The Dull Fudds
Ian Dury & The Blockheads meets The Sugarcubes and Jethro Tull for B-movie soundtrack games gate- crashed by young Parisian street poets and Brian Eno playing scratchy funk punk and skewed chamber music by the banks of the River Tweed
To have a band prove you wrong is the greatest education. To base opinion on nothing but assumption and the talk of others is always going to be revealed for the unsubstantial defect it is. But if you’ve enough moral fibre to admit your own idiocy then it may be endearing enough to evoke leniency and save your reputation. Sadly it won’t save you from looking like a dick. Only global dementia can erase the truths of that! The Dull Fudds are the reason behind the proverbial munching of my own words. I anticipated a mountain of scrambled noise and pretentious India shite of little direction - but instead I discover the exact opposite to be the truth. Debut effort GIBBERISH is a drawer of randomness being emptied into a cupboard stacked with radical invention which, theoretically, should never have the capacity to untangle from such jig sawed carnage and flex itself into anything remotely linked to musical resonance. But where many “established” dudes tried, failed horribly and instead decided to swagger around some low maintenance genre, shedding their credibility like the moulting dogs they now are, The Dull Fudds remained true to the idiosyncrasies they were born with and have unfurled an album of work more than capable of holding its own out there, and should fear the presence of nothing when taking their place among the great and the good.
Their music is an intercontinental theatre, a wander through sub-genres and ones of their own invention ( if ever there existed a tea dance for the unorthodox then this would be the album they‘d stick on for the kaleidoscopic shimmy waltz every Thursday, if you please) and conjures up a variety of ambient imagery as if hauling different coloured rabbits from the same hat, and it’s all done without any visible seam or stumbled effort. . I’ve had the title track repeating itself in my head at a rate that would trouble schizophrenics. This band are currently doing things differently and if that’s not reason enough to celebrate them then I don’t know what is. The song writing perception, and distinctively amazing vocal deliveries of Katie Forbes, are as skilful as they are wittingly off-hand. What seems whimsical is actually forward thinking acts of catchy musical nous. A multi layered hybrid of cleverness with expansive reach and high-brow depths. Credit also to their drummer - listen how tightly and disciplined he provides the beat, trust me it wont be as easy as he makes it appear. And when did a flute ever fit into a guitar/bass/drums vehicle without being asked to leave - and actually contribute an atmosphere that wouldn’t exist without it? Right here, the cheek of it! Damn them for proving me gloriously wrong, but when they become hugely popular I’ll just pretend I never liked them in the first place.