On a day spent reviewing predominantly anthemic power pop and (intriguingly) several Finnish acts, it's always good to unearth a wild card in the pile. And where shouty devils BOMB FACTORY are concerned, wild is the whole bloody point.
Not that you'd imagine a band claiming to be "bored shitless with off-the-peg, Pop Idol consumer culture" to come across as a Westlife tribute band, like, but from the off it's clear Bomb Factory have the anarchic bit between their teeth.
A collage of modern day villains (I think we can safely call them villains as BF's press release also suggests "No more icons anymore") redolent of such as the Dead Kennedys or Crass adorns the sleeve. Targets such as Michael Howard, Prince Harry (with swastika), Robert Kilroy-Silk and - most intringuingly - a Mr.Whippy van are included. Perhaps the idea is if Bomb Factory's incendiary music can't decimate this lot then maybe they can at least let down the tyres on the van. Aggro! Sound. I'm wiv yer all the way, lads!
Opener "Stevie Smith: Teenage Terrorist" will soon have yer lighting molotovs, or at least chucking bottles of piss when Reading comes round again. It's mental, punky, post-everything scree finds BF blazing away like the Screaming Blue Messiahs resurrected as kamikaze pilots and takes no shagging prisoners whatsoever.
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Top fun, as is "Pop Sluts", which finds the band rolling around in their own scuzzy swill and 'singer' Jack screaming "He's a pop star! Doesn't care what the words are!" Right on sunshine! And I bet he doesn't know the price of a pint of milk, neither! Mind you, neither are as good as the closing "God Loves Us And Hates You", which is about as good a verbal poke in the eye as you'll get, really, isn;t it? Suffice it to say, the song itself lurches from a Gang Of Four-ish intro with drums sounding a ritual tattoo and a lone guitar ringing out through to a sneery punker culminating in the -admittedly genius - chorus of "God loves us and he hates you...he hates Charles Darwin too!" Well, yeah, don't spare the rod, right?
At present, Bomb Factory are too inchoate to really go off effectively. Undeniably there's power here, but so far they rely solely on enthusiasm and passion and leave no room for finesse or guile. Add a little of those to the pot and we could all be enjoying the pervasive smell of semtex in the morning.
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