The delay in writing this review is very remiss of me, I’ve had the latest Mickey 9s album for what seems like aeons. Certainly at least a few months before it was actually released, I’m sure the residents of Simshill/Castlemilk/Kings Park and the surrounding Glasgow Southside environs are probably sick of it blasting out my car windows on repeat. Either that or they’re now all fully fledged Mickey 9s converts. I’d like to think the latter.
I mean how can you NOT like this album? Playing it in the car was probably a bad idea. You can’t really listen to this album without getting sucked in by the high octane addictive post punk-funk. How the fuck do you dance while driving a Corsa? Tapping your foot on the accelerator doesn’t make for good driving practice either. Modern Kunst calls for the volume to be cranked up to Spinal Tap proportions. Although a warning too, it ain’t for the faint of heart.
Repetitive Chant
The opening repetitive rhythm and the chant of Lost Connection gets right under your skin demonstrating first world problems perfectly. The desire for everything to be wireless reflecting the other necessity to spend your life fucking charging everything.
The crunching guitars and mellifluous funky bassline of Rock & Roll Pt 3 signals the death of,… every form of rock ‘n’ roll. OK, apart from hardcore. Apparently it will never die…but you will.
The jarring angular post punk-funk really takes hold in the superbly Full American, The funky beat has a danceability factor of 100, I’d be surprised if this paragraph wasn’t full of typos as I struggle to stay still in my seat. In my head I’m back in indie discos gie’in it laldy. The intensity doesn’t let up for one second as MK Ultra takes hold of your cerebellum, controlling your every move and giving you a further injection of adrenaline.
Teeth! has every fibre of your being on edge as the teeth of the world chatte. Then vegan listeners should probably just skip the first verse of track six. Or maybe just la la la over it if they don’t want to be triggered. Don’t skip the whole though, it would be criminal to miss out on the raw primal savagery of, well, Raw.
Angular Post Punk
The harder edge of the band is demonstrated on Black Hole Soul, grungy hard rock guitars blending with the angular post punk backed by a solid thundering rhythm section. Is it wrong that Rang Wi Me created visions in my mind of Burnistoun and the Whose Shoes are They sketch? Anyway, regardless of whether it did or not, its a belter of a tune, the sinister vocal putting you on high alert with its underlying threat of menace.
Even the likes of Euripides gets a nod in the jerky jagged riffing of God in the Machine, a joyous exploration of the unexplained. Heads Talking creates an air of not giving a shit, using a phrase I’m sure we can all relate to as a refrain “Fuck this shit, I’m surrounded by idiots” before creating a list of everyone who should get tae fuck… Brilliant.
Two minutes of parental and family stresses are covered in the mindfuck of KIds before the surprise of the album, the closing track Music. This sees Mickey 9s go all Madonna/Cher disco on us, and it only bloody works perfectly doesn’t it? What an inspired and brilliant way to close this storming thrill ride of an album.
Jeez, I’m gagging for a gig where I can let myself go and go fucking MENTAL! (if that is allowed for the over 50s….) These guys are the perfect antidote to the misery and despondency in the world today. And I’m only already out on the 23rd of October when they play the Garage. Fuuuuuuuuck. Next time…