Yabber bladdered & drool for yes Sir Bald Diddley, Bash Brand & Gez Gerrard are back in peak bleak-blitzing form to de-mob & dis-bland yer slate-black post bank bail-out blues. Once again the whole hoodlum hoo-dunnit is under the judiciously adjudged titling to follow The Sheik Said Shake and the thigh-slappingly splendid Have Knees Will Tremble (oh, and Snake Pit, but they obviously hadn't quite got their stride yet at that stage). Fifteen drain-piped, Hawaiian shirted riff-tide surfers, stardust cowboys n' witchdoctors of many a pin-stripe and star-barking descent slide stompin' and strutting through chicken shacks like yardbirds let loose hounding bird-dogs into corners all surviving on diets of hazy bad things, ripped out to belly dance shimmying through your back-alley barbiequeues where you can catch Duane Eddy & John Lee Hook whether Chatham (whence these cats share an ancestry with that Childish feller) or Chattanooga. Sure, they be forged from well-used templates but 'twas always so. And yuss, it does have to be this way. Rule is sonny, you can use all the authentic equipment ripped from some mythical desks in a shack that had accidental acoustic properties that acolytes get slack-jawed & sloppy...limbed and worse about, you like sorta still have to be way-a-good else you sound like some ex-trad jazz Brit rockabilly wannabe in 1957. Funny 'ow times change ain't it, eh? Similarly, you can paint a Grestch Country Gent with black paint from an authentic B&Q store, bung the fucker through 3 wah-wahs & 17 cheapo Boss distorto boxes but you ain't gonna sound like remotely Mary Chain. So spin this sprightly concoction & all its convocations to non-Blighted sounds with unbridled spirit. Aplenny.
'Cider Sheik' Stu Gibson