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The Ends
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 I only noticed what the title of this was when I
parked my arse to write this. I think I'm gonna resist their oh so
tempting offer to harp on about the album based on that though. It'll be
hard mind but I'll take it a minute at a time. It starts off with a
leering lurch, suitably titled 'Pucker Up', and struts around like the
Hollywood Brats on glue, rushing on Roxy piano and smatterings of
Mott sax
splashes, everything pushed into the red, including their eyes, not
stopping for breath except for a sharp slurp of tramp heating before 'Workin
on Some Feelin', another rude and wired wobble into an old school punk's
table. As much as I enjoyed the openers, well the first half really, it's
not helped by the vocals coming across as a Camden Town spesh-head
staggering around singing away in the spirit of '77 and managing to sound
like an evil hybrid of Strummer, Lydon and Ten Pole Tudor (and also very
occasionally the Black Halos' Billy Hopeless) in a very bad mood, gurgling
cough medicine and trying to clear it's throat. At least Strummer was
generally saying something. Unfortunately, after numerous plays the second
half sees the end coming all too soon and becoming all flaccid and
uninteresting. Leaving the best bits the attitude fuelled opening doubleshot which really do motor in an amphetamine dash and the guitar
break on 'New Rome', which is so piercing and in the red that it'd make
Thunders guitar sound polite and see it off scampering back home well and
truly rebuked. |
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