TNS Records Compilation:
People Who Drink Cider In The Gutter (Manchester UK)
By Jillian Abbene
(SugarBuzz Wash DC/Richmond))
SugarBuzz Magazine
Workaholic extraordinaire, Andy Davies [aka Andy Psychotronic], pounds away exhaustingly, along with his crew to launch a 20-track compilation on his TNS label [i.e. That’s Not Skanking]. Not only that, he has created a fanzine, “That’s Not Skanking,” puts on ska/punk gigs, and is acting bass player (touring all over the UK) for the raucous Manchester band, ‘Revenge Of The Psychotronic Man.’
This recording is a very well thought out mix; fully mastered by producer, Tim G, the mastermind himself. TNS’ sole purpose is to expose the underground bands, one by one, extinguishing mainstream trite regurgitations that have been subject to listen to. By the forked-out DIY approach, TNS exposes genuinely raw bands, recycling the monies back into the label.
The TNS’ record launch has been a success. Its diversity in sound and infused punk is nothing half-assed. Here is a synopsis of what is going on in the world of DIY, what’s up in the UK, and most importantly, songs for the drunken-punk masses.
The Dangerfields have derived from Belfast and have been doing just fine outside the comfortable parameters of the UK to make a name for themselves. ‘Midnight Scene,’ has the perfect ingredients for circle-pit fast punk ’n roll, keeping the listener well hydrated in the overflowing spirits. As a great opener, an outstretched squeal signatures great rock and roll. The M8 squalls in shit-yer-pants guitar-drum fight hardcore. These guys will play wherever there is beer.
Interestingly, ‘Rise and Fall,’ from, The Shuffle, also has that raw rock element. In an instant, 10-second Aerosmith-like “Dream On,” ticks into spanning guitar. Aside from vocal-scratched convictions, there are burdening stops and starts. Intentionally, the song breaks up into a sample patch of guitar plunks in metal-punk, arising emotive sequenced melancholy. Bad Religion hook-ups brittles with a bit more passionate angst, sending out punk rock Morse Code for labels to snatch ‘em up. This can very well determine the fate of whether if the band will rise or fall.
The Medicine Bow, are no castrated puffins to the bourbon-soaked swiggin’ garage rock ‘n roll. Veterans, their song entitled, ‘Bourbon,’ bullpens a fitting 3 chorder in offbeat sharps and flats—twanging out the country blues. Medicine Stu, coats the liquored croons in the language of blue-suede tongue—only to know that live, his breath hypnotizes all in alcoholic-euphoria recall. Eliminating an all-poser packed biscuit crew, the reigning country-drunk punk influences of Johnny Cash and ACDC reverbs in swilling feedback and beastie squeals. Skidding a road-rash of guitar leaves no wondering that their main aspiration is to crank out killer tunes, nosh on beef jerky, all under the sunset Las Vegas sunset strip.
This CD continues to pick up its own kind of cadence with these next chunkier metal-type punk tracks. Revenge Of The Psychotronic Man, happens to be one of my favorite bands proven by their independent thinking and spunk. Fleshy, piggybacked guitar and bass, galaxy over Andy Psychotronic’s scratched up feisty shouts. The beats are as feisty as he is—I can easily imagine their sound stirring up a live crowd to a swaggering stupor as well as themselves with karate kick-splits all over the stage. Drum plodding syncopations rocks out like a shoved angst up the listener’s arse as guitar chords scream with volumed gang vocals instilling to, ‘Get Pissed, Talk Shit & Dancing Like An Idiot,’ which is also their main title track, and a precursor for their freshly-printed split CD with The Fractions.
[Note: Sometime next year you can bank that I plan to be in the front, hogging the mike, while hailing shouts at all the horse heads.]
On a roll, The Kirkz, song, ‘The Ratz,’ also runs along the same chunky threads with all inclusive drum thumps and sparring bass. “Holy-Jesus-Mary,” I murmur as dominated staccato guitar spurts out along the lip of spot-on scratched-up lead vocals, right on queue. Leading up to a tightly executed rapid switch, all in a tinned out M8, a screamed morphed hangover of surged guitar and bass pops to an enthralling skidded halt.
The CD doesn’t slow down here—matter of fact, it picks up momentum with the disrespecting respectable, The Shadowcops. Well you won’t need your coffee because, ‘Putsch,’ spews out a speedy swallow of precursored drum pounds followed by a single guitar squeal that not only sets up Nathan’s abrasive honed vocal treads, but the M8 changes volume in a fuzzed-in groove. Adding depth, gang-vocal repeats in shouty, “Fuck Off!” drills into my head—enough to still be lying in my bed the following morning with the catchy assault lyrics…all the while pointing in the air.
Within this CD, there is a nitch of street punk. Leading fuzz-chords steams in for starters as, The Great Louis, whisks up articulate guitar twiddlings between verses 1 and 2 in, ‘One Day.’ Slightly skirting underneath the melodic vocal radar, side-by-side guitar strides in classic rock stance. It is not trite, but more of a comfort, as the steady beat refines the consistency, making this song a gem.
If I didn’t know better, I could have easily mistaken this next band, Just Panic, as an American street punk band. Now that’s a switch. ‘Crime,’ is peppered within the song with the ‘Against-Me-Bob-Dylan-like-Green-Day,’ influences that bookends the tune. The first verse in higher toned sarcastic lyrics, wears the patriotic badge, circling back again for the tune to floor from steady beats to surged guitar all to wrap up in ‘The Street Dogs’ chops. Underneath my breath, I tell myself, “This is Liverpool, not Boston.”
Death By Decibels, [aka dBd], have been around a while with their movers/shakers attitude. ‘Songs For The Union,’ is a conglomeration of Rancid with Far From Finished strides all framed in ’77 guitar—summing up the new school street punk scene. With extra gravely vocals, tuneful verses carry the guitar riffs making an entrance smack dab in the middle of the song. Despite the folk template, the last verse trots around the bend in a great graveled solo—sprawling for the big finish.
Now it’s time for some ska. Rigging in raps of angsty vocals, The Fractions, ‘We Were Kings,’ plucks in snotty clad. Although their uneven harmonies may first sound wrong, I am convinced they are right. A syncopated bridge with drums between guitar strums wakes up the tune—all by one single horn. Broken free from the bondage of imitation, intensified horns blurt out leaving you to believe you have entered the next track. Just then, they rear around for one last blurt at the end. Check out their split EP with Revenge Of The Psychotronic Man—it has the best of both worlds: horns, guitar chunks, and pints full of angst.
Faintest Idea has a clever way of incorporating gruff ska and punk in, ‘See You In The Gutter.’ Heavily accented raspy vocals bite into the first two verses, as fuzzed guitar drives the off-beats in syncopated migrated horn-toots by backup man Stash [Dead Pets hornman]. The first switches to the heavily influenced street punk including vocal add-ins, it picks up the pace. On the second switch, the lead guitarist totally lets loose an unstructured spastic and bleeding-fast solo. Switching the third time back to the ska-inflicted romp beat, the sole imagery of every after-wedding wild romp, creates nothing other than a half-standing trollop of friends hunched in drunken glory.
I’ll tell ya, Durham, UK is mapping out some solid punk outfits these days and, Speeding Bee, is no different. ‘Cat. Pie. Bake.,’ that ambitiously forefronts horns and drum rat-a-tats with a clear catchy chorus, “This beat will carry us to our destination, there’s no reason to go farther, there’s no reason at all.” The entire song is structured like an erector set—centered around ska and horn. A crescendoed sweeping bridge fuses the fuzzed guitar to boomerang back to that insatiable chorus that will have you memorize the chorus on the first listen. (Just so you know, no animals were harmed in the making of this recording.)
London based, On The Turn, adds odded influences with a Spanish-ska flair in, ‘Kidnap and Ransom.’ The interluding chorus pushes and pulls metal-guitar chords, threading within the vocal harmonies. Reminiscences of Bad Religion, the middle section snaps back into the beginning verse. Don’t think you can completely stop from a full skank, because the ending unravels in pounded drum-thumps ending in a great dirgy-dizzing instrumental—all swirling together, landing like a 4-car pile up.
‘Identity Crisis,’ by, Sounds Of Swami, is also in the same vein with metal energy. This song twists and turns delivering horned blare-outs along syncopated beats and chords together—tied in a more intense hardcore angst. The M8 is distinctive, fierce, and forced with stark lyrics, “Suck. Feed. Bitch. Repeat“ in pissed off repeats and accentuating drum pounds. Shattering the hardcore mold, the lead vocalist belts out sharp, pierced, “A System Of The Down,” vocals, holding the note. Dive-bombing rat-a-tat spit-shine echo beats in a similar Clash jam, as gigantic guitar swells stream until the ending interlude.
Harijan is another band with metal punk influences that transcends your basic punk elements. ‘Curriculum Vitae,’ has melded ska/reggae reggae beats through the first verse, then suddenly breaks into a metal-chunked chorus with gutteral crooned growls. Just then it switches to a dirgy grunge metal grunge bit including drum pounds and a well thought-out guitar groove. The returning reggae roots with crashing cymbal sliding along fluid vocals puts out an inventive straddle of metal installments that will make you pay attention and turn off MTV.
A smashing intro layouts in serious horns and serious guitar, infusing elements of punk‘nroll and ska (heavy on the ska) from, Buzzkill. ‘Broken Picture,’ promises you’ll be dancing through its entirety with a fast and beefy melody along with accelerated vocals. Automatic toe-tapping to horns and drums, this band has a guarantee to pack the house. Don’t underestimate these guys, they have an obvious solid following. I’m sure this is not the last we will hear from these crazy cats.
Dog Toffee, has done it right with, ‘NME Darlin.’ I never tire of this song. Dramatic intro of solitary thunder-cat drums fully roasts along the tuneful bass easing into emotive, melodic guitar. A blissful harmony chorus glides along a rock-out on the lead vocals straight to the M8. After roundabout harmony repeats and a guitar line, reincarnated rap is carved in. I admit, this works. Ironically, ending in lonely guitar and harmony fades to melancholic piano plunks, perhaps foreshadowing the future of the band, as they have regrettably split—eliminating them from any chance of being nominated as one of NME’s darlings.
Only The Hyperjax, can take a song title, ‘English Country Garden,’ and meld it into a rockabilly swing-jam. Ensnared slow-tempoed guitar strums in setting up the searing rockabilly slide and shouts of, “hey!” breaks the beginning plucked-out double bass ques for ass-wigglin’. The lead vocals are suave, stopping long enough to keep up with the thumped bass, drum and cymbal tings, foam the beat into a frothy dance number. Gang-chorus repeats squeezes one more round in the skipped needle effect.
The beginning opens in a prerecorded pub culture. Surprisingly, the lead vocalist from, Mr. International And The Getaway Gang, sounds like a reincarnated Feargal Sharkey [former lead vocals for The Undertones.]. Accapella gutteral verses create octave clearance in, ‘Binge Drink Generation,’ which whines effectively like a bad drinking habit (although feeling no pity). As four chords push the song ahead in faster beats of a Stray Cat crawl, subtle harmonies add heart to the most desperate issue that ails this binge drinking generation.
A very humorous bonus track actually closes out the CD, leaving you wondering if Matt Woods’ cider has extra fermentation. Now I’ve been told to never underestimate the influences of a killer twat—especially if he’s bucking about with Medicine Stu from Medicine Bow. Well, the mocked twang in, ‘So Straight, I’m on Daytime TV,’ emulates a drunken-American slurred country spoof. It’s exaggerated and humorous. Matt is a one-man comedic act. Effortlessly, the droll-twanged half-wit (or a half twit) impersonator joins the likes of Johnny Cash, brimming with confidence. Single handedly, he has positioned himself at Wasted Fest and Rebellion Fest in 2006, championing fans which can be best measured by how big his balls are—now THAT’S big!