Self-styled purveyors of “charity shop pop”, anarchic Shropshire quartet SHIFTY CHICKEN SHED have worked their way up to their debut album the hard way: slogging through the foothills of freebie pub gigs but finally scaling the illustrious peaks of support slots with the legendary likes of The Blockheads, Half Man Half Biscuit and - drum roll, please - The Rutles.
It’s taken ‘em three years (and mostly likely considerably more disappointments and existential crises than most of us wolf down hot dinners) to get to the LP stage, but the bluntly-titled ‘Town’ suggests it’s been worth their hanging on in there.
Because, put simply, SCS are the sort of awkwardly brilliant provincial buggers the modern-day DIY scene produces all too infrequently these days. They hail from deepest Oswestry (the ‘Town’ the title refers to, from what I can gather) and they write songs about Matthew Kelly (‘Dirty Hands’) and blokes from the forestry commission smashing up local radio stations (‘Black Tie Piss Up’). Y’know, the really important stuff in life.
So who are Shifty Chicken Shed when they’re at home or else holding court down the pub? They are primarily Innes Reid, Deborah Harris, Dean Newton and Mikey Hopkins, though they aren’t averse to guest appearances. Refreshingly, instead of Camden and Shoreditch, their songs reference far-flung places such as Welshpool, Gobowen, St. Martin’s and Llanfair and the melodica-enhanced rustic folk of ‘Pommegranate Beliefs’ features the unlikely chant of “Wrexham, Wrexham...championship contenders.” Well, we can all dream, can’t we?
Musically, eclecticism is the watchword. Wassailing away like an unholy alliance of the Bonzo Dog Doo Dah Band and Blurt, Lexus Lumberjack-driving opener ‘Shropington Lad’ gives you some idea of the stylistic maze you’ll be plotting sans compass. Crucially, though, while SCS’ couldn’t-give-a-flying-one sonic attitude prevails, their tunesmithery happily keeps pace. ‘Bee’s saucy, shape-shifting boogie, for example, re-locates ‘Safe As Milk’-era Captain Beefheart to the mysterious Welsh borders, while on the wonderfully elegiac, almost Eastern European ‘Come’, Deborah Harris does her stood-up, torch song thang beautifully before finger-clickin’ Bon Tempi-style beats kick in.
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They occasionally meet themselves coming back, as on the psych-tinged ‘Jabby Paws’, which lurches around agreeably enough, but ultimately can’t decide which privet hedge to throw up on. No such problem with ‘Dirty Hands’, however. Robust, ribald, boasting both an ace chorus (“get yer dirty hands off!”) and Innes Reid’s fabulously gruff criticism of Matthew Kelly (“I expected more from the man on the telly”), it’s a right ol’ rum boogie and arguably the best of this fabulously surreal bunch.
Shifty Chicken Shed, then, are heady and headstrong, but never headless. Let’s hope they can continue to find enough free range in this increasingly conservative industry to lay golden eggs aplenty.
Shifty Chicken Shed online
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