Feeling Alright With The Crew?
- Anna C's pick of May's Motley Poo

MOTLEY CRUE- If I die tomorrow

Motley Crue stand for everything, and I mean everything, that I don't like about any music. Still curiously worshipped for abusing the rock and roll lifestyle of sex and drugs, which I must admit must be pretty amazing when pioneering a haircut not dissimilar to a poodle's arse, I personally think it just made them look like twats. Though I can understand their need for a gimmick. Their tunes are appalling. Claiming that, without them, there would be no Bon Jovi or GnR, I'd like to know then why both are actually musically better. And another thing; what makes it cool that their antics almost killed them?
Unfortunately for us, the key word here is almost. So here they are releasing another 80's-esque cock rock classic about "waking up to find themselves" but "where the time has gone is so unclear", which I can only pray is tongue-in-cheek. Yuk yuk yuk. However, no-one can argue that this is a band who are hugely successful and, the first single from their new Greatest Hits album, "If I die tomorrow" is released in anticipation of their worldwide tour which reaches the UK in June. We can but hope that, after that, that will be the last we hear of them.


MEZTELEN EBED- Karmatologus

All I know about this group is that there are five of them and I suspect that they come from the continent. I know this last fact because everything written about them I cannot for the life of me understand. Luckily, we all know that music crosses the language frontier and this eclectic collection of jazz-meets-trip-hop-meets-world-music is not exception. Though always without vocals, tracks like secret agent stalker that is "Mikrofonfej", the unashamed acid jazz of "Iszaplezer", or the understated acoustic landscape "Macskamenta", instantly bring to mind the laidback ambience of Zero 7 or Morcheeba and the amazing mixture of musical instruments on display on any Afro Celt Sound System record. And dotted here and there with DJ Shadow or Cam-like interludes, this will certainly appeal to trendy vinyl collectors and barefoot dancing hippies alike, who will both enjoy soaking up a good bit of pumping digeridoo in their own way. Because, with Meztelen Ebed, what you won't be able to pronounce, you will definitely feel through the music. Man.

VIBRATION WHITE FINGER- 5 minutes to live EP

This seven-piece Welsh musical monster is a little more interesting than your average indie rock band, the simple reason being that they are not afraid of getting the horn when it comes to writing. However, if not for a good toot on the trumpet, then, I'm afraid, that this is exactly what they are. Meaning that I was, in fact, a little disappointed when, in the EP's title track, what I thought in the first few seconds was going to be more classic fun Reel Big Fish metamorphosised into a synth-laden Bravery song, or something along the lines of bloody bands like that, for which Terrorvision chipped in on the chorus. And, let's face it, waving hands akimbo is never going to best match smart suits and garage rock hairdos. Although definitely energetically and enthusiastically fitting in with the style of the moment, particularly the definite Killers edge of "Come Inside", with a big dramatic and melodic sound which is more than worthy of any record buyers attention, unfortunately other tracks like "Sleep it off" made me want to, so, while my overall opinion is that this is not at all bad, if I had five minutes to live, this wouldn't be the first CD I'd choose as a soundtrack.


The Beat Poet are the same kind of angry headfuck as local faves The Furious Sleep. But without any sign of talent or even a bloody tune. As delusional as Max Carlish standing in front of Pete Doherty dressed in nothing but a revolving bow tie, his large stomach daubed with whipped cream to form the words "take me, big boy", I take a quote from the Fat-Brummie-Jew-er-you-neglected-to-mention-the-fact-you-were-also-psychotic man himself when I implore the kids to "stop the madness". Although I am not scared of what they're doing; I just think it is crap, self-indulgent noise. Think about your listeners, boys; you'll go a long way. For example, what are you trying to achieve in songs which are almost ten bloody minutes long? Apart from lots of wailing over badly played instruments and no musical structure that you may think is art-rock but is unlikely to have the same influence on anyone else. Tracks that prompt me to question the fact that someone got there before me, cut off their arms at the elbow, ripped out their tongue and spleen with forceps (I only said that because I like the word spleen but, now I think of it, why not?) and recorded the results, make my bones ache. Which makes me angry. However, what is weirder still that this is a group of boys that could be the purveyors of the next genocide yet words can't describe them. Oh, hell, I'll give it a try. Big hairy bollocks. Yes, that just about sums them up. Now shut up and go away.


First person to guess how many members form this Leeds-based band get SIX gold stars. Oh, well done you. And calling their collective a "band of prey", this supposedly means that they like gobbling their audiences up and shitting them out in a bundle of guts and apparent pop music. Though might I stick my hand up and say meekly that I don't think this is by any means pop, miss, and, with Cardiac's maesto Tim Smith at the helm of production duties, was never going to be. At least not your run-of-the-mill cha-cha-slide-crazy-frog-bo-bo pop. Which is, come to think of it, actually more pap. Because "The six" are here to save us from the puppeteers with something far more unexpected, extremely melodramatic, much more rock and less messy than it sounds.
Not to mention ever so intriguing. Because what first appears as a ballad turns into something much more sinister, as layers of sneering melody are buried in a tirade of lavish strings, whilst the powerful vocals croon sadly, yet with startling conviction, "You ugly ugly cow". Which isn't very nice. And sums this lot up nicely; with a like-it-or-lump-it attitude which should by rights get them far, they are unsubtle and unapologetic with tunes so bold that you can't help but want to listen. And then shout the same message in the face of someone who's annoyed you. Combine all this with more upbeat, listener (and ugly people) friendly b-sides and here is a band that are without a doubt ready to take on the world, or at least scare a few southerners. Are you ready for them?


RADIO LUCIFER- Vigilante Justice sampler

Radio Lucifer. Shit name. Luckily, the band is not so shit. The first reason for this is that they put "hardcore rock" and the phrase "raison d-etre" in the same sentence in their press release. Which I thought was funny. A group whose obvious influences are The Wildhearts, Backyard Babies and Black Flag, my instant impression is that this five-piece would fit in very well with RTC or Dirty Kirst who sell themselves on the Cambridge scene. So it's a shame they're from Scotland then. Although maybe not. I'm not sure there's room for any fast and furious, growly-throated punk rockers round here. Not to mention the standardised out-of-tune backing vocals, with a "woah-ooohhhhhhh-ohhhh", which just tie up, torture and drown anything that is good about the recording. Which happens to be, potentially, a lot. Indeed, with tracks called "Smoking cigarettes in hell", I might be forgiven for branding this just a teensy bit clichéd but there is no doubt that the little fellas in their backwards baseball caps will completely love it, poking each other in the eyes with their metal signs and making each other cry during the long widdly guitar solos (that would be the Motley Crue influence then and we all know how highly I regard them but we'll say no more about it). Basically, what is the downfall of many bands subjected to my wrath, is actually refreshing about Radio Lucifer; they have nothing new to say but they know it and so say it well. And with a bit more practice, this lot will be a lot more fun to listen to. At least it was the first CD out of a whole lot that actually ended up on the shelf instead of hurling through the window to the busy street below.

Anna C