Metaphorical cards on the table, Ipswich’s A.W.A.P. (Ant Walking Alligator People – a noun given to the survivors of the Hiroshima atomic blast) feature someone I know very, very well. And when I say I know them well, A.W.A.P. vocalist Matt Mason (and esteemed writer of this parish) just so happens to be a friend I have known for over forty years and despite us moving away from the place where we both grew up (North Finchley, London) we are still best buddies, moving in and out of each other’s lives, attending each other’s stag does, weddings, christenings etc. as well as both working for (together at times) Total Rock, Rocksound and a myriad of other rock and metal shows. Matt was the first DJ that ever interviewed my old band Mariachi on air, and he would always be at the front of almost every gig we played, and I, in turn, would help out on his early Saturday morning Total Rock radio shows making tea (sometimes delivering beer), fetching CDs and generally trying not to swear live on air and act like a sweaty fan boy in front of metal luminaries such as Bruce Dickinson, Scott Ian and Paul Di’Anno.
So, with that said, it’s probably an odd thing, that I asked to review his new band’s debut EP, given the enormous emotional baggage that comes with every riff, snare hit and rasped, punk infused snarl that grace the five tracks on offer here. But, requested I have, and it’s either a genius move, or something I may live to regret for many a year. It’s quite something to have banter with a mate but quite another to take his heart and skewer it online in front of an audience.
So, relief indeed, that Bigger Society, isn’t an overturned portable toilet on day four of Bloodstock but is the lavatory equivalent of a recently bleached porcelain throne with an abundance of toilet paper, a warm basin of hot soapy water, replete with a kiosk selling aftershave, chewing gum and Chupa Chups. If that’s not a convoluted way to say that this is decent, well better than decent, collection of tunes that straddles my head and heart like a sweating Kaiju over the ruins of a city, then I don’t know what is.
Attempting to tie this band down though, is somewhat more problematic if you’re looking for genre signposts, and I think that’s a deliberate ploy. It is, on the face of it, a loving genuflection at the altar of old fashion hardcore punk, that doesn’t fuck about, especially when it comes to the vocals, which channel the alternating tropes of John Lydon, Roger Miret and Mike Muir, all snarled left wing, meat is murder vignettes, that are slathered in overblown distortion and bile providing a violent backdrop to the accompanying mayhem. The band blast through the five songs here with vim and vigour, veering from the usual hardcore/punk d-beat that will sound extremely familiar to anyone with even a cursory interest in this genre, but as with almost every band operating within this genre, it’s often when things slow a tad and veer from the d-beat playbook, that A.W.A.P. truly find their voice. Now that’s not to say that these songs are stale genre staples, far from it, in fact, ‘Hummus Don’t Scream’ and ‘Bigger Society’ are hugely enjoyable, rip-snorting, punk rottweilers BUT, it was only on the sixth or seventh listen that I could recollect what A.W.A.P. really reminded me of and that’s the Milano Moshing stylings of S.O.D. Into the guts of the EP then and it’s on ‘Flat Earth’ and most definitely ‘The Peasants Aren’t Revolting’ where the true kernel of A.W.A.P. is to be found. The intro slows things down, building menacingly before speed balling into double time double bass that showcases some clever chord progressions as the vocals drip with spite and venom. It then slows the tempo once again and comes across as Raging Speedhorn playing Descendants covers whilst wearing Doom and Iron Monkey t-shirts.
For a debut effort and having been privy to some of the demo versions of some of the songs on here, this is a hugely enjoyable effort that had my foot tapping throughout its brief but ultimately memorable running time. It melds old school punk, with modern metal sensibilities that ultimately coalesces into an EP that whilst not quite fully formed (and would almost certainly benefit from a warmer and sharper production job), is hugely enjoyable and points to a band with a bright future. As I pack away my metaphorical cards from the table, you can sling whatever accusations of nepotism, bias, favour currying or good old-fashioned favouritism when it comes ultimately to my personal relationship with A.W.A.P, but I love Matt enough to give him (and you Gentle Reader) my honest opinion, and fuck anyone that feels differently. Genuinely, based purely on its own musical merits, without being incumbered by personal feelings, this is a ferocious old school collection of aggressive, unapologetic, foot to the floor, uncompromising, pedal to the metal hardcore punk.
(8.5/10 Nick Griffiths)
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