I bought this from a bargain bin sometime in the 80’s , purely for the band name and the appropriateness of it to my life at the time. The 50p price tag didn’t hurt matters either. What the hell; a cheap joke at my own expense.
Under those circumstances it really should’ve stank, but surprisingly it’s quite listenable — even today, so deserves a mention in the ranks of the unsung, for it is surely pulped and forgotten, even by the people involved. Maybe I’ve got the only copy.
The aforementioned creators were four unheard of guys and the only faint reek of credibility clinging to the dreadful sleeve is mixing credits by Graham Gouldman of 10CC; which in ’83 was hardly going to scream hip to anyone.
So why am I still paying rent on this turkey’s life-support machine when the immediate family have all long pissed off?
Because it’s Britpop ten years too soon. The cockney wisecracks and social commentary; hook-like riffs and singalong choruses echo a pre-natal Blur, or a Supergrass that was only a twinkle in XTC’s eye.
Lyrically it’s up there with Jarvis and co. in places too, in songs like ‘Working Man’ (“if it wasn’t for the boots and trousers they supplied/i’d resign/and hang my problems out to dry”) and “Practising First Aid.”
So i’ve got a soft spot for this album that didn’t stand a chance. A major label’s tax loss packaged by commitee, that went from apathetic release to thankful obscurity in one breath. Because somewhere inbetween, somebody forgot to tell the band.
I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.