Dublin banditos REPUBLIC OF LOOSE sure give good press release. Their biog alone shits all over most bands' standard 'influences/ formative years' schtick and instead concentrates on drugs, grooves, nefarious activities working with Royal Trux, poverty, more drugs and, er, Rick James. Polite they ain't and not for this Republic's citizens any of that sanitised, ethereal post-rock malarkey or wimpy indie posturing, thanks very much.
'Colourful', I think, is probably the best way to describe these Republicans. They are as close to anything previously oozing out of Dublin as Forfar Athletic are to winning the Scottish Cup in successive seasons, and - in terms of kinship, testifyin' phonky attitude and protruding grooves probably have most in common with either Alabama 3 (in terms of the drug-addled, Gospel schtick) and prime time Happy Mondays (the drug-addled gang mentality possibly bordering on the criminal and the love of day-glo funk).
"This Is The Tomb Of The Juice", then, is an ill-disciplined, sprawling, but mostly enjoyable debut ride. It stretches out across an hour or more and makes no attempt to cut the slack ( "Fuck Everybody" features joint frontman Mik Pyro drunkenly ranting to a bolshie female journalist who accuses him of being phonily American), yet for all that - and an expletive count higher than the Empire State Building - it is mostly great, ridiculous fun.
For this reviewer, the chief highlights come in a slew at the beginning. "Hold Up" is akin to the Chili Peppers' early skinny funk (circa "Freaky Styley") and admits a preference for Vicodin; the terrific "Girl, I'm Gonna Fuck You Up" is smooth and delicious in a hepped-up Sly Stone/ Bill Withers kinda way and "Goofy Love" cheekily, but effectively appropriates Nick Cave's sublime "Lime Tree Arbour" as its' framework. Creative pilfering at its' best, basically.
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Elsewhere, the band's (for once) serious grasp of Gospel and Dave Pyro's fine falsetto permeates tracks like the blues-sodden "Something In The Water" and "Slow Down", while "Ride With Us" makes short work of the band's detractors, and the tight, economical funk workouts "Tell More Lies" and "Sweet Cola Of Mercy" make a persuasive case for the Republic as a landmass to be respected by foreign powers.
Republic Of Loose, then, are a crazed, but talented bunch of loose cannons. Leave 'em to mind your car and you'll probably return to find it bricked up and all the essentials gone, yet the stereo will still be there and it'll be pumping out infectious, lascivious grooves. Hell, they've probably got the cops in their pocket as well.
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