Lobster Priest - Crucial Trading
Fuckin’ Amateurs #72. LP
To the the North East and Viz and Gazza and the Angel of the North and Newcastle United and Earl Grey, Jackie Milburn, Richard Rupenus and those doll like girls who look like Oompah Loompahs and go ‘eeee fookin’ hell I’m proper pissed me’. I saw them on a recent BBC3 program about shop staff at the UK’s biggest retail outfit which is in Gateshead, two typical North East lasses with blond hair extensions, black smudges for eyebrows and orange skin sitting in the Metro centres champagne bar bitching about how hard life is when one of them said, arms all a-fling and in all seriousness ‘I am not materialistic … but I do like materialistic things’.
To the North East and Gazza giving gunmen much needed refreshments and Chester-Le-Street and The New Blockaders and Toon fans who’d rather see their families go hungry than not buy a season ticket. Whats not to like? The people are friendly [except for the gunmen] and the beer is particularly good. Should you find yourself in Newcastle I heartily recommend the Crown Posada down by the Tyne Bridge as a place of refuge not just for the fact that the beer is impressively good but that the landlord is the most miserable twat you could ever wish to meet.
We go up every year to spend a week walking along the empty beaches of Alnmouth and Bamburgh. Its heavenly and I urge you all to visit and tidy up after yourselves.
And then there’s Lobster Priest who I must admit to having never head of before. My loss. Tales abound of dressing up like the Sun City Girls and Peter Gabriel when he was in Genesis, hitting drums in an animal Muppet Show way and thrashing guitars in a Rallizes Denudes way before ingesting large amounts of alcohol and just going for it. Its what you do in the North East.
Judging by the cover these guys are soaking up the faded druggy American East Coast scene replacing ‘Ludes with Newcastle Brown Ale and lithe tanned, uber gorgeous stoned groupies with Oompah Loomphas that go ‘eeeee fookin’ hell’. The vibe is twin faceted with side two giving us a more near eastern tinged Muslimgauze wig out replete with Muezzin call, doped out ethnic beats and radio Ethiopique. This is ‘Live in Harran/Free Radio’ and as good as it is it doesn’t beat the monumental stoner dirge that is ‘Suzie Fuckin’ Q Death Trip’ a track that marries the desert waste space of Jodorowski’s ‘El Topo’ with the kick ass riffage of many a Jap psych outfit. The snatches of 50’s B-Movie gives us a Cosmonaut Hail Satan groove and anchor points from which to grip the armchair more tightly as you venture further in. ‘Suzie Q …’ travels a path that is its own trip, probably improvised or jammed, a riff taken out for a long trawl through the Bigg Market at 2.a.m. on a Sunday morning, all leery laddish drunken bonhomie and lasses freezing their tits off in teeny tiny outfits during a freezing gale. Part of its appeal is the recording quality which sounds as if its all captured through one mic, everything overloaded and rupturous, boiling to molten metal levels before crashing and burning one more time.
A mysterious group this Lobster Priest. A five piece made up of bits of other groups like ‘Bong’ and others of a similar dirge-ish bent. By the sounds of it they’re all having an amazing time. I’m a north easterner at heart and you should be too.
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Fuckin’ Amateurs #72. LP
To the the North East and Viz and Gazza and the Angel of the North and Newcastle United and Earl Grey, Jackie Milburn, Richard Rupenus and those doll like girls who look like Oompah Loompahs and go ‘eeee fookin’ hell I’m proper pissed me’. I saw them on a recent BBC3 program about shop staff at the UK’s biggest retail outfit which is in Gateshead, two typical North East lasses with blond hair extensions, black smudges for eyebrows and orange skin sitting in the Metro centres champagne bar bitching about how hard life is when one of them said, arms all a-fling and in all seriousness ‘I am not materialistic … but I do like materialistic things’.
To the North East and Gazza giving gunmen much needed refreshments and Chester-Le-Street and The New Blockaders and Toon fans who’d rather see their families go hungry than not buy a season ticket. Whats not to like? The people are friendly [except for the gunmen] and the beer is particularly good. Should you find yourself in Newcastle I heartily recommend the Crown Posada down by the Tyne Bridge as a place of refuge not just for the fact that the beer is impressively good but that the landlord is the most miserable twat you could ever wish to meet.
We go up every year to spend a week walking along the empty beaches of Alnmouth and Bamburgh. Its heavenly and I urge you all to visit and tidy up after yourselves.
And then there’s Lobster Priest who I must admit to having never head of before. My loss. Tales abound of dressing up like the Sun City Girls and Peter Gabriel when he was in Genesis, hitting drums in an animal Muppet Show way and thrashing guitars in a Rallizes Denudes way before ingesting large amounts of alcohol and just going for it. Its what you do in the North East.
Judging by the cover these guys are soaking up the faded druggy American East Coast scene replacing ‘Ludes with Newcastle Brown Ale and lithe tanned, uber gorgeous stoned groupies with Oompah Loomphas that go ‘eeeee fookin’ hell’. The vibe is twin faceted with side two giving us a more near eastern tinged Muslimgauze wig out replete with Muezzin call, doped out ethnic beats and radio Ethiopique. This is ‘Live in Harran/Free Radio’ and as good as it is it doesn’t beat the monumental stoner dirge that is ‘Suzie Fuckin’ Q Death Trip’ a track that marries the desert waste space of Jodorowski’s ‘El Topo’ with the kick ass riffage of many a Jap psych outfit. The snatches of 50’s B-Movie gives us a Cosmonaut Hail Satan groove and anchor points from which to grip the armchair more tightly as you venture further in. ‘Suzie Q …’ travels a path that is its own trip, probably improvised or jammed, a riff taken out for a long trawl through the Bigg Market at 2.a.m. on a Sunday morning, all leery laddish drunken bonhomie and lasses freezing their tits off in teeny tiny outfits during a freezing gale. Part of its appeal is the recording quality which sounds as if its all captured through one mic, everything overloaded and rupturous, boiling to molten metal levels before crashing and burning one more time.
A mysterious group this Lobster Priest. A five piece made up of bits of other groups like ‘Bong’ and others of a similar dirge-ish bent. By the sounds of it they’re all having an amazing time. I’m a north easterner at heart and you should be too.
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