psychos

There’s something reassuring about a new Cosmic Psychos record. It’s about ageing disgracefully and all that. The fuzz bass, careering guitar lines and shout-spoken – no, drawled – vocals about beer, drinking and other everyday pursuits wrap themselves around you like a favourite blue singlet on a sweltering December day.

No Psychos record is radically different from another and therein lies the comfort factor. If you’ve been paying attention, by now you know exactly what you’re going to get. There’s more verbal abuse here than Caitlin Jenner taking a post-operative vacation at an ISIS-controlled holiday resort.

Australian trio the Cosmic Psychos is fast filling the yawning void of relentless punk rock consistency left vacant by the Ramones' departure. Which isn't to say they're a replacement for Da Bruddas, by any means, but If The Song Ramones the Same, then Psychos Never Sleep. Expect no quantum leaps with "Dung Australia", their first long player in a year, and you'll be happy as a pig in, er, dung.

What's the difference between Cosmic Psychos and your grandad's dick? They've both done lots of miles but Cosmic Psychos still have lead in their pencil. "Glorius Barsteds" (who said spelling was their strong point?) finds the Psychos in fairly lethal form. There's still nothing pretty or all that surprising about what they do, but something would be seriously awry if there was.

If you've seen them you'll know exactly what to expect from a live album by Cosmic Psychos. "I Love My Tractor" is chockablock full of cranky guitars, yobbish vocals, a big backbeat and all-pervading bass.

Putting on a new Cosmic Psychos album is like finding a pair of your flatmate's skid-marked undies in your washing basket - it's disturbing, you worry that they might have soiled your good going-out shirt, but it's something that you have to deal with, even if it means fetching lead-lined gloves and a pair of industrial tongs to minimise your exposure.

This album stinks so much of stale beer that you’ll wonder if you hit your head on the footpath on a late-night bender and woke up in a homeless shelter It reeks of hops - and i don’t mean that nancy boy craft shit either. This is your stock standard, public bar piss. So fuck off if you want a cocktail.

Which should all be no surprise. It’s the fourth studio album in 15 years for the VeeBees and “Outta Ammo” is no great departure, sonically speaking, from its predecessors. It’s crude and dirty with a nod to Moorhead, the Tatts, Powder Monkeys and the Psychos. When you’re on a good thing, why not stick to it?

Aussie Yob Rock has been around since Thorpey plugged in and killed that tankful of fish to the sound of punters yelling “Suck more piss.” VeeBees bypass boogie and play it with an edge that betrays listening to lots of hardcore, especially Black Flag.