If you've read any of our reviews of THE BLUESKINS' frantic, spunk-fuelled EPS, you'll already be acquainted with their dumb'n'dumber testosterone-fuelled caveman punk and will hardly be expecting an envelope-shoving Radiohead-style weird-out from their debut album "Word Of Mouth."
And so it goes that these 11 fizzing, punk-pop grenades - produced with the greatest implausibilty by ex-Spacemen 3 man Richard Formby - come whistling past our earlobes at breakneck speed, with our Wakefield heroes throwing all the expected poses and continuing to make The Ramones sound like they were precious, PhD-coveting nerds all along. Yes, THAT dumb.
But, despite all that, your reviewer simply can't bring himself to dismiss The Blueskins as purely derivative time wasters, probably because their hi-octane mindless boogie's so bloody infectious. Yes, you've heard it a trillion times before, and lead howler Ryan Spendlove (you couldn't make that up, could you?) sounds like Steve Marriott's ghost headlining Peter Kay's "Phoenix Nights" most of the time, but still this buncha ridiculously old skool young pups have something.
For starters, they can actually play, as Richie Townsend's ace soloing on the Small Faces-on-rat-poison "Girl" and the huge, treacly blow-out at the end of "Tell Me I'm Someone" admirably demonstrate, while only the hardest heart could deny the mad bastard single "Change My Mind", where the band make like The Gun Club on a day trip to Harry Ramsden's in Blackpool. Reet smashin'.
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References to rock's past glories literally spill out of "Word Of Mouth", but mostly ver 'Skins pure crystal meth energy ensures they transcend pastiche. The stomping opener "Bad Day", for example desperately wants to attach itself to the "Nuggets" box set and has a typically intellectual chorus ("I wanna come with you" indeed), while semi-acoustic favourite "Ellie Meadows" is dumber than a box of rocks AND hijacks the time-honoured Bo Diddley beat and still just about gets away with lingering skidmarks. "Take Me Home" is the one place where they dare to tamper with the formula thanks to jazzy, Ray Manzarek-style organ and (ulp) vibrato guitar, but don't panic, it doesn't last for long. It's OK really: there's precious little new to see here. You can move along now.
So yeah, The Blueskins are probably the finest purveyors of meat'n'potatoes - or perhaps more accurately - pie'n'pint rock we have right now. Their nutritional value over several albums will probably be equally limited, but for now they sound scarily irresistible. For young, dumb, overdriven strum, it's tough to beat The Blueskins right at this moment.
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