Cunts, A Bunch Of...
Remember when things started with a riff? It seems the kids of today consider them an afterthought, a way of connecting their flashy solos & mindless breakdowns but consider this: You set out to make a lovely lasagne & everything is ready when, at the last second, you realise you’ve got no meat. You have neither the time nor requisite ability to fetch some nice lean mince so you make do with the only thing you can find in the house, dog faeces. From the exterior, things look good. The top is nice & crispy, the layers are perfect but none of this changes the fact that your base ingredient is shit.
Thankfully Gareeda haven’t been paying attention to anything that’s happened in the last decade. In fact, it is likely they haven’t left the house for any reason other than to top up on cheap lager, issues of Razzle & toilet roll. No, Gareeda start with a riff (usually one of Orange Goblin’s) & go from there. Opener Let Me Kill One More is an up tempo jaunt that doesn’t piss about with unnecessary intros or the like. The catchy, driving riff launches straight into an impassioned plea from our protagonist to let him have one final victim before dedicating himself to a life of monogamous domestic abuse. Drifting In & Out drops the pace but ups the groove stakes with a walking bass line that meanders its way through the laid back verse & the heavy yet infectious chorus. Likewise, you’ll have the refrain of Hundred Quid An Hour burnt into your memory after the first listen.
If memorable choruses are what you are in the market for, then you are in the right place. Unclean Yearning is another contagious tale of regret wrapped around a melody reminiscent of Orange Goblin’s recent efforts. There is variety on offer with the likes of doomy, lumbering instrumental number Lassies Like You which builds to a crushing peak before tumbling back down to earth in a sea of feedback. The pace picks up again for the brief but pleasant Crotch of Hell & we are left, as with any respectable evening, with some Whores At My Door.
Scarcely believable tales of drug abuse, sadomasochism & depravity are delivered in such detail that one can only conclude they are entirely biographical. It is a shame that original lyricist/vocalist/chief cunt Tommy Concrete had to abandon his post due to touring commitments. That said, Stu Lillis does a more than adequate job filling his large & likely piss-soaked boots. For fans of Clutch, Monster Magnet & Motorhead, Gareeda swagger in with a belly full of beer, a sack of riffs & a ball sack in need of draining. They might not be rewriting the rule book with their debut but it is immediately apparent that they never intended too. This is the groovy, bluesy metal that your mum got rattled to in the toilet stall of a dive bar in Bootle & it, if the graffiti is to be believed, is still getting the job done today.
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