Soho's not particularly renowned for its violence. Granted, unfortunately homophobia will forever be ingrained in the morality of many and the odd skull's smashed in against a telephone switchboard on Charing Cross Road. And
Violent Soho as a band name's none too instantaneously grabbing, no. Yet when you sound like Nine Black Alps ripping Billy Corgan's polished, bald head off and swinging it about by its frayed strands of spinal chord atop a flaming horse fleeing the last ever Reading Festival names are all but irrelevant. For this Antipodean quartet have little interest in convention or whatever the fuck you think to their tempestuous grunge. Bursting out the Bible Belt from the innards of a garage, their self-titled debut spews a short, sweet and irrevocably nonchalant set of ten snarling, vitriolic slabs of distortion-heavy fury, as Weezer-esque vocals permeate really bloody chunky power chords on Muscle Junkie, Jesus Stole My Girlfriend sounds like The Cribs retaliating at Kate Nash's understandable jealousy at Ryan Jarman kissing 'Grrrls, and Love Is A Heavy Word, with its snotty, entrancing denouement could invoke terror in James Hetfield, erecting every last hair in that grotty beard of his. Subdued respite crops up midway, as cellos ooze over the acoustic revelry of Outsider, yet it's at their most brattish, brutish and brutal that Violent Soho command greatest undying attention, as closer Narrow Ways insinuates, as Luke Boerdam growls of boredom. Whilst far from reinventing the wheel, Violent Soho do their utmost to keep the wheels set in motion by Smashing Pumpkins clocking up more mileage, and their utmost maintains some fairly exhilarating velocities.
