May 9, 1999

London Highbury Garage

Roaring incoherently, greaseball bullyboy [B]Charlie Finke[/B] is bent double, clutching the mic white-knuckled, sweating a torrent...

It's the scrunch-eyed, vein-popping screaming fits that give the game away. Penthouse may thump and thunder along like Stooges wannabes, may give a little glam, may even attempt a melody now and then. But it's apparent soon enough. Crap hair? Beer guts? REALLY LOUD mad shouting like they REALLY mean it and isn't it all REALLY scary? Oh right, heavy metal. Gotcha.

With a seductive name, a Gallon Drunk suit and a gleaming quiff it's possible to convince almost anyone there's a prospect of music with urban edginess and intense dynamics on offer. For a while. But then Penthouse ruin it all by getting in a right state.

Roaring incoherently, greaseball bullyboy Charlie Finke is bent double, clutching the mic white-knuckled, sweating a torrent. Next to him, raging guitarist John Free attempts to keep company with the man and his apoplectic hysteria by playing his guitar like it's killed his dog. Tim Cedar hits the drums as if he's five and just got them for Christmas. Bassist Graham Flynn plucks strings... psychotically.

New single 'Creeper's Reef' - a compelling ooze of Earl Brutus fuzz on record - is thrashed into a bloody mess. Even Finke's trumpet-playing on token slowie 'Blood Gulley' is lost beneath guitar discordance. And it all comes to nothing, because while emotionally draining a crowd is often a good thing, it cannot be done with volume alone. Tuneless chugging noise soon gets very, very boring.