Venom P. Stinger: For Real and Nasty Punk

Venom P. Stinger: For Real and Nasty Punk

I’m working backwards here. Ya’ll should at least be familiar with the Dirty Three. That group has/d its moments of instrumental goodness, if not greatness. And the ensemble counts as the newest outfit incorporating members of the Sick Things and Venom P. Stinger.

The Sick Things, were the earliest collection of these miscreants, a post shall follow soon. But judging from the trajectory of how this looks, it’s not surprising the group didn’t hold together for all that long. After hear Venom P. Stinger, even in it’s reformed incarnation during a live appearance as late as 1991, these men from a land down under (<>cringe</>) probably left pools of blood and heaps of teeth sitting around in bars subsequent to a performance

VPS, though, didn’t last too long either. Maybe five years on the outside, or so. But the group did issue a decent amount of work. And that means, by the time the early nineties rolled around and the general public had been prepared to get an earful of out music, VPS was happy to oblige.

It’s difficult to gauge the crew’s general level of acceptance down under, though. Even if the Dead C have been able to carve out an odd existence in relation to pop, rock and performance, VPS is as abrasive, but in snarling punk kinda way.

Regardless of that, the New York Times saw fit to cover a gig these boys did a while back – even if it was without the original singer.

With that shifted line-up, though, VPS was still able to turn in a nasty, live show as evidenced the document simply titled Live.

Running just a bit over a half an hour, it would seem that there was almost no way VPS would be capable of continuing on much longer. On “PCP Crazy” the almost announced tempo shifts must have let just about all involved with aching limbs, not least of all the drummer. Performing with the group, though, probably resulted in something akin to the good ole runner’s high. That’s really the only way to explain the persistent slathering of noise on these compositions.

As that previous track flounders into “Jaws” there’s an imperceptible shift that might swing past listeners if not for the bass note mamba being plundered as guitar chords become subservient to the general chaos collected here.

Not for nothing, these guys have no peers in their home-country or the States. That’s some for real truth.