(Timber Yard / Shock)

Almost as poetic as the title suggests

It's thick, fuzzy rock with testicles hanging everywhere. It's simple, raw and delicious, like a big steak. Cosmic Psycho's eleventh studio album over their twenty-two years is an enjoyable monster indeed. The lyrics will never be called poignant, the music will never be compared to the strains of elaborate string arrangements. It's punk rock in a beautifully pure and unabashed form that is hugely effective in its simplicity. Chunky, solid riffs, unrelenting drumming and amusingly direct lyrics. See the delicate wordplay of Bank Robber: Give me all your money / I'll blow your fucking brains out. Guitar solos pop up at every opportunity, and the songs carry the dirtiness and weight to make them convincing. Cosmic Psychos were obviously bred on AC/DC juice but are too fun to seem like any sort of copy. If you found yourself (rightfully) unsatisfied with the unfortunate 'rock' stylings of Jet, welcome to your new home.

MICHAEL PINCOTT

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