Live: Teenage Bottlerocket - New Cross Inn, New Cross 26/4/11

Picture the scene: legendary punk rockers The Descendants arrive in London for a two-date tour. First night doesn't go to plan - actually, it nosedives into embarrassing farce the very second lead singer Milo Augermann's voice decides it doesn't want to work anymore half a song into the set. After shambling through the show using whoever happened to be standing near the stage at the time as impromptu singers, the band inevitably postpone the second date the following night. So what do you do if you're the highly-rated support band on such a tour and you suddenly have nothing to do on a Tuesday night in London? Obvious, really - head over to a tiny South London bar, gatecrash an open-mic night and have a big ol' punk rock party. As you do. And when the announcement was made that a certain band called Teenage Bottlerocket would be making their debut London headlining show in a venue with a stage roughly the same size as a council house bathtub, I knew immediately that this was not to be missed; this show had legendary 'I was there' status written all over it.

And boy, was I right.

You have to pity the bands playing the open-mic night as already planned - they were treated to the bizarre scenario of playing to the largest, but probably the most apathetic, audience they will ever face. A room packed high with be-mohawked punkers and leather jacket-sporting rockers foaming at the mouth for punk rock action and being treated to the sight of, in order: an awkward-looking emo band (whom anxiously thank the masses for not throwing things at them), followed by a petit woman covering Mariah Carey (complete with window-shattering wails) and some random experimental metal jams that serve only to bemuse even the band themselves. An utterly weird spectacle that only serves to emphasise the last-minute, underground feel of the show.

But finally, at 9:30pm sharp, the rather clueless MC introduces some band called 'Teenage Rocket-Bottle', who proceed to squeeze onto the stage and fly into action for their set, speeding out of the starting gates at 100mph with 'Skate or Die'.

And from there they never look back; roaring at top speed through a non-stop, runaway rollercoaster of pure, old-fashioned punk rock fun, while the baying mob go, frankly, absolutely insane. Frenzied pogoing, frantic slam-dancing, spectacular stagedives and chaotic crowdsurfs, all present and correct for every minute of every song. The manic energy is unrelenting, crashing back and forth between the band and the crowd like tsunami waves. It's an incredible spectacle to behold, with the guitar-toting frontmen of Ray Carlisle and Kody Templeman unable to stop grinning like hyperactive teenagers as they merrily orchestrate the carnage, tossing out one glorious singalong anthem after another. Seriously, I've never been to a show where EVERY SINGLE SONG has people rabidly hollering the choruses back at the band. Rise Against, AFI, Cancer Bats, Billy Talent? Forget it. None of them could manage it. But these four punkers from Wyoming make it look effortless.

Make no mistake, folks, this is not particularly complicated stuff. Pretty much every song has at least one chord sequence that could've been lifted from the Ramones' or Green Day's back catalogue, and a large amount of the songs seem to blur together under the same four-to-the-floor drumbeat and four-chord hooks, with a couple of exceptions; 'Fatso Goes Nutzoid' in particular cranks the slam-dancing up to hyperspeed levels for ninety out-of-control seconds. So yeah, it's simple, not particularly original, and not particularly deep either. What it is, is energetic, passionate, emphatic, and absolutely brilliant fun from start to finish.

And you know what? In the largely stale musical landscape of today, that may be enough to stand out. Too many bands nowadays seem to view 'fun' as either something that's somehow beneath them and their fringes, or an excuse to goof around and make penis jokes like we're all 11 years old. And similarly, too many bands view 'punk rock' as an excuse to splurge out some clichéd slogans and be deliberately shit. Tonight, TBR provide a timely reminder as to how fantastic punk rock music can be, with a stinging cocktail of pop hooks, melodies big singalong choruses infused with raucous, driving energy. And that reminder turns out to be one of the greatest gigs this author has ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Rating: 94%

The Skanx - S/T E.P.

In today's scene, a lot of bands focus on crossover; the art of cramming multiple genres together. Some manage to Frankenstein these component parts together into a cohesive entity, but most seem content to fling genres at a wall and stick together whatever mess remains with bits of sellotape and used chewing gum. It's getting more difficult to find bands happy to walk an already-trodden path, focused not on gluing on unnecessary extra bits to a basic concept, but honing it, then battering it half to death in the live arena, all in the name of having fun. An example of such a band would be the Calico Street Riots: so what if most of their recorded output sounds like an unreleased Flogging Molly album? When it's delivered with such energy, passion and fun, its difficult to work up the effort to give a fuck about such trivialities, not when you're too busy grinning like a cretin and dancing manically. That's the view The Skanx subscribe to, although instead of folk-punk, they play...actually, do I really need to say what music they play? The clue's in the name really, isn't it?

Yes, well done, ten points to Sherlock at the back; ska is the order of the day here, a genre that often suffers from being the meat in a clumsily put-together sandwich of other genres. But as already described, the Skanx skirt round innovation and instead sing religiously from their copy of the book 'Rules of Ska, Volume 1 (1981 Edition)'. Seriously, the sound being purveyed on this E.P. couldn't get more 1980s if it had lyrics slagging off Margaret Thatcher. So if you're one of those nit-pickers whom hates anything that isn't 'avant-garde' and 'progressive', then go and be a bitter old sack of bollocks somewhere else. But if you're the kind of person who's reading this review and listening to Bad Manners, The Specials and Madness on shuffle on the stereo, then welcome aboard the 10:30 train to Skaville. Toot toot!

Actually, that last paragraph is a little unfair, as it paints The Skanx as nothing more than a bunch of revisionist copycats plundering the ska history books with no original ideas of their own, which isn't strictly true. In the same way The Submission's update on 1970s punk rock sounds fresh and vital, The Skanx's take on 1980s ska is so wonderfully effervescent and full of joy de vivre that one can't help but enjoy it. They nab Captain Bastard and the Scallywags' crown of 'band with most members' by going one extra with nine, and all of them have their chance to shine across the five sampler tracks here. Like Jakal and The Skints (Christ, this is becoming a good review for name-dropping, isn't it?), they have multiple, male and female vocalists, in this case the hyperactive Wayne Jazzlin and zesty Lori May Spear. They bounce off each other nicely, trading vocal lines and styles, with Lori reminding me in particular of an early No Doubt-era Gwen Stefani, with the way her voice bounces around and flits undisciplined from delicate soul to powerful wails and yelps. They also have Tyrannosaurus Alan's horn hooks courtesy of the three-piece horn section, and some classic piano stylings from...actually, that's a good point, where the fuck did they come from?! Yeah, seems I was being facetious earlier when saying this was straight up ska - while they do stick to this for a foundation, other myriad influences do subtly work their way into the sound. Well, with so many instruments, it's sort of inevitable, right? Along with those already established, other instruments in play include a Wurlitzer piano/organ/stylophone triumvirate courtesy of Simon Beck and some additional bongo-based percussion stylings from trumpeteer Stuart McCrossan.

And yet, despite having a veritable orchestra of instrumentation, the songs they produce between the nine of them are well-crafted and polished. There's a danger with so many members that songs can meander as they try to cram everything in, but here everything effortlessly clicks into place, like a big pile of multi-coloured Lego bricks (or should that be Airfix parts, eh?). There really isn't a bad song on here, and it's the sort of E.P. that'll warrant many repeated listens. My personal highlight is the excellent 'Moneygrabber', the most energetic song on the disc, maintaining a high pace and an infectious melody all the way through, with Simon's bubbling organ riffs flitting through the mix. 'Czechmate' exhibits a strong funk flavour, so much so that there are parts where you can imagine Jake and Elwood from the Blues Brothers singing it with a trope of gospel backing singers. Lyrically there might not be much in the way of depth, with topics ranging from partying and drinking ('Party Party') and the morning after said partying and drinking (the imaginatively titled 'The Morning After'), so anyone expecting deep polemics on world economics and the meaning of life itself will be disappointed, but as I said earlier, that's not what The Skanx are about.

What they are about is having a tonne of fun, something many bands seem to think is below them now in the more pious quarters of the music scene. We need bands like The Skanx to remind us just how joyous and uplifting music can be; this is true feelgood music, designed solely for summer nights, cold beers, and grooving the night away. This is exactly what you'll be doing when you see them live over the next few months, but if they don't happen to be playing tonight, whack this on the headphones and let The Skanx brighten up the day - although don't blame them when you get funny looks for skanking on the bus.

Rating: 88%

Standout Tracks: 'Moneygrabber', 'Czechmate'.

Label: 208 Records

Release Date: November 2009

Live: Captain Bastard and the Scallywags w/guests - The Beacon Court Tavern, Gillingham 24/4/11

They say every cloud has a silver lining, right? Who 'they' are I don't know, and I'd like to meet them once they've just lost their job, had their house burn down and been dumped by their girlfriend who also revealed she was HIV-positive and see what they say then, but in Gillingham's case, they may be right. I used to live here, and in the ten years or more that have passed, I've been in no rush to get back. But I will say this: although you could still swap out the large amount of run-down houses for caravans and pretend you're on the set of My Big Fat Gypsy Weddings without anyone noticing anything, the silver lining in Gillingham's case is the location of an excellent venue, the Beacon Court Tavern, in it's midst. Tonight, it's being taken over by Medway's travelling band of pirates and misfits, Captain Bastard and the Scallywags, and they're throwing a big Easter Sunday party for everyone.

As to which bands will be joining them for tonight's escapade? Your guess is about as good as mine - I think I've counted approximately 7,096 different lineups for tonight's bill, with names like My Third Leg and Melchett being bandied around, so maybe it's a bit of an anti-climax that the responsibility of opening proceedings falls to a local music shop employee with a guitar and some light-hearted covers of recent pop songs. Actually, it's not at all, and Manny's amusing ramblings and jammings are charming and hella funny. He reminded me of Team Harry, and in a good way; it's useless trying to review this sort of thing critically, because it's not trying to be anything other than good fun. I happened to be grabbing a bite to eat when he hit the stage and only caught the final song (a stop-start and snigger-inducing version of the Black Eyed Peas' 'I Gotta Feeling'), hence no rating, but as I said already, trying to give this a serious rating is like trying to analyse a performance of Les Miserables done by an entirely drunk cast wearing silly hats and bunny slippers, or trying to argue intelligently with some 12-year-old redneck troll on Youtube.

So with everyone firmly in good spirits, it's time to welcome an actual proper band onto the stage! Wait, sorry, my mistake, it's only Mexican Wave (70%). More cover-based shenanigans ahoy then, with half-a-tablespoon of goofs and a liberal sprinkling of self-deprecating banter in a standard cover-band recipe. But amidst more hoots and guffaws of laughter, there's actually some pretty decent musicianship, and the songs the trio roll out are executed pretty well, all told. Considering we're talking about a band that practices about as often as Boris Johnson has sex, the competent musicianship and energy on display is enough to put some serious original bands to shame. It helps that the songs themselves are entertaining, with a setlist ranging from Nirvana and Kerbdog to Reuben and Green Day, and that the people playing them are capable musicians in their own right - Capt. Bastard's own Jordan Harris (guitar) and Ben Gower (drums), plus The Plan bassman Wayne Tully form a tight unit and underpin the goofball fun with some fine chops. A covers band that can actually play - a novel concept I know, but it makes for good entertainment and great fun this evening.

And so here we go, on a stage that can actually fit the whole band with space to spare, Captain Bastard and the Scallywags (85%) hit the stage, set up, completely bemuse the soundman, look at each other, shrug, say 'fuck it' and race into action for their headlining set of folk-punk carnage. Magners and Guinness's at the ready everyone, this is gonna be chaos. And so it proves, as the gang give the best performance I've yet seen from them, even surpassing their excellent set in the confines of the 12 Bar Club in London several months back. Ironically, they played there only last night - maybe the aura's rubbed off on them? Or perhaps they just seem to raise their game when placed as headliners on a bill? Either way, long may it continue. Execution and timing issues are no longer a problem, as the 8-piece ensemble have gelled nicely as a unit in the previous six months or so since their inception, and tonight the sound quality is very strong, with all the instruments nicely balanced (note this day down in your diaries folks, because believe me, it's a rarity). So we have Jordan's mandolin karate-chopping over the top of Lucas Razzell's crunching electric guitar and Tom Gardener's jangling, clanging acoustic guitar, placed on a bed of Bill Gower's solid bass runs and Keith Sargent's haphazardly chaotic drums, with a dusting of Ben Gower's neat accordion lines and Kayla Harlow's elegant pennywhistle melodies and topped off with a dash of hollered vocals provided courtesy of Andrew Keech. All in all, the perfect folk-punk recipe, and with these high-quality ingredients, fun and great songs are guaranteed. The standard one-two opening of 'Along Came a Spider' and the Dropkick Murphy's 'I'm Shipping Up to Boston' is shifted a few songs into the set tonight, and newies 'Scream' and 'Soyouwannabeapirate?' slot in alongside already established anthems like 'Nine Layers of Hell' (complete with Keech starting a three-man circle pit in the intro) and my personal favourite, 'Getting Out Of This Town'. Obviously, a folk-punk gig (or indeed, tonight's gig) wouldn't be complete without a raft of traditional covers, and they don't disappoint; an entire medley of them rolls out as always, and their brilliant version of 'La Bamba' is ridiculously good fun.

As the final notes of set closer and Flogging Molly cover '7 Deadly Sins' fade away and the band say their goodnights, the realisation hits that these guys have, through hard graft and a great ear for a tune, grown in stature to truly become a player on the Kent punk circuit. Their rise has been steady rather than meteoric, but a rise it has been nonetheless, and provided they keep everything together, they're only going to continue to grow stronger. That prospect I had of necking Magners and dancing like a tit on hot summer evenings to the Scallywags remains an enticing proposition, and it's looking more and more attractive by the day.

Headliner's Setlist:

1. You, Me and the Devil
2. Scream
3. Along Came A Spider
4. I'm Shipping Up To Boston (Dropkick Murphy's cover)
5. Soyouwannabeapirate?
6. Nine Layers of Hell
7. Covers Medley (including Whiskey in a Jar and The Wild Rover)
8. Gettin' Out Of This Town
9. La Bamba (traditional)
10. 7 Deadly Sins (Flogging Molly cover)
    

Torn Out & Limited Means - Loyalties Split E/P

Split EPs are generally a win-win situation. You'll often hear about them because you like one of the bands featured on the EP, in which case, it's a chance to hear a bunch more tracks from a band you rather like. And it's usually the case that the other band featured are fairly similar to the band you like, so it's a chance to check out something new for yourself. Unless you already know and like both bands on the EP, in which case, happy days for you.

I was in the former category when I picked up this particular split. Torn Out were one of the first bands I saw and reviewed in the scene, not only proving to me that punk rock can work without walls of amps and distortion pedals, but that acoustic, folk-style music can still be timeless, catchy and powerful in a world where corduroy trousers, grey cloudy skies and maudlin tripe have become the norms. Seriously, anyone who thinks Adele's asinine he-dumped-you-will-you-just-get-over-it whining is worthy of the inexplicable amount of hype, praise and sales she receives needs a copy of Torn Out's self-titled EP played to them very loudly on repeat until they get the point. After a heavy bout of touring and gigging in 2009, 2010 was a quiet year for the Essex boys, but this disc rings in a new era for the band in 2011. Their three tracks start the EP, so after witnessing their return to Gravesend and the circuit a few weeks ago, this looks like a good place to start.

You could make a convincing argument that the three tracks are up there as some of the best work the pair have done. This is the work of a band refusing to sit on it's laurels - they've done the hard work in crafting a sound for themselves, so now comes the even harder part of refining and honing it, taking it in subtly new directions, and keeping it fresh - all of which they've done here. The Torn Out of 2011 remains a passionate, outrageously melodic and socially conscious beast, just like old times, with frontman Smith's gruff, accented vocals driving home his lyrics with the same strength of conviction, but there's a maturity and subtlety to their methods now, and in the place of the blunt directness and hollering of piss-stained streets of yore, there's gorgeous, flowing guitar hooks, campfire singalongs, soulful and emotive lyrical lines just asking to be sang back to the band at gigs, and a few new musical ideas in the mix - for example, the slow-building bridge of 'This Town', and the multi-layered vocals at the climax of 'Slow Down'. Overall, these three tracks are the ideal study of how a band should go about progressing musically - no radical revolution or gimmicky back-to-basics approach, and by the same token, no simple if-it-ain't-broke-don't-fix-it revisionism. This is the sound of a band totally comfortable in their own skin and where they are at this point in time, and it shows.

So now we come to Limited Means, a band I confess to not knowing a whole lot about, but on the face of it they share a lot of similarities with Torn Out: an acoustic duo with a guitarist lead singer and a bassist backing vocalist, singing socially-conscious acoustic punk. Christ, anyone else getting deja vu yet? Well, be silent, nay-sayers, because not only are Limited Means another fine proponent of acoustic punk music, but they stare down Torn Out in head-on competition to be the best band on this split - and you know something? I'm calling it a draw. Their three tracks are that strong. There's a more direct, political bent to their lyrics, especially on 'Detroit', which takes swipes at unemployment levels and inner-city degradation, but it would be unfair to just dismiss them as a pair of politicos with guitars, a sort of new-generation Billy Bragg, because when you have hooks and beautiful melodies as strong as those featured on 'Honest Much', augmented by female backing vocals that send the hairs on the back of one's neck standing to attention, it's easy to see that we're dealing with a truly talented, soulful and strong band, no matter what their emotive lyrics are about.

As I said earlier, split EPs are win-win situations most of the time, and so this EP has proved - not only have we got the strongest material yet from one of the finest bands on the circuit, but we also have a rival for their crown and a new favourite band here at NFTF.

Rating: 89%

Standout Tracks: 'Slow Down', 'This Town', 'Honest Much'.

Label: None (Unsigned)

Release Date: 1st January 2011.

Live: Castles in the Air Launch Show - The Red Lion, Gravesend 1/4/11

Okay, so you've just started a promotions company setting up gigs in an area of the country which is notoriously difficult to actually persuade anyone to get off their Xbox-inflated arses to come out to gigs. You're determined to get the name out there, and to kick off your operation with a bang. How best do you do that, d'ya suppose? Well, booking in five of the best and most well-known bands in the Kent underground scene would be a pretty good place to start, and a half-decent second step would be to put them on at a well-known and much-loved venue. Obviously Castles in the Air attended that particular school of gig logic, as that's exactly what they've done, with this show containing a lineup of scene favourites from far and wide, all of slight variation, and all ready to celebrate the launch of a new promo company by giving the familar settings of The Red Lion in Gravesend a sound maiming.

First up, it's a warm welcome back to the circuit for everyone's favourite acoustic punk duo, Torn Out (77%), and it only took a few bars of opener 'Chasing Lost Nights' for it to feel like 2009 all over again. Yes folks, that really was the last time this author actually saw the Essex boys play live, and in all fairness, not a whole lot has changed. Guitarist and singer Ben Smith still barks his lines with that trademark whiplash shout, and bassist Steve Knight is still all relaxed wit and smooth, fluid basslines. There's a bit of ring rust around the edges, with a couple of messed-up chord progressions and 'oh, it's that bit now?' glances across between the two, normally descending into good-natured giggles and banter. The experiance is still as charming as ever, and the songs remain the band's ace card. The newer songs, from their recent split EPs with other groups, show a marked emphasis on melody and pop hooks compared to the street grit of their first EP, but Smith's lyrics have lost none of their gut-punch brutal honesty. Overall then, like an old friend whom you've just invited out to the pub for a pint and a catch up, Torn Out are still as enjoyable as ever, and it's good to see them back.



From one variant of punk to another, acoustic punk gives way to pop punk, with everyone's favourites A Boy Named Girl (85%) up next. It doesn't really matter when you last saw the Dartford five-piece, or how many times you've seen them full stop; they'll still sound the same, still look the same, and still kick just as much arse. They've developed a back catalogue that can happily urinate all over many bands in the pop-punk stable, and while it doesn't bring anything new to the table, their sound and style is so well-executed and so damn fun that you'll wonder why you gave two shits when Fall Out Boy went on hiatus - who needs 'em and their preening when you've got a band writing stuff on a par with their 'Take This To Your Grave' record playing venues like this? And what's more, they can nail their tunes live - Christian Swaisland (drums) and Andy Sargent (bass) hold the others together on a monstrously tight leash, and Steve Wilde and Craig McCall throw catchy, razor-sharp guitar riffs and chords around like they're going out of fashion. Phil Harrison nails every single high-pitched and wavering vocal line, and is refreshingly unpretentious as a pop-punk frontman. Brilliant fun, and an experience I'd recommend to anyone with even a hint of liking for rock 'n' roll.



From pop-punk to ska-punk, it's My Third Leg (79%) playing their home venue, and my, how times have changed since their debut on this exact stage in December 2009. Paul Smith is actually becoming a half-decent drummer, for one thing. I'll just pause for a second so you can clean up the drink you just spat on your screen in shock. In all seriousness, he's matching the endeavour he's always shown with some hard-hitting chops nowadays, and it's improved wholesale from those early days. The same can be said for the rest of the band - while the songs have remained largely the same, their execution live has tightened up immeasurably, with the band growing steadily in stature with every gig. Guitarist Mike Smith embodies this progress rather nicely - from unassuming rhythm guitarist, he's now fleshing out the songs with backing flourishes of chords and arpeggios, leaving frontman Will Woodrow to handle the skanking riffs and leads. Will himself has developed a a distinctive vocal style, growing into the frontman role with confidence and great gusto. Bassist Dave Ja Vu is...well, he's Dave: bouncing around, grinning, yelping excitably, all that we've come to expect and enjoy. M3L are an example of a band sticking to their guns and relentlessly honing their sound, steadily growing in stature until you turn around and realise that, actually, they've become a really good band, without anyone ever particularly noticing when or where this transition to greatness ever happened. Tracks like 'Going for A Drive' and 'Yes Please' are growing into fan favourites, with the former in particular getting bodies moving with ease, and their delivery is sharp, assured and confident. Job well done lads, and the recording sessions for the rumoured upcoming album cannot come soon enough.



From ska-punk to...well, just punk, in the form of this author's personal favourites The Submission (83%), as they like Torn Out make their long-overdue return to the Red Lion stage. And there's no other way of saying this without spoiling my opinion somewhat, but my inevitable enjoyment of their set was tempered by a tinge of disappointment, and a cold realisation. The punk rockers from Deal are battle-hardened veterans now, with rookie drummer Matt Browne having to hit the ground running or risk going under. I speculated in my review of their Canterbury comeback show that Browne would improve on his impressive debut showing, and indeed that was the case, with a much more assured and powerful performance. But whilst the tunes remain as strong and muscular as ever, there's just something a bit cold about them tonight that I can't entirely put my finger on. Frontman Rich Harris was terse between songs, and granted, he's never been the most verbose of frontmen, but this calculating bluntness sat awkwardly at odds for me with the warmth and relaxed front of Submission gigs past. He also seemed to phone in the trademark madcap bombast of his live persona, although a fair bit of this may be attributed to sound problems involving him unable to hear himself play. Compensating for this unnatural dip in energy, though, was bassist Sadie Williams, whom seems to be getting more and more energetic by the show. Despite the ceaseless bounding around and grooving, however, she still remains an absolute professional, never missing a beat or run. What this show does prove to me, however, is that The Submission do miss having an extra guitarist to call on as backup. Expecting Harris to carry all the guitar work on his own, strong as he is in this area, is too much to ask, and I still remain to be convinced that 'I'm Lazy' works with large chunks of the song missing the rhythm guitar. Don't get me wrong, folks - The Submission remain a blazing live proposition, and with tunes like 'Number One Sensation', 'Get Up' (which makes a welcome comeback tonight), 'Reggae Rock Rebels' and 'You Just Don't Know', plus covers of The Clash's 'Career Oppurtunities' and The Ramones' timeless 'Blitzkrieg Bop', you have a set packed of blistering anthems and barnstorming action. But tonight, the realisation occurs that the band have perhaps moved on from past glories, and are a different beast now. More clinical, more ruthless and hard-edged, and perhaps more cynical. For better or for worse, this is the Submission of 2011.


It would probably be harsh of me to give a full review on headliners One Day Elliot, as I spent most of their set either outside at the burger trailer or out in the beer garden. That probably tells you all you needed to know about what I thought of them, and the few minutes or so I did catch only confirmed these impressions. Maybe they're beginning to suffer from jaded fatigue after countless years on the circuit, but for me their set lacked spark, and felt crushingly flat and lacking in joy de vivre. As I say, maybe the good bits of their set passed me by, but unlike the other bands on the bill, they failed to captivate my attention. The fact that a fair amount of people were also outside for their set makes me think that maybe others had the same idea.

So in conclusion, despite faltering just past halfway and the evening staggering to a lethargic and disappointing climax (insert 'this is how my girlfriend feels' jokes here), Castles in the Air's launch was a definite success. With a lineup that strong, even with one or two bands misfiring, you were still guaranteed by simple law of averages a great show, and indeed that was the case. Nice job.

All photography by Ian Castle.

The Submission - No Man's Land E.P.

It is often said that sometimes the very best in people comes out in times of adversity. If that's the case, then one would expect this EP to be a gold-plated, sparkling diamond of musical genius and genre-defining mastery that reconfigures your very perceptions of music as an art form. Or at least to have some pretty ace tunes on it. Now that The Submission are back on the circuit, it's easy to forget that it wasn't long ago that the very existance of the band was in doubt, and this EP is a product of those sour sessions. Produced just over a year ago, it's the last recorded output featuring drummer Stu Cavell, who departed in acrimonious circumstances a few months later. Tensions were high, gigs were sparse and the future was uncertain. So, is this a record that gathers that ill-feeling together into a titanic super-record bursting with epic catharsis?

Erm, no.

In fact, the more I listen to it, the more it becomes clear to me that, rather than being a medium to vent the frustration hanging in the air, it's more just a snapshot of a rather negative moment in time. The recordings feel flat and jaded, as if reflecting the circumstances; rather than rising above the negativity, the EP tends to drag it's heels and wallow in it instead. The production values aren't quite up to Rich Harris' stellar standards, with the drums in particular sounding flakey and insubstantial, like a toy drumkit or some chocolate box tins. Rich's vocals themselves also suffer, with some of the trademark livewire crackle and spark missing from the vocal lines, and choruses that were intended to soar majestically just end up sputtering pathetically off the ground.

What stops this record from being anything other than an unnessecerily well-packaged drinks coaster are the songs themselves, which are very good. They eschew the familiar classic punk rock template and take on a distinctly folksy approach, as if Rich spent most of the sessions listening to old Flogging Molly and Pogues records. So there's plenty of chaotically fast drumbeats and gang-vocal choruses, and when this is married to Rich's strong ear for melody and chord progressions, you have a matrimony to last a lifetime. 'Wake Up' in particular sounds like an early Flogging Molly demo with less instrumentation. The highlight of the E.P. is the title track, which opens with a haunting solo ballad section piped through what sounds like an old gramaphone record, with Rich's yearning vocal lines sounding particularly effective. However, this is The Submission we're talking about, so it should be no surprise that the lighters-in-the-air balladry doesn't last that long, before the whole song takes a nitrous oxide bottle up the sphincter and roars into chaotically fast folk-punk mayhem, but the fact that it never looses it's soul alleviates it above other attempts at this style of music - yup, turns out these punk rockers can turn out a half-decent love song, too. A decent version of Eddy Grant's 'Police on my Back' done in Clash style bookends the disc, with bassist and unsung heroine of the piece Sadie Williams particularly enjoying herself on the chorus runs.

Overall, there's just something a bit disappointing about the record - it's not bad, just let down by the fact we know that they can do better, and have done since then. It's a product of it's environment, and now that the band have moved on from those days, it serves as a signpost of where they were at that particular point in time. The fact that the two originals on here are still worthy of your attention just prooves their strength as songwriters, and if you can find a copy, it's still worth a look.

Rating: 71%
Standout Track: 'No Man's Land'.

Follly - S/T E.P.

This article is another one of my departures from the township of punk rock, venturing beyond the barbed wire-covered city limits to explore and write about my travellings from the neighbouring musical planes. In all fairness, this particular band reside in a county much closer to punk rock than Nell Bryden - garage rock after all is pretty close to punk rock, except with some extra fuzz pedals, some attitude, and bellowing. And curiously enough, not many actual garages.

Anyway, enough torturing of poor defenceless metaphors, let's discuss the band in question - a three-piece from Enfield by the name of Follly. Presumably someone else had already called themselves Folly, so they decided to forgo the effort of thinking of another name altogether and just crowbar another letter into the title, which I don't condemn, although it does mean I'm in the bizarre scenario of being chastised for spelling a word correctly. Anyway, as you probably guessed from my ramblings in the first paragraph, their shtick is hard-edged, fuzzy garage-rock, a genre with a lot of appeal to me but which finds itself often populated by arrogant prats too busy fanning their self-inflated ego with pretentious guitar solos and wannabe Kurt Cobain lyrics to actually give two tosses about their music. Time to dive in and find out if Follly manage to avoid this particular trapping.

The first thing one notices about the EP is the production, or rather lack of it. This is low-fi to the power of low-res multiplied by fuzzy divided by severe distortion, all to the square root of weedy-sounding drums. Seriously, it's hard to tell if the snare drum on the record is a snare drum or just a pile of old fruit boxes from the Asda warehouse. But still, as I've said before, nice shiny production on such DIY recordings as this are a luxury not many people are afforded, so criticising them for that is like criticising a tramp for wearing the same clothes everyday.

The songs themselves seem happy to wallow around in this festival of fuzz, with frontman Jack Cooney's guitar emitting guttaral growls of scuzzy noise over the cardboard-box-snare-drums and Leo Palmer's rumbling bass. These are the sort of songs that don't suit a glossy production anyway, so a middle finger is raised to the mixing desk and the band rock the fuck out instead. The four songs on the CD are a proud display of their sound - crunching riffs followed by more crunching riffs, with crashing drumbeats and the odd howled vocal line. In fact, Cooney's vocals put me in mind of early Tim Wheeler of Ash, as they flit from quasi-Matt Bellamy whines and groans to high-pitched histrionics. They work particularly well on opener 'Riff Rawr', which is probably the strongest song on the EP, with a nice quiet-loud dynamic going on amongst the Nirvana-aping chords and downpours of cymbals. Mr Palmer is everything you'd ask for in a power trio bassist - tight and restrained but capable of a bit of complexity when the situation calls for it. The same is also true for drummer Anthony White, who is powerful without ever being overbearing or domineering. Both lay a rock-solid foundation for Cooney to spray scuzzy guitar chords and wailing solos all over everything, and as a unit they work rather nicely - it's still a fair few live shows and rehersals away from the finished article, but it's a good starting point.

The disc isn't perfect, and suffers from a sudden case of schitzophrenia just past halfway - after the nicely heavy, QOTSA-aping 'Urb the Bird', 'Moth to Flame' feels inconsistant and unsure of a direction as it mines Feeder's debut album for inspiration, and ends up going on for about a minute too long, and 'AAAAAAH!!' suffers from the opposite problem - it only lasts long enough for your mind to reach the the second W in 'wow, this is pretty good'. Nevertheless, as previews of a band's sound go, there's enough highlights and hard-rocking fun on this disc to give promise for the future. They're a hard-rock band without the pretentious twatsmith ego, and with some decent tunes to boot too. Definitely one to watch.

Rating: 73%
Standout Tracks: 'Riff Rawr', 'Urb the Bird'.

Green Day - Awesome As Fuck (Live)

Ah hello there Green Day, good to see you again. It's been a while, hasn't it? You've been gallivanting around the world in various arenas touring that 21st Century Breakdown codswallop, haven't you? Or as it may as well have been called, 'American Idiot re-done by a band doing a really shit impression of U2'. Oh hello, what's this? A live album/DVD combo from this aforesaid tour? I look forward to every song being dragged out to ten minutes for countless bouts of 'whey-ohs' with the crowd, like you've been doing for the last ten years or more. Oh hold up, the setlist isn't a re-run through your greatest hits catalogue? And it actually contains some fan favourites from the depths of your back catalogue? What's the matter, got fed up of pre-teen girls screaming at you and want to appease the hardcore crew who deserted you when American Idiot went multi-platinum? Not that any band should be in the position of having to appease a narrow-minded and petty fanbase, but I will admit that my attention was grabbed when I saw such songs as 'Burnout' and 'Going to Pasalaqua' would feature, so I picked it up pretty soon after release.

Well, one thing I can report, and one thing that becomes obvious after about four songs on the DVD - nobody's told Billie Joe Armstrong that the whole 'I said whey-oh' shtick wore anorexia-thin while Saddam Hussein was still in power, as he seems desperate to cram it into every single fucking song, even if it's not appropriate. It's gotten so predictable, too - in fact, here's an idea for a night in. Gather up a bunch of mates and a fuckload of alcoholic drinks, watch the DVD, and take a swig every time Billie Joe either does the aforesaid 'whey-oh' thing, or shouts 'let's go fucking crazy!'/'get those hands in the air!' the prerequisite three bloody times per song. Trust me, you won't be able to stand up by the end of the DVD.

So Billie Joe's still reading from the same copy of 'hyping up stadium crowds for dummies', and the rest of the band pretty much look exactly the same as they did at the end of the American Idiot tour. And sound the same, too. So what's stopping you staying at home, sweeping the dust off your copy of Bullet in a Bible and saving a tenner? Well, keep reading, for there have been some changes.

Obviously, this being taken from the 21st Century Breakdown tour and everything, the setlist is geared towards that pile of mediocrity, but you'll be pleased to know that some quality control has occurred, and most of the excess baggage and bloated ballads have been trimmed to leave only the best bits. Things kick off on both the CD and DVD with the one-two hit of the title track and 'Know Your Enemy', and while the latter still sounds like what you'd get if you fed 'Clampdown' by The Clash through 'Generic Protest Rock Song v1.0' software, both have an added bit of bite and zip in a live environment. 'Viva La Gloria!' also appears on both discs, which is presumably why 'Letterbomb' was saved for the deluxe edition bonus tracks, and the two best songs on the album, 'The Static Age' and 'American Eulogy' both appear on the DVD, much to this author's delight, which means I can excuse the inclusion of puke-inducing '21 Guns'.

But as I said earlier, what really makes this package stand out are the rarities that have been dragged up from the history books for our listening pleasure. The tracklisting for Awesome As Fuck at times reads like a fan's mixtape, the sort you'd give to someone who's only experience of the band was a second-hand copy of International Superhits. For example, on the one hand, there's no 'Basket Case', no 'Longview', no 'Hitchin' a Ride', and the entirety of the Warning album may as well not exist. But on the other, we get more obscure album tracks, like 'Burnout', on both discs, as well as the criminally underrated 'J.A.R', first album blast 'Going to Pasalaqua', and the stunning 'Who Wrote Holden Caulifield', which Billie Joe reveals to be his favourite song from Kerplunk!, all on the C.D. Over on the DVD, they dig up their cover of The Who's 'My Generation' from the crypts of 1990, and the inclusion of 'Welcome to Paradise' makes this package worth buying on it's own from a personal standpoint.The trade-off with all these nods to the past and fan favourites is that the setlist on both discs feel unfocused, and they tend to meander around a bit, giving the impression that the band don't quite know what the play next. But while you could complain about this, or nit-pick about how certain songs have been glazed over (on that subject, I'm still waiting for 'Jaded', fellas), the fact that they've managed to trim down their 30-song+ live setlist into a relatively cohesive unit is an achievement, and I do admire the band's conscious attempt to sidestep the hits that everyone's heard a billion and one times before..

What also makes this package very strong are the band themselves. I can rag on them until I'm blue in the face about how repetitive and tedious Billie Joe's crowd-hyping tactics have become, but the fact remains that the band are consummate professionals and brilliant showmen who know how to put on a great show. Tre Cool remains one of the best drummers in the game, nailing the beats and rolls every single time, and even though Mike Dirnt's excellent bass skills have become marginalised in the studio over the last few years, he still gets ample chances to shine here. It's just a shame that Billie Joe's fixation with trying to be a cross between Freddie Mercury and Bono is often to the detriment of the songs.

For example, while the crowd-hyping methods already mentioned are never quite annoying enough to be deal-breakers, a couple of songs have both their kneecaps shot out by Billie Joe's desire to randomly run down the front and wank around with a guitar solo for a minute or two. These moments would veer dangerously close to pretentious twat territory on their own if it wasn't for the fact that they almost unfailing spoil the momentum of the song the rest of the band happened to be playing at the time. 'American Idiot' takes this particular kick to the bollocks just after the bridge, and '...Eulogy' is almost completely spoiled midway through Dirnt's second verse, exactly at the point where the song is supposed to be building towards the epic climax, not sitting around twiddling it's thumbs while the frontman farts around. It'd be like interrupting the climax of Reservoir Dogs to show Mr Pink discussing tooth-brushing techniques for half an hour. It's not even like he's a particularly good improv guitarist, with one of the solos descending into blind noise. Here's a basic rule of thumb - trying to awkwardly ram a solo into the middle of a song will more than likely make you look like a wanker, so don't bother, unless your name happens to be Josh Homme.

There are places on the DVD where the band themselves look and sound a little flat, and not quite as sparky as they were on Bullet in a Bible. This isn't helped by the sound mix on the DVD, which suffocates the guitars and makes the whole thing sound like the band are playing at the Camden Underworld rather than an epic arena. Thankfully, the mix on the CD is very good, with all instruments well-balanced and muscular. The whole digi-screen backdrop to their set (another nab from U2) is also redundant at best, and is only used to show some random graphics, or a cliched quote/clip from the news, or something like that. For me, the best bits of the DVD were when the band seemed to deviate from the predictable and veer off-script, like when additional member Jason Freese thought that what 'The Static Age' was missing was a wailing saxophone solo over the bridge and final chorus, or when Billie Joe grabbed a ski mask from a guy in the crowd, put it on and kept playing, all without missing a beat.

A bit of flash and unpredictability is something largely missing from both the discs, but overall, none of the criticisms I've made should be enough to put you off buying Awesome As Fuck. I seem to be the only one who gets pissed off by the crowd-hyping shenanigans, and as I've already said, the array of hidden gems across the tracklistings are a nice surprise, and they set the discs apart from most live records by big bands. If you're a new fan who just heard Basket Case on the radio and want a starting point, go find Bullet in a Bible first, but if you're a long-time fan, sticking with them whether you liked the epic turns of the 2000s or not, then Awesome as Fuck is, while not a classic, still a fine addition to the canon, and one I'd recommend.

Label: Reprise Records
Release Date: 22nd March 2011
Rating: 74%
Standout Tracks: CD - 'J.A.R', 'Who Wrote Holden Caulifield?', 'Cigarettes and Valentines'. DVD - 'Know Your Enemy', 'Welcome to Paradise', 'Jesus of Surburbia'.

Live: A Boy Named Girl, My Third Leg & Captain Bastard and the Scallywags - Crush, Dartford 16/3/11

Dartford. Hardly a hotbed of ace punk rock gigs, is it? Or indeed, a hotbed of much at all, except for shopping centres and old biddies who use their shopping trolleys and mobility scooters as offensive weapons against anything that looks at them funny (which is generally everyone else). But tonight is a spirited attempt to change that, with a lineup of three strong bands from the Kent scene ready to bring rock 'n' roll to the dancefloor of the Crush bar tonight, instead of dubstep and perhaps chlamydia.

After the usual bout of confused looks from the bewildered soundman, a few shrugs of shoulders and shouts of 'fuck it, let's just play', Captain Bastard and the Scallywags (76%) kick off proceedings on the neon-pink dancefloor. Tonight is the start of three dates for the ascending folk-punk crew, and they set down a strong marker for the rest of the tour. It's the usual mix of fun and piratey shenanigans from the gang, with singer Andrew Keech leading his merry men on a romp through the pages of folk-punk tradition, ably accompanied by his vocal lieutenants, mandolinist Jordan Harris and acoustic guitarist Tom Garderner. Actually, that's a bit of a misnomer, as this is folk-punk we're talking about, so you could legitimately claim that everyone in the band and in the crowd are backing vocalists for those big choruses. Speaking of which, they have plenty of those in store for you, and some of them are attached to great songs too. Standard opener 'Along Came A Spider''s stomping beats and hard-edged riffs never cease to entertain, as do the wonderfully uplifting backing vox and catchy hooks that permeate 'Getting Out Of This Town'. Drummer 'Miami' Keith Sargent drives everything forward with the usual frenzied, foaming-at-the-mouth drumming, and whilst the execution still isn't always perfect, the group as a whole are definitely growing in stature with each show. A solid and heartily enjoyable performance to kick-start proceedings, then - a job well done, me hearties. Or something.

Next up in the triumvirate comes the band who seem to crop up more regularly on this website than bags of white powder at Charlie Sheen's house, My Third Leg (78%). I've honestly lost count of the amount of times I've seen Gravesend's finest in the last few months, but the fact that it's never gotten boring must mean that they're doing something right. And in fact, there is something a little different about them tonight, and I'm not just talking about guitarist Mike Smith's new guitar and hairstyle either. In fact, this new guitar has brought about a few changes in Smith's playing, and while it sometimes gets clogged in the sound mix, it's notable that there's a bit more meat around the bones of his riffs and rhythm chords. Some things never change, though - elder brother Paul is still as lovably chaotic behind the kit as ever, pulling the usual mix of gurning facial expressions and desperate attempts at drums rolls, and bassist Dave Ja Vu is still forgetting to take his Ritalin medication before each show, bouncing around and grinning like an idiot throughout. Their songs are slowly growing in stature along with the band, and anthems like '3470 Miles', 'Balls Deep' and the timelessly excellent 'Going for A Drive' are unleashed to the enjoyment of the crowd. Reliably enjoyable as always, then - you know exactly what you're going to get with these blokes, and no matter how many times you see it, it'll always be damn good fun.

Wait, is that the time already? The evening feels like it's flown by, but we have an appropriate headliner to bring things to a catchy and hook-laden conclusion - it's the hometown heroes themselves, A Boy Named Girl (84%). It's not that big a secret that, for a while, I wasn't the biggest fan of this group, but since my Lazarus-style reversal of opinion last October in Deal, I've been struggling to work out why it took me so long to realise what a genuinely great group these fellas are. Songs like 'Ill Be Fine (When I Forget You)', 'Night Life Story' and 'My Best Mistake' are outrageously catchy slices of pop-punk, and not only do the five-piece have an armoury of such tunes already built up, but they also have a live show that nails them to a T - relentlessly tight execution allied to the requisite amounts of energy and youthful bluster. All the above is on display tonight, as well as their usual tongue-in-cheek cover of Sisqo's 'Thong Song', which is nothing short of impishly fun. What's interesting, though, are the few new songs on display, which show that the band are maturing and taking a new direction into slower, ballad-driven radio rock...had you going for a second, didn't I? No, the newer tracks' only concession to progress is to ramp up the hooks and melodies even more so, if that was even possible, and there's one song in particular that I've yet to learn the name of who's riffs still refuse to leave my head even now, and probably won't until I conduct experimental brain surgery with a pair of tweezers. Great fun.

A lineup strong enough to survive the late departure of one of the bands and still be a classic is truly a night that doesn't fuck around in terms of enjoyment levels, and tonight was probably the most amount of fun I've had in Dartford for bloody ages. A good variety of bands, all with various prefixes you could attach to the word 'punk', and all with unique charm and character that when combined together on nights like this results in a entertaining and sweaty Wednesday night out.

Captain Bastard and the Scallywags - The Racing Legend E.P.

Irish folk-punk sounds like an utterly retarded genre on paper. On the one hand, copious amounts of Guinness and lots of drunken acoustic singalongs with bizarre instruments, all about the devil and sometimes leprechauns, and on the other, frenetic anti-establishment electric guitars singing about sticking it to the man. Or perhaps masturbation. Anyway, my point is, it's hard to see on paper where the crossover would be, but in practice, it results in one of the most outrageously fun and unique musical genres you can ever experience. Which is why it's a shame that there aren't that many bands ploughing this furrow; I guess digging around for the necessary assortment of mandolins, accordions, violins, harpsichords and triangles is too much effort when you can just sling a couple of guitars and a bass together and call it job done, but the Dropkick Murphys and Flogging Molly have both proven the amount of riotous fun one can have when this pick 'n' mix of instruments is unified together for the greater cause of getting bladdered and shouting yourself hoarse.

Enter Captain Bastard and the Scallywags, an assorted band of misfits and punkers who swore allegiance to this new life of Guinness, crammed stages, bemused soundmen and bellowed backing vocals late last year. After a clunky start, with timing and drumming issues that made Paul Smith look like Dave Grohl, the group quickly settled in as a unit, and having gotten a decent raft of gigs annoying punters all over Kent under their belts, we arrive now at their first recorded output: The Racing Legend E.P.

It's always difficult reviewing a band's recorded output having already seen and heard the songs in a live setting, and nowhere is that more true than here. All four tracks are originals and staples of their live show, and translating that onto record whilst retaining the chaotic energy of a live show performance was always going to be a tough ask, particularly with the production quality being relatively low-res at best. The mix does a good job of balancing the acoustic instruments, but this comes at the expense of proper electric guitars - on the few moments you do actually catch snatches of guitarist Lucas Razell's riffing, it sounds like he's plugged into a Fisher Price My First Guitar Amp by mistake, which is a shame, as this is a vital component to Captain Bastard's music. Still, I'm not going to hold it against them, and they won't loose points for it; placed in comparative terms to most big bands, their recording budget amounts to about 50p, a Cadburys Cream Egg and a packet of used condoms, and the clarity of the various acoustic instruments mean that the lack of electric meat is never a deal-breaker.

What it does mean, though, is that the songs have to stand up on their own merits, and unlike big shiny bands with their big shiny mixing desks and copies of Pro-Tools, any weaknesses cannot hide behind glossy production - they have to stand up to the raw scrutiny of my ears. And on that front, the Captain and his Scallywags are looking very strong indeed. In an ideal world, 'Getting Out of This Town' would be a radio hit, with it's outrageously catchy backing vocal lines at the chorus and deft pennywhistle melodies from Kayla Harlow throughout the song, as well as a really strong vocal performance from singer Andrew Keech. The lyrics overall are impressive, and seeing as they mostly get lost in the carnage live, it makes a change to actually be able to hear what Keech and co are singing about. Harlow is probably the unsung heroine of the piece, given a free role to float over the riffs and crop up where she likes, and she embraces it nicely.

With the electric guitar suffering from malnutrition, Tom Gardener's jangling acoustic guitar chords carry each song forward, with Jordan Harris' choppy and nicely woven mandolin playing augmenting the Captain's assault. Nowhere is this more evident than band anthem 'Along Came A Spider', which kicks off the E.P. in rifftastic, gung-ho style. Gardener and Harris are responsible for most of the backing vocals on show, and they succeed in elevating the choruses to shouty singalongs full of emphatic, uplifting power, particularly on '...This Town' and 'Nine Layers of Hell', which contains chorus harmonies to make Brett Gurewitz nod approvingly. Bill Gower's bass playing is unfussy and tidy, which contrasts with the drumming of Keith Sargeant, haphazard as ever, teetering as it does right on the edge of disaster. Accordionist Ben Gower provides melodic backup to the stringed instruments, and it works to add to the Celtic vibes permeating throughout like someone spilt a pint of Guinness on the disc.

It's scratchy and rough around the edges, and about as slick as a pile of broken glass on a gravel driveway - I swear one song is shorn of an entire verse/chorus cycle - but more importantly, it's fast, frenetic, and most of all, fun. All four tracks are strong, and the consistency is admirable. The main point of short EPs are to showcase the potential promise that may or may not lay in wait for the future, and on this evidence, Captain Bastard and his Scallywags have a voyage of fun and beer-swilling to look forward to, and I'll enjoy watching and listening to the results.

Rating: 81%

Standout Tracks: 'Along Came A Spider', 'Getting Out Of This Town'.

Record Label: Unsigned

Release Date: March 16th, 2011

Captain Bastard and the Scallywags on Facebook.