Showing posts with label snotty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label snotty. Show all posts

Saturday, 21 November 2009

Where have all the boot boys gone?


Two important punk bands from Britain's golden age('76/'77) that are also hailed for defining the sound and attitude that characterized later waves of British punk, including the more brutal, working class sound of Oi!, are Slaughter and The Dogs and Menace.
Both of these bands clearly draw on the American underground scene so influential to British punks, as well as more homegrown influences in the form of glam and pub-rock, and of course London's burgeoning scene. Menace's early few singles, available on the Captain Oi! compilation (pictured), are absolutely essential punk rock classics. The snotty lyrics and buzz-saw guitar assault can be likened to the Dead Boys, and their socially-conscious lyrics portray Britain's disenfranchised youth, politicized and angry at its dead-end factory-floor existence. Track picks include the Stiv Bators nihilistic sneer of Screwed Up and I Need Nothing; the indispensable classics GLC (Greater London Council) with the immortal lyrics "you're full of shit!" and chant-along year-zero anthem Last Year's Youth; and a rousing rendition of Cliff Richards' classic Young Ones, played in the way you'd think it was always meant to be.
Slaughter and the Dogs, on the other hand, wear their glam-influences on the sleeves. Their fantastic name comes from two of their favourite albums, Bowie's Diamond Dogs and Mick Ronson's Slaughter on Tenth Avenue. Early Manchester scene legends, they managed to wangle a support slot at the Sex Pistols' Lesser Free Trade Hall gig on 20th July 1976 along with Howard Devoto's Buzzcocks, and thus their punk status was sealed. They play a gloriously abrassive and yobbish take on sleazy rock, with nods to the New York Dolls and Velvet Underground, two bands to which they pay tribute with cranked-up versions of Mystery Girls and Waiting for The Man. They shy away from explicit politics, instead hammering out some high-velocity, thrash-punk tunes. Though perhaps light on lyrical accomplishment, their songs are irresistibly good fun. Track picks include the schlock horror fun of Victims of The Vampire; a paean to the youth of yesteryear in Where Have All The Boot Boys Gone?; and the nonchalant sneer of We Don't Care.

In both these bands' thuggish swagger and uncompromising hard-punk noise lies the seeds of what later generations would declare to be the 'true punk' sound. The cockney Oi! scene gained popularity in the early 80s thanks to bands like The Business and Cock Sparrer, as well as the genre's self-appointed figurehead, tabloid hack Garry Bushell. It drew on the harder-edged street-wise sounds of the early bands, like Menace and Slaughter..., and considered punk to be a strictly working class expression, an outcry of society's downtrodden. Despite this claim, the later groups would often rather perversely celebrate and accentuate their lower class traits, seemingly unaware that a certain small-mindedness came with the trappings. Sham 69, hailed as godfathers of the Oi! genre, would chant 'proud to be a cockney' at gigs and wrote stirring footy-chant anthems, full of almost comic book cockney jeers of 'oi oi' and 'awright guv'. But such innocent beginnings soon snowballed and took on a life of their own. The scene soon became a caricature, and much like other punk movements, proceeded to paint itself into a corner, constructing and enforcing its own limitations, instead of breaking down boundaries. But worse than this the Oi! scene took on a political slant very much at odds with the left-leaning revolutionary stance of their predecessors.
As the skinheads of the late 60s had learned, it was a slippery slope, especially in the eyes of the media, from expressing your self-respect and championing your working class heritage, to tattooing a swastika on your forehead and hitting the streets for "a bit of the old ultra-violence". The original Skinhead movement, with its roots in Jamaican Rude Boy culture and street-Mod style, had been defined by a sort of inclusive, working-class comradeship. Poor black immigrants and native white skins met on the dance floor in peace, wanting nothing more than to indulge in their adoration of reggae and soul music. The newspapers as ever, out of touch with the movement's original soul, concentrated on the violent few and redefined the movement for future generations. With its love of sensation and conflict, the media took the 'paki-bashing' angle and ran with it making the skinhead something of a scape goat for society's ills. The skinheads have been demonized ever since. In a similar way, oi! which naturally appealed to street-punks and a new generation of skinheads, and therefore had to shoulder the controversies which followed such subcultures, also had public-relation problems. Punk had always had a slightly uncomfortable flirtation with Nazi-regalia and iconography. More often than not it was simply a case of shock value; a sort of childish taunting of accepted social codes, two fingers up at those outside of the scene, who didn't 'get it'. Conversely, as the scene also had a very calculated intellectual side to it, made up of anti-art guerrillas, armchair anarchists and cultural-revolutionaries, such use of offensive imagery was seen as a post-structuralist breakdown of recognized symbols and their associated ideologies. Punks were thought to be taking the icons of the past and ripping them up, sticking them back together in dadaist collage ensembles that rendered the signs as empty and meaningless, yet knowingly mischievous as Johnny Rotten's vacant stare. "History", as Malcolm McClaren famously claimed "is for pissing on".
But Oi!, which seemed to reject such revolutionary affiliations and wanted nothing to do with the arty/intellectual side of things, inadvertently threw out the context which had made the swastika an almost acceptable token of shock. Jokey siegheils, in the context of boisterous working-class pride, inevitably took on a much more serious and ominous meaning. The fact was though that before the National Front had reared its ugly head there were just as many left wing, labour-voting skins as there were right-wing. But since racist rhetoric had gained a stronger hold, and since punk had fractured into hundreds of subcultures, now seemed to be the time to draw the line in the sand and make your allegiances clear. For Oi!, this bad press was both a curse and a blessing. Many bands who had been labelled Oi!, really wanted nothing to do with it. The Angelic Upstarts, who enjoy considerable popularity in punk circles nowadays, were unfairly lumped into the Oi! category, and were plagued by boneheaded neo-nazis who'd come to their gigs to cause trouble. In fact, if you listen to their records, the Upstarts can be likened to an early Clash, and they can be credited as one of the bands that wanted to keep punk relevant in the 80s. Other bands however courted the media controversy, enjoying their time as the country's most hated. Certain stylistic choices didn't help the cause either, as Union Flag waving became de rigueur and record labels released dubiously titled compilations such as Decca's infamous Strength Thru Oi!, which played on the well-known Nazi slogan.
Other bands such as Ian Stewart's Skrewdriver claimed that that was what punk had originally been about, or at least should have been; white noise for angry white youth. These bands were Neo-Nazis, with NF connections, that positively encouraged racial-hatred and happily drew on the disenfranchised youth of Thatcher's Britain to swell their ranks. Often seen as an unfortunate outcome of the punk wars, these groups gained support from the same sort of angry young men that punk had appealed to, by promising them an easy answer. Of course these bands soon disappeared underground, but their legacy continues around the world to this day. It's a great shame that some of the most forward thinking, exciting and positive music of the punk and new wave era such as Menace and Slaughter and The Dogs, as well as the inclusiveness and soul of the traditional skinhead scene, might forever be tainted by their inescapable connection with the small-minded thugs and racists who jumped on the bandwagon. These are youth cultures which spoke to the hearts of many different people around the world, people who became energized to change their suffocating circumstances and work towards making a change for the better, be it coming together with like-minded souls, fighting for a cause or just having the guts to stand up and make themselves heard. As with most things, you have to take the good with the bad. It is to punk's merit that the open-endedness that allowed the far-right a voice in the first place, is also the very thing that allows the movement to change and grow away from its influence. By inviting the marginalized voices in and openly discussing their claims, punk betrays itself as an arena of true freedom of expression, a true democracy, in which young people are actively encouraged to question what they're given, voice their opinion and make up their own minds.

Wednesday, 18 November 2009

Covered in Punk


Infinitely more enjoyable than Sabbath's frankly plodding original, this cover by LA cartoon punkers, The Dickies was released in 1979, and is one of at least three other rocking cover versions, including Nights in White Satin, Eve of Destruction and Sounds of Silence. The Dickies took up the Ramone's 'stoopid is the new clever' stance and sped-up rama-lama noise and ran with it, making break-neck florescent rock 'n' roll anthems and conquering the British charts several times. They made at least two indispensable albums, choc-full of punk-pop classics, in The Incredible Shrinking Dickies (released in lurid colour vinyl) and Dawn of the Dickies. They are still together and tour regular with an insanely energetic stage performance. Be sure to check out the clown princes of punk here and here.

Grindhouse Trailer Classics






Just the tip of a very slimy 'iceberg' of filth, these trailer discs are big in America and can regularly be seen played at elitist underground rockabilly clubs. For anyone wishing they'd been there in the 70s, a washed-up deadbeat on 42nd street, dirty mac and liquor bottle in a crumpled brown paper bag, staring dead-eyed at the relentless stream of violence and pornography, this is heaven indeed. An endless conveyor belt of men in rubber monster-suits chasing bikini girls, limbs being hacked off with rusty saws, hatchets lodged in delinquents' foreheads, perm-headed hipsters and jive-talking jungle-bunnies, scantily-clad death squads and Nazi prison lesbian torture sequences, this two hour long DVD, complete with 55 cruddy trailer classics is an unbeatable viewing pleasure. There's a bizarrely pure, unadulterated thrill to be experienced viewing these clips, that'll have you appreciating the obvious artistic talent involved in making the lowest form of celluloid scuzz look genuinely appealing. You just know these films of third reich sexual-experiments, hippie-occultism and bad-ass ninja hitmen are total stinkers, but you'll want to see them anyway, even though you've probably just seen all the best bits in the 60 second trailer. The crackling graininess, sordid, unerotic sex and worryingly gratifying primal onslaught of bloodiness, will leave you feeling, to borrow a phrase, unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed. It's probably best to watch these at a party, among friends, where it will no doubt provide a good hour of hilarity and enjoyment. But hey, why not watch it alone. Numbed by the absurdly graphic images indelibly scarring your retinas, you'll start to wonder if the human race hasn't gone very wrong somewhere along the line.
You know what? It probably has. But you'll find the plight of our wayward species will pale in significance as long as the gloriously offensive, hypnotic dance of flesh and death continues. So quit worrying, sit back and gorge yourself on this awesome visual junk.

Tuesday, 17 November 2009

Covered in Punk

Rock 'n' Roll classic, Lipstick on Your Collar, originally by Connie Francis, re-done here, Ramones-style by the great Australian punk pioneers The Saints. They also did a blistering cover of River Deep, Mountain High which is well worth a listen.
I love the way they don't bother changing the lyrics, so it's kind of fun and ambiguous to have male vocals on this track! Enjoy!


It would seem they have a new album out...
Check 'em out here

And get their I'm Stranded album on ebay or where ever if you don't have it.

Monday, 16 November 2009

Covered in Punk

A soon-to-be regular post featuring great punk rock cover versions. This one was found on YouTube:
The Rivals - Here Comes the Night
Originally released by Lulu & The Luvvers, and later by Them, among others. This tune is perfect for such a punky new wave overhaul, and is a joy to listen to!


...more about the band here.

Dead Living

...this video from Youtube represents the sort of direction i want to take this blog... all discordant punk rock nastiness and gory flesh-munching mayhem! Enjoy!




Coming soon - a review of recent schlock zombie horror Dead Snow... stay tuned.

Sunday, 15 November 2009

ReVolting



For aficionados of that snotty late 70's sound favoured by such bands as the aforementioned Snivelling Shits, The Nipple Erectors and of course Raped, this Psykik Volts' compilation from Damaged Goods Records is a must. 12 tracks of grotty, phlegm-drenched punkitude, complete with chugging, raw guitar and twiddly demented nursery-rhyme riffs, hyperactive drumming and sneering, sickly vocals. This musical cacophony will restore your faith in all things loud and filthy. The opening track, Horror Stories No.5, is worth the asking price alone. It's a glorious slice of raucous new wave and is an utter joy to behold. It opens all heavy breaths and evil cackles and then kicks in with that well-known spooky blues riff, a garage-rock staple that can be heard in The Sonics' Strychnine, and traced back to at least as early as Bessie Smith's Blue Spirit Blues. From there it descends helter-skleter into a freakish circus ditty of exhilarating punk noise, wild and dizzying. This is music that makes you want to down several scrumpies, pull on your day-glo socks and throw yourself about, arms flailing like an electrocuted spastic. In a similar vain is the excellently titled Totally Useless, a should-be classic of self-loathing and paranoia, which thumps along nicely and includes the awesome lyric "wandering round the supermarket, wondering what went wrong", its message of fatalistic futility pinned precariously to a bastardized rendition of Hall of the Mountain King. The rest of the album rarely lets up, and rockets on, occasionally becoming cleaner, more poppy in sound but never losing it's spirit. From a Lover to a Friend, recorded in 1997 (by Victor Vendetta, and unrelated to the original band) is a break from the ramma-lamma noise rock. Instead an almost tender harpsichord opening leads to near orchestral majesty akin to a budget version of an early Muse demo, complete with distorted, melancholic vocals and haunting Suspiria-style piano. One slight gripe with the CD is the sheer lack of band information. We're told some of the tracks have been re-mastered and even re-recorded, but rather annoyingly not which and to what extent. This is particularly annoying for collectors of this music, where authenticity is important and for whom reading the testimonials of various punk also-rans holds a certain pleasure. This aside, as a document of the era which championed passion and amateurism, Psykik Volts' Re-Volting is indispensable, and an utter thrill.