You've got to hand it to a band with the unswerving single-mindedness to call themselves THE FUCKING CHAMPS, haven't you? Let's face it, scrabbling for airplay's not gonna be a problem. so with this is mind you may as well be as extreme as possible. Right?
Yup, pretty much, though it must be said there's also a sizeable tongue inserted in the Champs' collective cheek here, too, as calling a compilation album of virtually all instrumental wankathons "Greatest Hits" certainly raises a hearty, Spinal Tap-esque chuckle.
For the uninitiated out there, The Fucking Champs are three longhairs from San Francisco, who've made four albums 1996 - 2002 and "Greatest Hits" (hur! hur!) culls together some of the, ah, best bits from them. They have no bass player,preferring the aural deights of two guitars and drums, but if you're expecting something akin to The White Stripes you'd better get that passport and airline ticket sorted tout suite, pal, as this is anything BUT an exercise in dirty, minimal blues and the fretboard excess here is enough to make The Soledad Brothers' hair do a Telly Savalas in shame.
So, frankly, if you think Brian May and Richie Blackmore should be castrated rather than deified, then "Greatest Hits" probably ain't for you. That said, while my instinct would naturally run that way, there are some moments when their single-mindedness does create something interesting.
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For instance, the bouncy guitar synths of "Policenauts" aren't a million miles from the early Cars; the deathly economical riffing of "Lee Tom" is enough to tickle both Tony Iommi's fancy and his arse and their straight ahead take of Bach's "Air On A G-String" is hilarious. Even without a spoof Hamlet Cigar advert for company.
Elsewhere, who could deny the excellence of titles like "Crummy Lovers Die In The Grave" and "Thor Is Like Immortal"? And, while the ghost of Nigel Tufnel cranks it up to 11 on preposterous outings like "Dale Bozzio" and "Never Enough Neck (Parts 1 and 2)", it's never less than a good laugh to hear The Fucking Champs push excess and cliche as far as it can go. Well, for a while, anyhow.
Ultimately, your tolerance and enjoyment of "Greatest Hits" will probably depend on your propensity for whipping out a full-size mirror and your arsenal of air guitars when no-one's looking to celebrate your (very) private homage to Queen, Rainbow and Gary Moore. As for me, I'd love to go on, but I'm having a serious Brian May bad hair day. Ooh baby, feel that dimininshed 13th and lick my love pump while you're at it. Mmm-hmm!!!
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