Twenty-nine minutes and six seconds of singalong adrenalin, and the perfect getting-ready-to-go-out record.
Malcolm X! Chairman Mao! Tamla Spirit! Random associations of cool slogans that usually denote black bobs, polo necks and rabid, righteous R&B. But, in this case, denote black bobs, charity-shop mini-dresses and rabid, righteous ‘C86’ thrashes. Which is miles better. Trust me.
With three chords and a patina of revolutionary chic, CC Rider, Jack Duvall, Eddie Brackett, Miss Spent Youth, Susie Sparkles and Black September are here to take on a music scene that’s “awash with shite wibbling spacerock arse and tosswank fifth-rate Britpop bollocks.” And these kids fight dirty. Or as dirty as you can fight while sounding a bit Shop Assistants and a bit northern soul. Albeit northern soul had it actually originated in, say, ’60s Newcastle.
It’s been done before of course, but rarely with such breathless energy. And rarely with such an undercurrent of surly discontent. They’re probably all the wrong side of 21 and in sensible jobs of course, but the likes of ‘Soul On Ice’ and ‘Fear No Evil’ (“The Action Time versus fucking idiots!”) do sound like a big fat, youthful ‘fuck you’!
And they have just enough musical dexterity to make sure their songs career along like spluttering, swearing cantankerous drunks, without actually falling over. And pissing their pants. Twenty-nine minutes and six seconds of singalong adrenalin, and the perfect getting-ready-to-go-out record. Is there a better accolade?