In 2015 The Cavemen swapped their native New Zealand for the grimy streets of London. And 2016 sees them rising from the gutter with a brand new record on which these four miscreants have spurt out 13 syphilitic tracks of rock'n'roll apathy. The Cavemen touch on everything from lost love, murderous desires and their burning disdain for sophisticated artistic expression. Features plenty of greasy riffs, uncouth howling, and road-rash-raw garage punk. Think a dose of Dead Moon, with a little of the Cramps and the Stooges, and then throw on a whole heap of vintage trash punk's debauchery. That's essentially The Cavemen. It's sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll conveyed via lo-fi, psychotic '77 era punk rock. Both nihilistic and hedonistic at the same time, this is a record to shake the cobwebs out of your ears. It isn't sophisticated or remotely complex. It's one of those wonderful loose-nut albums that reminds you that life is short, and when it's not being nasty as hell it's simply dull as ditch water. So you might as well crank that volume knob to eleven, snigger at intentionally juvenile lyrics and get busy making your own filthy fun, before you die in some tediously mundane fashion.
