracks with 4 tracks that were recorded in a cabin near the Skookumchuck Pulp Mill. (F.Y.I., Skookum loosely translated means Sasquatch in the Native-American Chinook language, so you know these guys are high up in the hills!!)
Favorite tracks include: Fiddle Solo- Death Metal- Big MacNeil’s John- Uncle Jack’s Bag Of Farts- and Drink Up Rude Boy!
September 2003
Review by Brian “Funkadelic” Gillespie
Shite'n'Onions 