Basslines this slick should be illegal. They strut with a knowing confidence and dripping with attitude. Residing somewhere between Ronnie Wood’s ragged charm and Mani’s effortless groove allows frontman Jamie Wardem’s laid-back vocal to slide in perfectly on top.
The resounding licks in the closing stages, capped by an intricate solo, are made to raise fists in triumphant rock ’n’ roll victory. Possessed by the devil and locked on target, their sonic lasers are set to enthral. They wrap their debauched sound around your soul, seeping into the veins with dark intent. This kind of murky rock ’n’ roll should be prescribed on the NHS.
Next month they support Marseille, a band who have been making strides behind the likes of Pastel and The Bracknall as the next rock ‘n’ roll horse out of the traps. On this showing, they could be blown off course by the Scottish hurricane that is Ecko.