Although their reputation precedes on Merseyside, the immortally-monikered TRAMP ATTACK are still relatively unknown on a national scale: a ludicrous state of affairs bearing in mind they have previously recorded songs of the calibre of “Eight Years Since School” (see the Rough Trade Shops series) and “Double Decker Bus” ( see Viper’s “21st Century Liverpool Underground” CD) as well as being the band from which Dave McCabe split to form the much-renowned Zutons.
Still, Tramp Attack’s status as great Scouse/ English songwriting eccentrics can only be enhanced by the arrival of their second album “Call In Sick”: a fun-packed, skilfully-executed half hour with more witty observations than Oscar Wilde down your local and an ear for melody that’s more accurate than a flock of homing pigeons.
Those who clocked the band in their original inception with McCabe and bassist Jay Redmond may get a surprise, as the all-new Tramp Attack are an animal of a different stripe these days. Original core members Matt Barton (vocals, guitar, songs) and drummer Ian Lane remain, with McCabe and Redmond replaced by Barry Southern (guitar, banjo, dobro) and Chris Marshall (bass, vocals) and there are contributions by Viper’s own Paul Hemmings and Mike Badger, but stylistically there’s been an extensive overhaul, with a predominantly acoustic sound replacing the skewhiff indie sounds of yore and distinct nods towards both skiffle and the off-kilter country sound Jonathan Richman once pioneered.
It might seem unlikely on paper, but it suits the band to a T, and thanks to a slew of sharp hooks and daffy, wisdom-fuelled lyrics it succeeds beautifully. The title track (a great singalong anthem to slacking and indolence if ever there was) is whipped along by mutant ‘Deliverance’ banjos, stand-up bass, skirling fiddle and a mad terrace-chant chorus. The nearest Scouse point of reference is probably The Onset’s “Pool Of Life” but regardless of artistic considerations it’s top fun all round and totally immediate too.
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From thereon in, it’s madcap brilliance all the way. Songs like “Write A Letter” and “Mr. Sun” (a pop update of “The Sun Has Got His Hat On” surely) are delta-slide assisted skiffle-pop with more than a tip and a wink to those other Scouse eccentrics Half Man Half Biscuit; “Write A Letter” features Mike Badger playing a mean Jaw’s Harp and is a buskabilly anthem par excellence and on the amusing “Lost Cat Letter”, the band work up an amiable doo-wop complete with ukulele and whistling solo.
If pushed, this reviewer would take the magnificently-observed “Musical Differences” and the wonderfully sardonic “Fake Suicide” as his favourite tracks. The former is packed with ace lines like “I’m ashamed to show you anything I do/ unless I add a little key change or two” (hur hur!) while “Fake Suicide” proffers a low-watt Velvets ambience and finds Matt promising “I’ll be at my funeral in a clever disguise/ counting all those that cry.” It’s not quite Scott Walker’s “Funeral Tango”, but it’s not half bad.
But really – with the possible exception of the lugubrious “Learn To Swim” – it’s all great, and in the tight, Modern Lovers-style “City” they even have time for a backhanded tribute to Liverpool itself, with Barton admitting “everybody wants to emigrate, I think for me it’s a little too late.” Maybe so, but the rest of us can only be thankful that Liverpool is still producing such endearingly off-centre brilliance. Listen to what tha man says: “Call In Sick” and get on with wasting the day with Tramp Attack. Doing bugger all has never sounded this joyful before.
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