It will come to no surprise that the dream punk music promised in the late 70s has died. Yep, I’m sorry, it’s a shocker. Frank Turner’s peeved about it, John Lydon’s off advertising salt free spreads and we’re all left swooning in a washed out pool of corporate, mass produced musical shit.
But that’s not to say we can’t have a little fun with it! Take The Perils for instance. A Brighton based gang of ruff-collared new aged beatniks. Tattered jeans, bushy barnets and a handful of gruff and gritty foot-stompers that opens your eyes to where the Paddington’s tripped up. They’re debut confounds all non-existent expectations with a guitar pile up of mish-mash, melodic bellows and squatty, two step seaside punk.
The ups and downs of this wee humble album include the melodically and distinctly British “Sleeping in Vegas” and the rather chirpy “Lipstick sister” which sounds like the Stereophonics if they grew up on a diet of Marlboro’s and The Buzzcocks instead of Tony Blackburn and well, boredom. The awkwardly slow album closer, “The Highway” is a good attempt at adding a little balance to a really DIY album, but unfortunately it just confirms that the Perils should stick to distortion and disruption rather than delicate and dainty.
7/10
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