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THE BLUNTS
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“I had one too many then I had another one more...” – ‘Life On Hold’
It’s pleasing that such muscle-bound thugrock retains an essential Ramones-y goofiness and melody where it could all too easily descend into Oi style terrace terror shout-athons. Thankfully they do gatecrash their own party-punk with lashings of lager and Calif-or-n-i-a street sludge Rock’n’Roll. ‘Come Of Age’ is resplendently reminiscent of the raw boogie that headed high and hopeful to Hell on the Junk label, bands like The Dragons, Dimestore Haloes and The Weaklings, even early Supersuckers with a grudge at not having enough sunlight...and the Dead Idols in the present day.
This ain’t
no dinner party, white wine red rose sound so stay away if you wanna hear
some artful wannabe wank laboured over and cleansed with the costliest
lotions till it’s loveless and sterile. The Blunts don’t care anyway. But
they’ll sure as hell invite any fucker that likes a simple feast at the
table of Rock’n’Roll where anything goes and it’s best when it overflows. |
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-Stu Gibson |
These
Wolverhampton wanderers are all set to plunder your fair worlds this year
when their debut album hits the streets courtesy of Revolver Records. This
demo from a couple of years ago has signposted construction work in
progress but not the extent of it...giant JCB-like guitars gouging huge
gorges out of the industrial black country laying waste like an ethanol
fuelled Norse army clubbing it’s literally blunt-edge way through your
faltering fortresses from the Lothian borders to London’s louche lounges
and potentially all the way to Long Beach. ‘Keep It To Myself’’s anthemic
eightball boogie bronxes its broad-shouldered, barrel-chested brothel-creepered
bulk into the gap left by the Yo-Yo’s and effectively neuters the New Bomb
Turks with dynamite jet production power that can’t pussify the inebriated
and wild-eyed energy they’ve shaken from Izzy Stradlin’s dreadlocks that
powered Sir Strad’s version of ‘Pressure Drop’.