Clocking in at eight songs, it's a mini-album or an EP, but the brevity of "Crusty Seamen" won't be a problem if you play it back to back a few times. It might be the best 30 minutes you've spent since you pushed Aunt Maude into the pool and sat on the side with your foot on her head. Meatbeaters take a piece of four-by-two to rock's flabby arse on "Crusty Seamen" and smack it into next week.
As you can tell by the schoolboy humour in the album title, Meatbeaters think subtlety's a waste of your time and theirs so they totally dispense with the concept. Their music sounds like the Cosmic Psychos arguing with the Onyas over the last six pack in the garbage bin full of ice at Rose Tattoo's backyard barbie. There was never a question that things were going to be ugly. Just how ugly depends on how deep you had your arm in the numbing water when the first king-hit landed.
If this was a conventional review, I could tell you how "Misunderstood" howls like a cow under the weight of three butchers as it's put into the offing machine at the non-halal slaughterhouse, or why the guitar runs on "Cracking Skulls" sting like your arse the morning after when you drunkenly put too much chilli on your 3am kebab.I won't because you could probably do a better job. It's loud and distorted, crudely recorded and if that sounds like your gig, you're probably already handing over the cash and getting your arm stamped. Ever heard of the Powder Monkeys? Comparions like that aren't used cheaply but you can bet these guys have the whole back catalogue in their collections.
"Lunch" makes it clear it's not an invitation to dine. Crude but effective. "I Walk Alone" is not to be confused with the Exploding White Mice song. It's a grinding melange of dirty guitars and sort of audible drums that sounds very wired. It seems as heavy as a kleptomaniac trannie's handbag after a tour of the Canberra Mint, until "Big Momma" kicks in. "Fuel Injected Fist" is one of the best of the bunch, with distorto bass and scuzz-fucked wah-wah guitars.
These guys only make a record every three decades but it's been worth the wait. File with Boondall Boys and a handful of other bands who get their joillies from kicking rock and roll's corpse before crashing on each other's lounges and raiding their mates' beer fridges. Are they Blokes You Can Trust? Put it this way - they're Adelaide boys. I wouldn't leave them alone with the cat in the loungeroom after I go to bed and neither should you.
