Jiffy bags are funny things. Being padded, they often serve to disguise as well as protect their contents. Another album, I thought. Plenty of those crash their way through the letterbox here at Bluesbunny Towers. Little did I know…
I don't know if an album can be barking mad but this debut album from Glasgow band Punch and the Apostles pretty much qualifies. Wildly over top in a gin soaked, sleeping in the gutter in a ripped geography teacher's tweed jacket kind of way, this album is cabaret down on it luck but still determined to put on a show. Compared to the surfeit of anodyne clones of yesteryear whose sole purpose is top tranquilise our ears, Punch and the Apostles are as refreshing as that first pint of Krusovice on a hot summer's day.
Following on from a scathing yet theatrical introduction, "Can of Beans" barely holds it together as musical mayhem clatters out of the speakers. It's hard to imagine what has been left out this album. Maybe the band did a quick tour of the world just to steal bits and pieces from the Balkans, from Spain, from France and it doesn't just stop there. The songs are assembled with the kind of total disrespect for form that you would expect of, well, jazz. The manic single "I'm a Hobo" was always a winner to these ears, but now it exposes hidden depth when it takes its place here. That's the thing - this is a proper album rather than a mere collection of songs. God knows what the theme is but there is undoubtedly a theme. Even the deranged Disneyness of "Rockefeller City" fits right in. There's even a song called "Asylum". Now that makes sense!
This album put a smile on my face. It's only January and already there is a serious contender for album of the year. Punch and the Apostles have given us album that is barely in control of itself and you know what? This is an album that you can love. With all its manic decadence, you have no choice but to. Think I'll go find a French woman and get her to blow smoke in my face…