The supremely daftly-monikered DUCK SICK first came to our attention when W&H caught one of their maniacally revved-up soirees supporting NZ heroes THE D4 at a bone-crunchingly memorable night at ver Sick's local, Fibbers in York.
At the time, we were blown away by their FUN (in definite primary colours capitals) approach, endless we-run-on-Duracell-batteries-us energy and general devil-may-careness. They'd released a couple of three-track EPS at the time and since then they've done some more stuff - like doing a benefit for a local hospital's Special Care Baby Unit - that can only make us love them more.
So far, so manic then, but eventually all bands have to graduate to something approaching album status, when they have to exist in a space away from sweaty moshpits and stand or fall by what they've created. This youthful quintet, though, have cunningly subverted this by releasing "On Air" - a six-track mini-LP - that's the perfect way to, erm, swallow a larger portion of Duck Sick (sorry: horrible image) and still come away wanting more.
One thing that must be set straight from the start, though: Duck Sick add a whole new dimension to the term 'peurile'. Indeed, most of "On Air" sounds like an unholy mutation of Spunge and The Dickies circa "Incredible Shrinking Dickies". This description may initially set your brow furrowing, but if - like me - you're 35 going on 3, then Duck Sick are the most gloriously uninhibited FUN ska-punk band you'll have discovered in an aeon.
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Linked by dafter-than-thou pretend radio snippets, "On Air" clocks in at an economical 20 minutes and never threatens to outstay its' welcome. The one vaguely serious song, "Heartbreak" (hey, everything's relative) kicks us off with no-nonsense riffing, fierce drumming from Danny Bettley and singer (and kazoo player!) Dan Gott sounding almost forlorn. Strewth.
But fear not: the immaturity soon kicks in. "Glad I'm Not 84" swerves gleefully from skinny Madness skankathon to full on punky onslaught at the chorus and employs ridiculous lyrics ("My mouth would dribble a lot, my nose would be fulla snot" - groo!) and more "oi's" than would normally be considered healthy. They get away with it, though, and proceed to perfect the formula on both "When I Grow Up" (hopefully never!) and the barely outta-diapers popfest "Playing In The Park". Crowning glory, though, has to be "I Like To Wee": the most joyful ode to urinating since Ivor Biggun's "Graffiti Night Fever" and the most tuneful backing vox this side of early Fall.
Brilliant. Just make damn sure your dong doesn't get caught in your zipper in all the excitement.
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