Punks no dad, no… dad’s no punk, no, my dad’s more punk than your dad. Hawd on… punk’s no deid? Or is it? Who the fuck cares anymore. Over the years the term has lost its meaning. Is it a fashion, a style, a cynical marketing ploy? The aging punk polis would argue ’til their safety pins pop, their mohawks flop and they’re ready to drop about what is and isn’t punk (how very “punk” of them), as they challenge Primark Ramones T-shirt wearing youths on their punk credentials… “Name three songs…” they’ll challenge as they close their minds to anything beyond UK82…
So let me just say this… Soapbox is PUNK as FUCK…because in the true sense of what punk stood for all those years ago, this energetic no fucks given quartet has all the credentials. At the end of the day, it’s all about attitude and a certain level of altruism, and one thing I know with absolute certainty is Soapbox have got fucking attitude in bucketloads, as well as a wealth of social conscience in the subject matter of their songs and lyrics. Maybe that’s because the world’s a fucked up place, with shitloads to rany about, much like it was back in the late 70’s. Not only that, but Soapbox live is a sight and sound to behold, one of the most vital and exciting bands on the live circuit in today’s music scene, bursting with a vigorous forceful energy, their no holds barred live show is like a punch to the guts and a repetitive slap to the face when you least expect it, a bit like the return of the Tango man.
Soapbox certainly live up to their name on Hawd That, the five songs across the EP railing against several issues prevalent in society today, they are the modern musical equivalent of standing on their namesake at Speakers Corner in Hyde Park demonstrating their right to free speech, tackling the issues of the day and shouting from the rooftops to anyone who cares to listen.
The EP kicks off, almost literally, with one of their live staples, Yer Da, lyrics coming over like the verbal equivalent of a square go, the solid bass rhythm and pounding drum beat interspersed with jagged guitar riffs underlying Tom’s lyrics which he spits out with more than a hint of venomous ire and a heavy dose of wry humour as the chorus erupts in a cacophony of crashing instruments and Tom yelling Yer Da repeatedly.
“Yer Da” could also be the self same Fascist Bob, the subject of their last single, you know that cunt ye meet in the pub, the one that says I’m no a racist but… the one who uses woke as an insult… the one who says “ye can’t say anything these days…” You all know one. You’ve all met one. And the irony is, a load of the ones I’ve met are auld punks wearing Clash or SLF t-shirts, oblivious to the irony in what they say as Strummer wails and turns uncomfortably in his grave, yelling “Without People You’re Nothing…. except these cunts”. The even bigger irony being that the clueless leader of the fascist men-children who claim to be “proud” “boys” made an arse of himself recently by completely missing the bands stance and expressing his love for the band and their music. Proving without a shadow of doubt that he and his sheep are thick as fuck fatheaded knuckledraggers. This high energy rant against right wing fascist pricks clocks in at just shy of two minutes, more than enough time for the band to make their point clearly and succinctly.
I’m glad I got that off my chest. Just in time for the pace to come down on Private Public Transport Sucks. Or does it? Fuck that, we’ve all been there, the rage simmering and bubbling away before it explodes in outpouring of desperate rage. The music gathers pace and the instrumentation reaches an incendiary crescendo as the protagonist in the song finally loses his shit. Boy that feels good.
Private Public Transport Sucks may have started slow and built to an incendiary crescendo, but the band’s latest single and the EPs penultimate track, Stiff Upper Lip starts in fifth gear, the band on the rampage and never letting up for a second as the song seethes and rages to its conclusion, a comment on mental health in 21st Century Britain. “Don’t kill yourself, there’s no sequel”. A theme which carries into the last song on the EP, Meter Made, an incessant driving rhythm underlying lyrics about the so-called energy crisis, a man-made fuck up exacerbated by government incompetency and greed of power companies, as the rich get richer and everyone else gets left behind “I’ve got no money, got no heating, just can’t stop myself from greetin'”.
Soapbox have got something to say and you’re going to listen. You ARE going to listen. You won’t be able to help yourself.
Soapbox – Instagram