"Will you nail yourself on to a cross for me? Will you blow your fucking brains out with a gun for me?"

James King and the Lonewolves have a reputation that precedes them; evolving out of the Glasgow punk scene in the late '70s and early '80s, the band quickly became renowned as hard-drinking sociopaths whose mercurial live shows featured a punked-up Velvets' approach.  Curiously, their singles tended to showcase the catchy pop side of their repertoire, which die-hard fans felt was unrepresentative of the band.

Okay.  Let's get one thing straight.  This album is great.  Here's your six bottles, James.  (Last time I tried to give you six bottles for something, the Barman turned me down but now we seem fine with that kind of thing).  Now, if the Barman would do a quick edit we could be three for three.  Six.  Six.  Six. Apt.



Of course there are elephants in the room.  Great hulking elephants and the occasional five foot one elephant.  I guess we'll just have to tackle them head on.  (Can I pun my way through this whole review? ) As a spoiler, I've read Robert's review because I know he'll have a different take to me.  I haven't read the Barman's because it is always funny how often we write the same review.  There could be some overlap.



New Zealander  Delaney Davidson is like a lot of musicians who saturate themselves in the blues, country and modern rock. 

Unlike the majority, he still gets it. The music is as vital for him now as when he picked up a guitar. He’s never still, always moving to improve and expand his range. Why? Because he doesn’t want the songs to sound the same.

I must apologise - this has been sitting along with a couple of other CDs, waiting their turn as I try to complete a documentary about a rather brill Australian rock band and another book. I’ve been a tad busy elsewhere too. So the review may be a little old.

Should you chase a copy?

Take the massive rhythm section of Fear and Loathing, add ex-Love Fever and Primevils’ David Mason on one guitar and the redoubtable Sean Tilmouth on the other guitar and you have a crunching, bowel-scouring rock band. 

The Bums were first put together a few years back by the late Renestair EJ; their first gig featured a rather heatstroked Ren beaning a startled Mr Tilmouth with the mic stand. Mr Tilmouth’s response to this was not, "I say, that’s a bit harsh, Ren old buddy". No.

Sean knocked Ren out cold, and floored him again when Ren got up and went for the cuddle of forgiveness. I’ve seen the video and this band owe me a new pair of underpants. 

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By Robert Brokenmouth

Robert Brokenmouth

14 October 2014

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