While the rest of us spent the past two years two metres apart like detuned automatons, righteous rock dissent was fomenting in the back alleys of Garageland, and this volatile six-track punk’n’roll kicker is the afterbirth.
Singer/guitarist James Walbourne – best known for his work with The Pretenders – is more reliably louche than Peter O’Toole in a speakeasy, but with the urgency of an ice-road trucker on Adderall, while drummer Kristoffer Sonne smashes the granny out of the traps.
With so much grunt, a bass player is superfluous to requirements; the power trio rulebook has not only been torn up, it’s been set alight then shot out of a cannon.
It’s filth-rock redolent of sitting behind Iggy’s passenger seat en route to be dropped off at Sister Ray’s place after the sailor’s corpse has been removed in order to shampoo the stained carpet. Amphetamine-eyed thousand-yard stares on the wrong side of 4am.
