Search - The Blockheads :: Where's the Party

The boys are back in town

Kyle Mole | U.K. | 10/22/2004

(4 out of 5 stars)

"Saw these cats last night @ the Academy, Islington. Like a fine whiskey, they sound better as the years go by. I grew up under Norman 'fingers' Wattroy, who gave me an invaluble education in what it means to FONK, Rock, swing, Bleed the blues, etc. So, from there, we reach 2004. Ian's demise would have sent most Backing bands into retirment or spawned orrible embarassing psuedo Ian's. But, this is no backing band. They WERE and ARE the Blocks. All fantastic in their own right, still choc fulla fonk and soul and swagger. This one see's all new material, a totally fresh look at what Johnny last night dubbed 'new oldies.' The feel is there, Norman underpins and Dylan Howe (son of Yes's Steve) rolls around the skins and creates licks worth tasting. Chaz still has the midas touch with arrangements. Johnny does well in the vocal chair, soulful, gravally and raspy, and shares the duties with Derek the Draw, who's timbre and lyrics echo Ian, but don't step on his grave. Gilad is a joy to behold. His chops are tight, and he squeezes out the juice from that bell end like a man obsessed, pun intended. A few of the numbers are Beatles'ish in shape and form, so it's nice to see em stealing from the right bands! My favourites are 'Spread it where it counts,' 'Funny farm' and 'Work to the bone,' because they apitamize what the band stands for, musically. The rest are necessary evils for the hit parade. The only complaint is that the Blocks are a live band, first and foremost. Clean production and FX are fine, but to get the feel of the blood sweat and tears, you MUST catch the live experience. This is what live music should be like, when you leave the venue feeling like YOU'VE just been playing for the last hour and a half, soaked in sweat and pumped with adrenaline! I spoke with Norm's sis Caroline, who said ' I wan't my kids to come and see this kind of thing, before it all goes.' She was right, the greatist music and the phattest muso's are being suffoctaed and forgotten by the tripe and mindless twats who want nothing more from their cd's than a coke and smile and big fat commission...

If you like your music raw and from the heart, these are your boys."