OK, so someone once upon a time (it was Buckcherry) released an EP called Fuck, the sole selling point of which was the fact that every song title had the F-word in it. It was childish, silly, awkward given the ages of the musicians involved and (of course) lapped up by rock fans as we’re all immature. Welcome to Ricky Butcher (of Sons of Butcher) who’s managed to push the bar even lower than Josh Todd and his mates.
What we have here are 20 short tracks of complete puerile “humour” of the lowest and most immature level. Not all of them even songs, they’re dicking about. In other words, it’s along the lines of Psychostick (and others) and as such is the kind of thing that makes me chuckle. The fact the songs are around a minute long makes them very easy to learn, too. Especially given that most of the words are the same one.
Standout tracks? Oh, come on. This isn’t an album to listen to for the music. It’s there for the shits (fucks) and giggles. Having said that, “One, Two, Fuck You” is my new way to tell people I’m not interested in them, and “Fuck Off” plays like a hugely extended version of the classic Lawnmower Deth original. I mean, the guitars are good – nice and rough and ready – the drums are proficient and the vocals work… but that’s not the point, is it?
Thing is, if there’s a word or a sentiment that could sum up 2020 is there one better than “FUCK!”?. As such, this could well be the album of our times. Crank it up, grab a beer, laugh at the childishness of it all and let twenty minutes or so more of the damn year slip by forever.