Children in need. Tell me about it?

I know I am in the minority here, but I'm not happy with 'Children in Need'.

I never am.

I have many reasons.

One is that we live in an affluent country in comparison to many, and we simply shouldn't have any children in need at all.

Yet no one seems to be asking why we do.

We are donating money to solve a problem that shouldn't exist in the first place.

Similarly we shouldn't have homeless people, mentally ill individuals contemplating suicide due to benefit cuts, abused teenagers slipping through a safety net, elderly folk freezing to death in winter, and much much more.

Should the solution to these issues really be voluntary funded from our individually tightly squeezed incomes?

Haven't we already contributed enough?

When we consider what our tax contributions are used for, are there any of us that wouldn't look at one expenditure and think 'Oh, that would keep a hospice open?'

We already putting cash into a pot that should be used to fund these supports?

Isn't children in need just a second dip into out pockets?

It's a con that we are supporting. It seems to be that we are in fact the mugs that are born every second.

This year a record breaking thirty one million was donated - and while we should take some collective pride in how this has been managed in such a horrible economic climate for a huge swathe of our society - there is a bit of me that thinks that someone is sitting right now at a large table in an office in London and laughing at us.

Meanwhile the same sort of wanker will take our generosity as proof that we have more money that we are letting on.

'Over sixteen million for those in the Philipines, another thirty odd million for this and you say you are skint?'

That will be the angle taken and lets not pretend that it wont.

The truth is that many of us don't have the money.

I didn't have the £10 that I feel was guilt tripped out of me from my daughters school, but they got it.

That's £10 of food, or gas, or electricity gone out of my monthly income.

Now I appreciate that some may say it's only a tenner, and I will freely accept that I am not going to starve or freeze now that it is gone, but others are having a harder time than myself and my heart goes out to those who couldn't find that money and had a kid attending school who was excluded from the entertainment that their peers were providing.

I also feel heart sick that there will be someone somewhere who has put their own children in need to support other children in need.

It's messed up.

What we should be aiming for is Children in Need as a concept to become obsolete, and to do that we need to look at where our money goes and demand that it is spent on what we as a society require.

I am well aware that some will consider that I am a curmudgeon, and a sick one at that.

I mean how dare I tilt at this windmill.

I can already hear the horrified cries of 'think of the children', but I am.

That is exactly what I am thinking of.

I want them to be supported, loved, cared for and nurtured.

I want every single vulnerable person in this country to be looked after.

It's just that when I think about how much cash is running towards the government I also think we can afford to bankroll a caring society.

The system is benefiting a minority.

It's lining the pockets of those who least need it.

Our increasing participation in supporting charities isn't solving anything.

It's just allowing those at the top of the tree to absolve themselves from the responsibility of looking after us all.

It's time to wake up.

(Here's something to think about. If a union calls a one day strike we are told that the impact can be devastating for the company. Yet once a year many companies allow the workforce to down tools to participate in Children in Need. What's the difference in the income loss?)

Cadaver Club/Thunderfuck & the Deadly Romantics/Full Moon Freaks/Hello Creepy Spider (Pivo -13-11-13) Glasgow

Very kindly submitted by G@l.
Much appreciation extended for the words.

The scene was set there was gonna be a rockin in the crypt tonight.

I must admit I went into this show with a preconceived yet fair idea, I thought, how the bands would sound and where it would all end up. I thought, like so many other crypt type shows I've seen over time, the Stingrytes, The Meteors, Stump, King Kurt etc etc etc that it would end up a wash of unintelligible swirling reverb tails with anaemically pale and thin guitar sounds that would capture what it was like to fall down a rather large deep hole and of course coupled with the occasional riff dotted here and there like a clandestine kiss snatched for fear of discovery..

Oh and finally not forgetting the obligatory primal male rockabilly barbaric YAWP which is really just a grunt come yell.

Well...lets see if I'm right then I thought to myself as I took a seat to observe the first of the acts.

First up were a two piece out fit consisting of Guitarist/Vocalist and Drummer/Vocal Harmony going by the name of...Hello Creepy Spider.!

We were informed from the stage by an awkwardly shy almost introvert young guitarist/vocalist just before they began their set, that this was in fact only their second gig evvvvaaa and that they don’t leave much space between their tracks but that they also hoped we would like what they do.

As you can imagine I wasn’t exactly filled with confidence.

Being only a two piece their stage presence at that point was as expected rather thread bear sparse and I remember thinking to my self... oh ffs here we go I hope you can hold this together kid.

So I relaxed and braced myself for the forth coming disaster that I envisaged was about to befall these two young fellas. The drummer strikes up a four click and...Bang.!!!!

Jeezuz we're right into it.. these kids transformed, as if by magic, before my very eyes filling the whole of stage and the lil shy fella, into one hell of a front man (its just the beginning of their gigging lives but this outfit are gonna be dangerous if they can keep the momentum going).

I felt violated, assaulted and cuddled all at once as they bounced riff after superb riff off of my stone thick head. Their songs were like a finely honed razor crafted with an air of experience that simply belied their years.

I'd even go as far as to say I haven’t heard a band who could write with that degree of originality in a long long time.

Outstanding riffs and extremely catchy melodies.

I wont give the game away by describing every song on their set, but they do a Sabbath esque riffed up and rocking the gaff version of the Bee Gee's Staying alive that is filled with more energy than Tesla’s coils another track this time one of their own compositions 'I dont waana die in a fire' set my grill alight.

If you enjoy loud indie melodic rock n roll extravaganzas get yourself along to one of Hello Creepy Spider shows these lads deserve an audience... You wont be disappointed.

After a short cigaretteing interlude; on returning to my perch I observed what can only be described as a flurry of activity.

Half a dozen blokes in medical scrubs were rushing this way and that with buggy’s filled with stage gear that could be easily mistaken for patients in a 1970's trauma movie. I thought to myself... Oh aye! we're now about to enter the morgue.. the evening had most definitely decided, and without any formal notice to anyone, that things were about to turn just a little bit darker.

And so it had begun.... it wasn’t long before the lead vocalist dawned white rubber gloves and the Full Moon freaks commenced their operation.

As the first note was struck I could have sworn I heard one of our medical team shout Scalpel, nurse I'm going in!

Their first track felt very airy with loads of space for each of the band to express themselves within and took us on a nice little journey past the paediatric Disney pictures on imaginary walls and gently sat us down in our wheelchairs at the end of the corridor ready to be picked up by our ever attentive orderlies.

Their next track achieved precisely that we were taken to yet another wing of the institution that is the R.P.H (Royal Psychobilly Hospital).

I felt like I was being pushed down ever decreasing corridors to finally be received in the great white expansive room with a window. It was medication time and Ratchet hadn’t showed up yet and the Full Moon Freaks...? Well... my mistake... they weren’t orderlies at all they were patients just like me.

I suddenly realised that what I was hearing was far darker than I had first thought might be.

Like Ratchet the Full Moon Freaks track content felt ever more cold, detached and somewhat oppressive and as the final note was played I found I had a notion for a juicy fruit and crashing right through the stairwell door to make my escape.

In short if 60's garage punk, surf, rockabilly and good old rock en rawl is your thing you cant go wrong with the...Full Moon Freaks.

So we're halfway through the crypt of rawk and rawl evening in Pivo Pivo.

A quick visit to the bar to stock up on vital supplies before we embark on the second half of what some might describe as a bit of an endurance test.... While stocking up a voice whispered in my shell like.... You might wanna disappear for a half an hour or so and come back later when the headline act are on...

Turning to face the source I am met with a colossal figure in a rather dapper pinstripe suit and Reactor boots topping off the ensemble with striking white contact lenses..

I've no idea who this fella is or what he's going on about.... Unknown to me at the time but Thunderfuck has just happened to me...!

Out of the corner of my eye I notice The Deadly Romantics are taking to the stage I nod a polite 'excuse me' to my new found monstrously charming companion and make my way back to my vantage point.

The Deadly Romantics strike out with their first number and its immediately clear that these lads know their way around a stage.

Their musicianship well in evidence and tight together as a unit.

Their musical genre and style is a more traditional long haired rock and they know exactly what they are doing with it.

Its certainly not their first or second outing and after the first few bars you'll be tapping your foot even though you might not want to or feel dirty doing it... you will be.

We're only a few bars into the Deadly Romantics set when from out of the darkness at the back of the hall it appeared like a giant pinstripe amoeba dragging its lumbering carcass out of the primordial swamp. On the short journey to the stage the thing somehow grew legs and became sentient. Thunderfuck had arrived.!

It would be so easy for such seasoned campaigners as the Deadly Romantics to become disillusioned, disinterested or jaded by this stage in their career but I can honestly say they hit it with passion and a firmly wedged tongue in each of their cheeks mainly Thunderfucks to be fair but you get the drift.

Each song afterwards was a pleasure not a chore for this observer and were introduced with vulgar anecdotes each adding to the sense of dramatic irony. Like the love song penned for the bar maid.. Down on me... or the reference to their day jobs... Porn Star... I like it when good front men come among an audience but in Thunderfucks case that might actually be literal.

Many questions still lay unanswered for me

I wonder if any of the reports were true about Thunderfuck?

Does he really not see in colour is everything really just shades of magnolia to him?

Does he really have no taste?

Is it true that everything tastes like unsweetened shred-dies?

Thunderfuck isn’t so much a man its more a concept and the Deadly Romantics are the perfect apostles preaching the word. If you see a bill with these chaps on it, rock is your thing and you like a good giggle then look no further than....Thunderfuck and the Deadly Romantics... one instinctively knows when something is right.

By the time the headline act took to the stage its safe to say that the crypt door had been well and truly kicked open and with that the undead seized their opportunity to make our world their stage. So with the defibrillator powered up and ready to go all that was left to be done was spark some life into the creature... Mr Crowe, Boom Chic Chic, Dirge and Draggle or as they are collectively known...The Cadaver Club.!

Power Pop, Pop Punk whatever neat little label you chose to pin on this amalgamation doesn’t do justice to the fervent energy this combo exudes from the stage. I have to state upfront that I have their 'A Fate Worse Than Life' Album and I absolutely love it.

However that didn’t prepare me for how damn good they are live and what a very pleasant surprise that was too.

There’s something about this band that puts a genuine smile on my face.

Hauntingly melodic with more ripping hooks than Hellraiser.

From back to front Draggle (Matty James) whom I'm also familiar with, solo material, in my opinion put in an absolutely outstanding performance on the drums driving the backline with Boom Chic Chic supplying a more sophisticated low end bass than I had first imagined. Dirge the sole guitarist carved out a rhythm/lead style I have seldom witnessed as accomplished and finally Mr Crowe the audiences conduit into the world of Cadaver Club screeched and howled with finesse.

If punky vibes are your thing then the album 'A Fate Worse Than Life' is well worth the download but if they come to a town near you then get down to your nearest funeral parlour and see the Cadaver Club live you wont regret it.  

Brian James and Grand Cru - Chateau Brian

Brian James has been around more blocks than a New York cab driver.

That's a fact.

List the acts he has formed, has been involved with, and then add to the list the artists that he has worked with, and after a while you will realize that in a certain sense he is the oil that has kept some of the best rock and roll machines ticking over for decades now.

The man is indeed a bonafide legend, and I am indeed a fan.

So it's to my great shame that I will admit that I missed the release of the Brian James and Grand Cru album 'Chateau Brian' last year.

I will also admit that until just last week it existed in a blind spot I had.

I didn't know anything about it at all.

I actually just stumbled over a mention of it, and then of course I pounced and managed to get myself one of the limited to 150 vinyl releases.

Money well spent.

I may not be the only person who missed it though so in my opinion it's still worth a mention.

So here's the skinny. On it we see Brian team up with his old mate from their Lords of the New Church days Mark Taylor (Also Simple Minds) and indulge in taking a trip down a less beaten track with some well played out acoustic ditties.

You have your Dylanesque blues squeezed through the Tom Waits ringer, a tip of the hat to the white man reggae of The Clash, and then there's the honky tonk of bar room shenanigans that sound like a drunken Steve Earle holding court getting a look in.

Okay, it would be remiss of me to fail to mention that this is of course a far cry from his stints with The Damned and Lords of the New Church.

However don't let that put you off as throughout Brian rasps his way across the states using his guitar to paint pictures of the Delta, New Orleans and the Irish dive bars of New York city and he does it all in the style of the snapshot.

You could very easily imagine that this release is the result of a late night jam that started and ended with a bottle of red, and that is exactly where its charms lie.

I could suspect that in some ways this was a bit of a vanity piece, but unlike others, where the artists step so far out of the box they feel confines them and in doing so lose sight of who they are, this is one hundred percent Brian and you can hear the relaxed love for what they are doing in the grooves.

If you were to buy it as a completists exercise then you would be missing the point as its a worthy addition to his back catalogue.

Grab a bottle of wine and when it hits midnight dim the lights and pour your first glass and let the record spin.

That's when it will hit home.

Buy it

Another 'because I can' post

The Quireboys - Beautiful Curse

It's said that familiarity breeds contempt, but there will always be exceptions to the rule, and such exceptions are often prevalent in the world of rock and roll.

Take The Quireboys for instance.

In this bands case the familiarity is something that we are happy to warmly embrace.

Would we really be impressed with them if they were to slip down a side road and throw in a vocal that wasn't a swaggering bourbon soaked one?

How about if the blind horse didn't understand that a nod is as good as a wink when it comes to playing some dirty sounding rhythm and blues?

Seriously folks.

How about a Quireboys album that didn't feature some honky tonk piano?

Would we really be open to Spike and the boys exploring new avenues?

I'll not be going out on a limb if I said we wouldn't be impressed with them wandering into pastures previously unexplored, and the reason for that is because they are one of those bands who simply shouldn't fuck with the formula.

It's not tired, it's not old, it's not irrelevant.

What they do is actually sort of timeless.

They are always going to reach out to an audience.

When you listen to a track like Mother Mary you fundamentally get it.

It's a song that given half a chance could draw reverential silence from a stadium sized crowd.

It could stun a rowdy mess of hollering rock and rollers into submissive communal worship.

In fact if it came out in the late seventies the band would probably still be filling stadia off the back of it.

Yes, it is that good, and it's not a singular anomaly on the 'Beautiful Curse' album as it's all rawk solid.

If the album was a map and each song was a destination then it wouldn't matter where you stuck a pin in it as it's going to be a place that you do want to visit, and not just once, but again and again.

This isn't a comeback as they didn't go anywhere, it's no return to form as they never lost it.

What it is, and I can comfortably say it, is another chapter in an already impressive story, and long may that story continue.

Bloody sublime

The because I can post.

Last one to leave the room. Turn out the lights.

So the European MTV awards is over for another year and they have announced that in 2014 us Scots will host it in our brand spanking new super-dome The Hydro - or as we call it the big fuckin' spaceship from Close Encounters of the Turd Kind.

It's sparked a fair amount of comment from music fans of a certain age.

The main one being does the M in MTV still stand for music?

It's a fair response as the awards ceremony that has just come and gone appeared to reach for the dizzy heights of mediocrity, and then failed miserably to even achieve that.

Of course it would be easy to defend it by claiming it's aimed at a certain demographic that us aged music fans are locked out of, but that doesn't really answer the questions on the lips of many, with that being “has the quality control went AWOL?”

The whole event was more like an extended advert for ASDAs top ten rather than a celebration of music.

Where was the rock and roll?

Sitting on the naughty step maybe.

Okay ickle Miley smoked a joint and pre show posted a selfie from her shower, but oh how tiresome all this neatly packaged rebellion is becoming.

We get it.

She's all growed up now and wants to maintain a career so here's her tits, a phallic hammer and a tongue.

No matter how many flaming torches are lit by the media I doubt many villagers are really going to storm the walls of RCA Records in horror at her carefully choreographed trip from Disney to the Strip Club.

So okay who else were the winners on it?

Katy Perry, 30 Seconds to Mars, One Direction, Macklemore (Quite like him actually), Bieber and Eminem got a a nod as the old guy in the room,and...........okay, wake up at the back there.

I know.

It's bleeding awful isn't it?

Then there were the adverts between the awards being given out.

Or as they want us to call them 'the performances'.

Robin Thike played that song, King of Leon managed to jump the shark in fine style, although the Killers gave them a solid run for the title of 'band who were eaten by the machine', but seriously Snoop. I mean really.

Were you fuckin' high when you agreed to do this.

Ooops. Sorry. Silly question eh?

So what can we expect for next year?

Well with the way popular music is being pushed in the mainstream it could be a celebration of the top selling greatest hits albums of the year, or maybe they could just call it Rhiannastock and have Chris Martin host it.

There is one guarantee though.

It's not for the likes of you or me, and in a small quiet corner of my heart a wee man is smiling about that.

PS. Here's a reminder of what is missing.

A Freudian Slip

As with earlier stories upped this one is yet another work in progress.

I have been told that I should issue them with a word of warning prior to letting people read them so here you go.

It's nasty.

This one is for Stu who, like me, was moved by the film 'If', and it is for Al as he likes nasty shit.

“One day, even this, will feel like a dream. After all what are memories? They don't exist in the present. They exist only in your head. Short bursts of electricity snapping and crackling across your brain and opening doors to the past. Nothing to differentiate them from dreams once they slip ever further from the here and now.”

He smiles and looks pleased with himself.

Momentarily lost in a little pocket of intellectual narcissism.

His sense of superiority very obviously worn to impress.

Not just to impress though.

His self enveloping superiority and outward confidence have been fed and nurtured over many years as they share kinship with power, and ultimately it is power that he lusts after.

It is an open secret that is whispered in corners, spoken about in the quiet hours and fearfully shared with the uninitiated, that he is beyond salvation, beyond the reach of morality, and is in fact evil incarnate.

Slowly his attention returns to the room. He smiles again and lets his gaze wander over his flock, his congregation, his boys.

There is not one pupil who wishes to hold eye contact with him, to draw his focus towards them.

Silence reigns in a room that holds over two hundred boys and whose numbers are bolstered by at least thirty adult staff who sit frozen behind the Devil himself.

There is no shuffling of feet, no rustling of hard boiled sweets being extracted from wrappers, no coughs or sneezes and no involuntary spasms of movement.

Power emanates from him. T

he power to use fear to elicit control.

It spreads from him like ice rapidly forming across a lake faster than is naturally possible. Consuming all in an immobilizing grip that saps all energy away.

To anyone looking in from the outside they would be forgiven in thinking that we all existed with in a vacuum.

“House Captains rise”

It is said daily, and with its familiarity the urge to pre-empt him is fierce, but no one dares break ranks as the reaction would be too awful to contemplate.

Uniformly we stand with a precision that seems mechanical and his eyes flash over us all, scanning, jumping from face to face.

We all stare into the middle distance and after what feels like hours his attention moves on to the sitting pupils.

“The boy in the third row, second in from my right.”

No one looks to see who it is. No one moves.

“At noon see me in my office.....and now Captains, if you will, assist the boys in exiting one row at a time, back to front, and do it quietly.”

-

Brian stands at the window in the dorm. His back is to me, but there is a solid tension there.

It is spread across his immobile shoulders and reveals itself in the whiteness of the knuckles of his clenched fists.

He has been silent since we arrived in the room.

At least thirty minutes have elapsed and he hasn't said one word.

Attempts to engage with him have fallen into an uncomfortable impasse. No words are required though.

There are six of us excluding Brian and we all know what is wrong.

We all feel it.

The boy from the third row is the line that Brian drew in the sand.

For months he has muttered and threatened mutiny.

For days his inaction, his cowardly impotence - paired with that of everyone else - has stoked a fire that has now engulfed him.

No words are required.

The reflection of his face in the window says it all.

Flushed with blood, and with the muscles of his jaw tightened to the point of disfiguring him we are all invited to share his pain.

Every couple of minutes he looks at the clock as the hands snap closer to noon.

With every circuit of the face the second hand sweeps us all closer to an unsaid point of no return.

At two minutes to twelve Brian asks “whose in?” He is still looking at the window rather than out of it, and from six feet away we can all feel the force that he is holding tightly to.

No one answers, but no one needs to.

The clock strikes the hour and Brian moves to the door and we all follow.

-

Outside the corridors are empty and the sound of our progress as we march towards the headmasters office echoes loudly.

With each step we know that we are all heading for a moment in our lives that will spin everything on its head.

Nothing will ever be the same.

-

There is no hesitation from Brian as he reaches the door and with one swift twist of his wrist the knob is turned and we are all pushing forward to crowd into the office.....and then we stop.

Bent over the table the boys face is being held down hard and he is looking right at us.

Tears glisten and shame burns across his cheeks as blood from a bitten lip trickles desk-ward.

Momentarily struck motionless the headmaster stares at us. His robe is open, his trousers and underwear are pooled around his ankles, and he is still deep within the boy.

With a grunt Brian rushes forward and using a footstool as leverage he springs into the air and brings his knee crashing into the headmasters face and with that the spell is broken.

Animal like we are on on him before his body has reached the floor.

Stamping and kicking at him. Releasing pent up aggression that has no off switch to it we unconsciously allow the abuse that has been visited upon us all to be returned to sender.

I see his leg kick out and with satisfaction I bring my heel down on his ankle and hear it snap.

A portion of his bare torso appears between legs and I feel some ribs crack as my foot connects.

The room is filled with breathless gasps as we sob our way towards his destruction and in some way our own to.

It's Brian that pulls me away, and then he clutches at shoulders and drags others aside until he is able to stand over him.

Lying there broken we can all see the change in his eyes.

There's no power now.

No evil.

All that lies before us is an old and unfit man, a scared and confused man who no longer has his hand on the reins of power.

Scared because he is now aware that nothing lasts forever, and confused as he had clutched onto the delusion that it did.

Brian looks around the room and settles on a marble bust of Freud that sits in an alcove behind me.

I reach for it and pass it to him.

We all stand and watch as he raises it above his head, and then with a roar brings it down to crush the headmasters now flaccid penis.

The scream that is torn from his throat has enough force to reach the darkest corners of the school and as it dies Brian leans in close to him and says “One day, even this, will feel like a dream. After all what are memories? They don't exist in the present. They exist only in your head. Short bursts of electricity snapping and crackling across your brain and opening doors to the past. Nothing to differentiate them from dreams once they slip ever further from the here and now.”

Bad Touch - Down and Out

Not that long ago I had tucked my head down and pushed through a long week that had culminated in a very long day.

It was one of those weeks from hell where you run to stand still and by the end of it you still haven't a clue if it was worth all the effort.

So when you have one of them we all know that there's only a few options available to us as a response.

One is to crawl into bed and weep long and hard into your pillow.

That's the pussy option.

Another is to head to the nearest bar and dive headlong into a weekend that would make certain scenes from the Motley Crue biography seem tame in comparison.

That's the self destruct option

The other is just to immerse yourself in some good old fashioned rock and roll washed down with pints and a tiny bit of debauchery.

That's the letting your hair down option, the semi-sensible one, and of course it's also the one I went for.

It must be an age thing as it wasn't long ago that option two was the only one that I would entertain, but with age comes great wisdom, and horrendous hangovers, so more often than not now I'm the letting my hair down option guy.

So anyway with that on my mind I had a look through the listing sites and skipped past all the indie bands and jumped on the Quireboys playing in the Garage.

A guaranteed good time band who always deliver.

So one thing led to another and by the time I had reached the venue I had missed all of Bad Touch and most of Bonafide, but while slightly disappointed at that it's fair to say that The Quireboys were everything I needed, and more, to de-stress myself.

As a bonus I also picked up a copy of 'Down and Out' by Bad Touch along with the latest release from The Quireboys, and it's touch and go who has been getting the most plays since then.

It has to be said that the young traditional sounding heavy rock bands aren't that common now.

So it's refreshing to hear one so good.

Solidly melodic they are neither too soft or too hard.

You couldn't lump them in with the AOR guys or the thrash bands, but rather slip them in with those who put the emphasis on the rock rather than anything else.

There's no real downside to consider, and while there's nothing earth shatteringly new about what the band are doing I could ask detractors to show me one genre of music that is actually throwing up anything new anyway.

Today it has pretty much all been done, and what we should be looking to praise are those who get that, and just go out and do what they do to the best of their ability and entertain us by doing it well.

It's when you come to that realization that you can easily see the worth in Bad Touch.

The band pull exceptionally well together with the rhythm, the lead, the bass and the drums all getting their moments to shine as they build the framework to hang some sweet vocals on.

It's going to be interesting to see where they go from here.

With a good producer at the helm and the time and finances to do the album they can probably hear in their heads It's entirely possible that they could take mainland Europe by storm as that's where the gods of rock still hold sway.

Yeah. I'm going to be keeping an eye on this band, and if good rockin' is what gets your motor running then so should you.

Website - http://www.badtouchrocks.co.uk/the-band

Facebook - www.facebook.com/badtouchrocks

The Cundeez - Murder on the Oary Express

Culturally Dundee has never really featured on the map.

In the last decade all that has come from there is the incredible acting skills of George - the cat - Galloway, and the indie pop of The View, but now they can add a third string to their bow as The Cundeez are looking to stick a tartan emblazoned flag in the eye of the music scene.

It would be a valid point to claim that doing the rounds on bills with punk acts has pigeon holed them to an extent, but with 'Murder on the Oary Express' it's pretty obvious that they have a lot more going for them than simply appealing to those who arrived at a bar with their ticket for the nostalgia train only to find that they had to sit through The Cundeez before the could embark on their trip into the past.

With a swirl of the bagpipes layered in with their street punk, new wave and ska influenced tunes, the band are covering a great deal of ground sonically speaking, and while some may consider the Dundonian dialect heavy going and a bit of a struggle to get to grips with, it is ultimately a rewarding experience that will leave you smiling in admiration at their ability to walk the tightrope between being a joke of a band, and a band that can deliver a joke.

A big difference that sometimes some people don't seem to be able to grasp.

I reckon that in some strange alternative universe this would be called world music, and just for the shits and giggles I would love to see them on Jools Holland sending the whole thing up.

Facebook - www.facebook.com/Thecundeez

Reverbnation - www.reverbnation.com/thecundeez