Loveable, if perhaps not quite fully house-trained, THE MUTTS have been wagging tails in and around the scene with their previous clutch of garage-strength singles and EPS.
And, while there's nothing even remotely original about their scuzzoid riffology and battered'n'bruised rock'n'roll, it still works surprisingly effectively across the course of a forty-minute sitting: basically the duration of their debut album "Life In Dirt."
Opening track "Excited" gives you some idea what to expect. It stutters into life via Bryan Shore's Jon Spencer-meets-Stooges riffing and incites some remarkable violence from Chris Murtagh's yelpy drawl of a vocal. If you didn't know better, it's initially hard to believe The Mutts hail from Brighton, actually, as the scorching ramalama burns straight outta Detroit. But them's the quirks of this game, right?
Elsewhere, the band create an impressive number of variations on a theme. Recent single "Blood From A Stone" is menacing and feral fun: all Fast Eddie Clarke riffs and looming heaviosity; "Stranded" a killer Stooges-meets-The Sweet stomper with Murtagh snarling "I can't see the wood for the trees" like he's been possessed by Lee Brilleaux's ghost and "Engines" a hard-headed, imbecilic rocker that could almost have been on the Damned's debut album.
Admittedly, the excitement of the rampant hi-octane kicks can sometimes pall pretty easily. Songs like the blasted insomniac's blues "Stuck Awake" and the vacantly basic "Immaculate Tramp" are too one-dimensional to work, and occasionally the lunkheaded musicianship (ruthlessly basic drummer Adam Watson is the biggest culprit) ensures the album fails to leave the runway.
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Nonetheless, you can't knock The Mutts' commitment, and occasionally it seems they even surprise themselves, not least with the wonderfully primeval tom-heavy "Incest City" - which is a rip-roarin' bastard mutation of The Gun Club, Bo Diddley and The MC5 - and the numb, but seething cut price Black Sabbath moves hijacked by the thumping closer "From The Trenches." At times like these, The Mutts' frenzied, deconstructed garage rumble is wholly exhilarating and just what the (back street) doctor ordered.
So while "Life In Dirt" sounds ultimately more like a way of (low) life than simply an album title, you might discover that grubbing around gleefully in the grime of The Mutts' excreto-rock is actually strangely appealing. Hold off calling Rentokil for the moment, at least.
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