Jamie T’s second album in two years is a punk, rap, pop and hardcore tour de force
Cardiff Terminal 396
...their presence lingers on. Lingers, like a stubborn bloodstain.
What's great about the Hump is crystallised in the body of Matthew Evans. The greatest streak-of-piss frontman since Jarvis Cocker, he hurls his lofty frame into blunderous scissor-kicks and AC/DC-style stage acrobatics. Meanwhile, current single, 'Booze And Cigarettes', lurches from a flowery love fable into a thunderous T Rex burnout. Sweet, funny, utterly irresistible.
Similarly fjted are The Crocketts - although it's a bit trickier to understand why. Three seconds in, and their frontman - that's, er, Davey Crockett - gets a full pint between the eyes. Accident? Hardly. Bring it on, motherf--er!
Frankly, the best way to treat the lumpen pub-rock of last album, 'The Great Brain Robbery', is to turn it into a bar brawl. But on the small-town angst of 'Lucifer', and the wired accordion-punk of 'On Something', The Crocketts give Gladiator a run for its money in the visceral thrill stakes.
They're not heroes. They're certainly not role models. But once they've clambered off, gore pouring from Davey's head after a nasty, apparently intentional collision with his guitar, their presence lingers on. Lingers, like a stubborn bloodstain.
Character studies and ready melodies abound in the latest record by the Oxford quartet
A battle-like record where fear and dread rule
Another gripping Pedro Almodóvar mystery, full of vibrant visuals and emotional revelations
The Californian succeeds, once again, in exposing the ugliness of mankind. It’ll get under your skin