Raging Speedhorn : We Will Be Dead Tomorrow

Corby metallers impress with second album

Shit, so where next for industrial splatter rock now the steel factory’s closed down and the nearest rock pit has been turned into a poxy ‘arts cafe’? Cue Raging Speedhorn. Having seen their environment slowly disintegrate around them they’ve opted for a better life touring the country in a freezing transit van fuelled only by Ginsters and warm Carling. Life is shit, tonight is all that matters. We will be dead tomorrow.

Like all the best rock groups they know their place. ‘Welcome To Shitsville’ – a succinct appraisal of their hometown Corby, is as brutal as it is effective, and will disappoint the Mayor greatly. Musically they’re equally close to the source. For all those Black Flag comparisons this is a raw-nerved rock’n’roll forged from the Midland metal furnaces of Sabbath, Purple and Zeppelin and less, pre-historically, Discharge. If you’re new here, don’t expect the going to be easy. Ballbearing factories in the Ukraine have been known to be more tuneful than parts of ‘We Will Be Dead Tomorrow’. There are roadworks with a better sense of light and shade. As for dual singers Frank Regan and John Loughlin, they give every impression of having undergone frontal lobotomies only to be forced into downing cement mix mouthwash prior to entering the studio.

That established, ‘We Will…’ rocks like a division of Panzers ploughing through a diamond mine. It defies you not to play it at full volume. ‘Chronic Youth’ is the Queens with toothache; ‘Fuck The Voodooman’ is a mightily pissed Fu Manchu applying oxyacetalene to old skool metal. Riffs ebb’n’flow continually so that when the crunch comes, as on the briliant ‘Scaramanga’, you can almost hear the neighbours screaming for mercy.

Lyrically, anything goes. As befits a band whose initial t-shirt campaign declared ‘Sniff Glue Worship Satan’, the only thing that’s taboo here is boredom. Real vitriol leaks out at times. ‘The Hate Song’ is directed at cheating rock biz managers, ‘Me And You Man’, from what you can make out, a hash-trip that turned into a waking nightmare. You know they’ve lightened up when they launch into a final ‘Ride With The Devil’.

Desperate, pointlessly stoopid, and at times deranged, ‘Speedhorn‘s second album is a wired, triumphant quest for basic rock’n’roll thrills by a band who clearly take their fun seriously.

There’s no time to waste. A little less conversation, a little more action.

Jason Fox