Well, this is different. DUNGEN are four hirsute, menacing looking young chappies from the remote, misty outpost of Smaland, Sweden, who come bearing crazed, possibly psychotic and certainly schizophrenic blasts of Proggy psych-rock and cap it all by singing in their native language. That'll make people sit up and take notice over here, won't it?
Well, er, yes, it will actually, because Dungen are quite a proposition, and clearly not one to be put off by anything as wussy as the vagaries of fashion. How else can you condone new single "Panda"? I mean, there aren't many bands in this day and age who'd dare to kick off their new record with a DRUM SOLO, not least one sounding like Ginger Baker duelling with Sandy Nelson before what appears to be the MC5 comes riffing around the corner, bringing Zappa's Mothers of Invention with them. Er, are you following this?
Anyway, like I say, leader Gustav Estes sings in Swedish, so he could well be ordering a plate of whelks for all I know, but shag it all, it sounds bloody exciting, as does the big rock crescendo they've inserted to let us know that ultimately they're all about ROCK'N'FRIKKEN ROLL. Got it yet?
Exclusive new B-sides rack up the 'intriguing' factor, an' all. "Tyst Minut" (no, me neither) is played in its' entirety by prime over Estes, something which is very impressive in itself, as is the growly, bassy Blue Cheer-style undertow and the Scott Gorham and Brian Robertson-style lead breaks. "Jamna Plagor", meanwhile, is arguably even further out: kicking off with clipped acoustics, congas and a slightly whimsical atmosphere more akin to Canterbury set stalwarts such as Caravan. It only lasts relatively briefly, though, as soon the riffs take off and go on to embrace Can-style rhythmic invention.
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Dungen, then, are something of a slap in the face with a wet kipper in these days of urchin rockers and post-punk clones, but non-conformism still has its' place, thank the Lord, and right now Dungen are making the most unlikely of combinations (Prog leanings and singing in the kind of language that annually earns nul pwan in Eurovision terms) work like a dream. The irritatingly clever bastards.
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