Tally ho, Gentlemen!
Hold tight, Ladies!
Beware, children of fine, but discriminating, tastes!
Those well-dressed scoundrels of garage rock’n’roll, The Mobbs, are on the prowl with their fourth release, Garage Punk For Boys, and are once again serving suave to the world of low-brow socialites.
G.P.F.B offers a quick, crisp sound reminiscent of their first album “It’s…” (a favorite at the grounds of Bibliodiscoteque Estates) with no time for the slow and no mercy for the lazy. Tracks like “We Don’t Need a God” lyrically flow like something off the Kinks’ Muswell Hillbillies, but have the speed of Ray Davies methamphetamine years. It’s also hard, on tracks like “Garage Punk for Boys” and “One Erotic Thought”, not to hear Thee Headcoats-esq vocal delivery and guitar stops. But, I harken back the Elizabethan ideal that one who learns from the ways of a master (like Childish), and adapts it to suit their style, can also be genius. Simply ask that Shakespeare guy. Everything about The Mobbs delicately balances originality on the knife’s edge of homage. They are, simply put, the next logical step. This is an album so brimming with hooks that you’ll find yourself singing along well after the music has stopped.
The Mobbs don’t need me to pile praise upon their personage, they are fantastic and they know it; our heroes saddle up to modesty, take her out for a great dinner, walk her to the door, and, like a gentleman, snog the living hell out of her.
On Sept. 1, you are cordially invited to drop your hard earned euros on the finest sophisticates in the garage punk world. Pick up G.P.F.B and let The Mobbs introduce you to one of the grandest aural adventures known to today’s modern man. You can order it from the web site and at finer digital outlets.