Sharks – Royal Leamington Spa’s Slickest Punks

I immediately warmed to Sharks because our passport’s bare the same place of birth. A small town in between Warwick and Coventry called Royal Leamington Spa. It’s been famous for few things in music. My most residing memory of its link with planet pop being in the mid to late Nineties, when people still bought records, you used to get a CD-shaped mail-order form in nearly every CD single to send away ‘for more information on this artist’. The address of all of them was one depot in Leamington Spa. It always triggered a little pang of pride in my deepest cockles whenever I saw that address, though I wondered why so many bands lived in such a sleepy little province in the midlands. Subsequently the biggest, and in fact, only band to have emerged from there was Nizlopi. Who oddly I actually once saw support Christina Aguilera. Sorry, I’m just thinking aloud now…

Anyways, Sharks are here to instill a new bite -arf, arf- to the sleepy midland’s outpost. They’re one of these punk bands with heady everyman rock’n’roll ambition that outstrips their ‘rawk’ canon, in a similar vein to Exter’s Computers, but with less need for glycerin and honey drinking post-shows. They’re on tour with Gallows soon, and that’s a fitting pairing. Cept Sharks are rather more fond of slick Brylcream quiffs, and Nick Cave-dewlling croons. They also just covered a Wedding Present song. Which they gave us to give you.

Sharks – ‘Brassneck’