Through the flickering flames of a pyre built from a thousand overdosed indie hipsters leap Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats, black tongues distended, hair blown backwards, their dicks and flaps dangling perilously close to the heart of the heat. Who they are no one really knows but when you unleash a debut so irrefutably killer in this internet age of publicity whoredom and still shun all the tried and tested promotional routes respect is certainly due.
This we do know: Uncle Acid & The Deadbeats are a trio from Cambridge whose original 2010 vinyl-only release of Blood Lust now sells for silly money without anyone knowing who they are. No photos, no London gigs as yet, none of that time-wasting shit when there are tunes to write like Ritual Knife – essentially The Beatles if they had failed and become really bitter devil worshippers – or the narco-doom of_ Death’s Door_.
Elsewhere 13 Candles and Withered Hand Of Evil sit at the psychological crossroads where that gentle trip acid trip gives way to full-blown horror as a veil of blood is drawn across your vision and your hands sprout hairs. They manage to recall Maiden, Pentagram and Sabbath without shamelessly ripping off either and on the folk-flecked Down To The Fire remain as quintessentially English as a Hammer horror film. But where they truly excel is by tapping into the pagan, primordial juices that have been running through man’s veins since the year dot but which most bands don’t draw on because they’re so utterly, pathetically contrived. _ _
Blood Lust plays from the groin. It opens Hell’s gates and you need it in your life. A point is docked just in case they look like total spanners.