Best albums of 2014

  Ahoy there! We have another one of them fancy lists for your reading pleasure. Since everyone and their mothers (and farmers’ mothers) have a “best of” list by now, we asked our readers and collaborators for their choices. Some heard the call and voraciously, viciously and vividly described what they enjoyed (or not – more on that later) in this year of our Lord … Continue reading Best albums of 2014

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Singles – The Smashing Pumpkins, The Violet May, Bromheads, Gaoler’s Daughter, The Cubical

A veritable all mix this week, as we get an alt-legend strutting their stuff, a raucous band known for their intense live shows, a Liverpudlian gang who probably sleep in a beer freezer, a garage duo with a smashing garage sound and a group dabbling in a suave type of indie.

Hopefully, these songs will cheer you if the freezing weather is doing your mood in! As always, all links to the bands are at the end of the post.

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An interview with Sheffield’s greatest monkey

Interview – Jonny Sock

(no, he ain’t from the Arctic…)

Our previous online editor, Orestes, was killed by the minions of the Angel of the North (true story, I have the video to prove it!), but waaaaaaay before that unfortunate incident (see what I did there? tee hee), he/she/it managed to get an interview with equally dead sock monkey Jonny Sock in the now soon to be deceased The Grapes.

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The Sunday Soapbox

The sad end of a mysoginist.

(or is it?)

As Quinto stumbled through Penistone road after doing another fatty blunt-batastic, he thought that it all was a little too silly for his liking.

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Moonpies and buckshot

Wet Nuns – Wet Nuns


The Skinny: “There’s always one bad alcoholic tryin’ to spoil it for everyone”

The Review proper: Wet Nuns, hailin’ from Sheffield, Alabama (home of the grits, sausage and pork pudding) are now on one of dem plastic discs that are compact. Just two good ol’ boys remindin’ y’all how that there Lord of Darkness works in mysterious (an’ severely distorted, fuzz’d) ways.
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Angry rants of altered suburbia (conclusion)

Part 3: When the world hands you lemons, check that they’re fairtrade…

Read part 1 here.

Read part 2 here.

So after surviving the attack of a particularly mental member of an endangered species of wasps and causing unquantifiable damages to the façade of the Student Union, I embarked on a mad trip to the North, which sadly ended up with me being stranded in a blizzard in Leicester.

Which ain’t that bad because: a) it’s not Liverpool (liiiiiiiiiike) and b) the train station in Leicester has the best bacon butties I’ve had in my life (too bad I was skint…and demoralised).

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Angry rants of altered suburbia

Read part 1 here

Part 2: A stitch in time

After surviving a summer that included a hectic four day writing marathon (fookin’ thesis) that appeased my sense of guilt, I pretty much found myself directionless.

Those first days of September, how cold were they. I could see most of the days fritter away from the window at the top of my new, cold house.

Yes, it was a stark reminder of my time ahead.

Still, no one likes to be a gloomy Gus and my inherent knack for procrastinating is winning the battle against my inability to actually get off me arse and do summink.

I would delve into that, but I don’t feel like it.

So there I was, another Monday, another pasty from the Union, with something that tasted like Nescafé drained through very smelly socks.

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Remember the time Wet Nuns averted the Rapture?

This rant is based on actual events at the Wet Nuns + Serious Sam Barrett show @ Stockroom, April 18th.

Cars were aflame. Screams and moans filled the atmosphere. The swanky buildings surrounding the Roebuck tavern laid asunder. The smell of destruction lingered as a thousand Wednesday and United fans congregated and fought, whilst police in riot gear took turns bashing skulls in at Orchard Square.

The Bus driver had stopped in the street and said “May God be with you”, as he open door and left us to our own devices. I was alone, my head swooning with the rankness of football fans turning into creatures from Hell.

But amidst that stench, I found a familiar smell. Jambalaya.

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