These three tracks are like sitting next to the angry drunk in a bar in Burnley, who constantly tries to tell you about Newton’s Laws; yes he’s an MA but he’s 6 foot four and has egg stains on his nose which makes you wonder why you were talking to him in the first place…
These three tracks are like sitting next to the angry drunk in a bar in Burnley, who constantly tries to tell you about Newton’s Laws; yes he’s an MA but he’s 6 foot four and has egg stains on his nose which makes you wonder why you were talking to him in the first place…
Ceramic Hobs – Al Al Who
The genius of Ceramic Hobs. I don’t use the word lightly either… they are as utterly uncompromising as ever, regaling us from the off with the collage of Midas Case – a Northern drone-athon supreme with samples smeared over the basic, erm droning… Suddenly we have Cup Cakes, a ridiculously catchy paean to cup cakes and other forms of savoury products. It’s classic Ceramic Hobs and we are hooked. Puerto Rican Sex Chant is the usual angry amalgam of samples and monolithic pounding. As if this wasn’t enough we have Explosion in A Dustbin Factory which doggedly pursues the most luddite beat it can muster up and grinds it into our brains with no respite. These three tracks are like sitting next to the angry drunk in a bar in Burnley, who constantly tries to tell you about Newton‘s Laws; yes he’s an MA but he’s 6 foot four and has egg stains on his nose which makes you wonder why you were talking to him in the first place…
Friend of a Friend is a hapless story of a relationship; akin to a sixties car chase theme whereas Bogwash is a fabulously dreadful racket with a comedy Country-style interlude. Whistling From Above effectively takes the piss out of all Post Punk newbies with a track of utter wantonness. "The caring professions can burn in hell" is also one of the more outre lyrics of the year too… and it just doesn’t let up. Wir Kinder is about as basic as you can get; it really does sound like a family row. Following that, Latest Subtext is a suspiciously groovy, but fantastically ramshackle skank-pop song that morphs into Hawkwind with no notice. It’s this ability to keep you guessing right from the word go, that truly shows the ‘Hobs at their best.
This is a long LP, 21 tracks in total, and to try to attempt to describe every track would be exhausting. For brevity’s sake I’m going to pick a few tracks; All Psychiatrists are Bastards, is a fabulous Fall-style rant chronicling the attempt to murder Beatle George… whereas Molodynski’s Medical Holocaust is another Luddite stomp that the ‘Hobs excel at.
By far my favourite rant on here is Stick the War on Terror Up Your Arse, which I will certainly be playing at my next disco booking. Flower, by total contrast is a brilliant slab of C86 indie pop. Incredible. Whereas Horrible Old Trout is a classic anti-Thatcher rant. It really could be 1986 again… Things come to a suitable conclusion with Six Degrees of Dissociation, a seven minute odyssey of sounds and screams, and samples. It’s tremendous if confusing.
What can I say? I’m worn out.
Words: Richard Foster