RPM have been cutting moves around Manchester for about 18 months I guess now, uniting a hardcore punk DIY ethic that makes Steve Albini seem like some corporate ass-munching cock swallower (they run their own That's Not Skanking night, band swap gigs, and fanzine) with a tuneful speedcore punk sound that howls hard back to Bad Religion but it's more eviscerating corpses with New Bomb Turks buzzsaw bludgeoning than hypnotizing chickens ya dig? Opening with 'here's one for you', a bestialized mix of Turbonegro's 'Get It On' by way of the 'Mental Beat' riff as tho Happy Hank were indulging in some frenzied pleasure with a Mohammed Ali fist in time to Rancid's ska punk. Seasickness inducing tempo changes like Dropkick Murphys on a fishing trip...judging by the way these guys clamour and careen around a stage it could well have been written as a result of them bouncing off rehearsal room walls a la Westerberg as the tempo kinda slides into the next like drunks at a bar rather than simply altering abruptly. 'alcohol is not a drug (it's a drink)' (ahh the innocence of youth, eh?) has a riff like some double dildo impaling both Alice Cooper's 'Poison' and Slayer's 'South of Heaven' and will swill congealed in your head and stick fast there like dried cum on a porn girls ass crack. Their chaotic tho' always good-natured aggression is executed with a nice precise psychotic aplomb and a sardonic wit - 'vuz lightyear' pokes a vengeful fuck you finger at a well-known local promoter renowned for not turning up to his own gigs never mind coughing up the cash; self-explanatory fun-poking 'straight hedge' - that sees 'em slip slightly into the alley for a quick toke with the Toy Dolls and Half Man / Half Biscuit* but with the quality of GoldBlade's pirouettes into the ska arcade. 'rita, sue and bob' too takes the title from the film to rail at no-hopers, non-doers, skivers, day-time TV termites ('you got no money, got no job, got no fucking life').

This good ol' boys personal recommendation would be 'wrong way morning', the central nervous system on this short burst of fresh air uniting the components of their tuneful, angry happy-angst in a merry beer hall jig. It's 'I had a feellliiiinnn' this morniiiing' tag sung Mick Jones style not unlike something that'd grace fellow Manc mayhemic maurauderers GoldBlade and DTX / Dog Toffee – a rallying call for the hyperactive anarchic punk disorder generation. That they share a similar pent-up passion, sense of fun and sense of the ridiculous whilst being entirely serious in their approach too is all the better and gets behind the beating heart of the oft-touted and rarely flouted 'punk' attitude missing in your California skate punkas.