Album Review: The Great Malarkey

The Great Malarkey

'Badly Stuffed Animals'

clamouring like sailors at the door of a dockside burlesque cabaret bar

Among the spit and sawdust opulence of backroom hedonistic rum bravado exists a swaggering waltz macabre theatre group flecked in dried blood, booze stained clothing and pickpocket eloquence gathered upon a crowded stage playing a crazy jumble of gypsy/folk/punk tunes, skewed sea shanties and a hybrid of guttural torment ditties as the swaying, sweat drenched occupants of the room jive in primitive approval. That scene isn’t real and I don’t know if it’ll ever be true – but should you ever find yourself entrenched in such a situation – the band on the tiny, overcrowded stage will be The Great Malarkey.

The ‘out there’ greatness of The Urban Voodoo Machine, but so much better. The bluesy unwashed vaudeville of Tom Waits, but so much funkier, and the high energy slap-dash of overactive imaginations, but so much murkier. No surprise then that debut album ‘Badly Stuffed Animals’ is a flawless work of under the stairs art. Lively opener ‘Moneybags’ clatters from the starting blocks all hyper-buzz and raucous turbulence kept in line nicely by the commanding potency of Alex Ware’s veering vocals, closely followed by the pier-end drenched music hall romp sound of ‘Merry Profits’ with, again, the plundering stimulation courtesy of Alex Ware as she dips, soars, caresses and rips the body of lyrics from among the madness of a spirited fiddle as it jostles for coughing distance with a host of various other instruments clamouring like sailors at the door of a burlesque dockside cabaret bar. The sultrier ‘Hold Me Back’ and infectious acoustic dominated duet ‘The Game Is Rigged’ scratch at the throat with parched notes. ‘A Whiskey Too Far’ staggers and drifts – the unpredictable miscreant harlot, cigarette dangling from a cherry lipstick mouth sputtering loaded vocabulary as she snakes her way through the bristling tavern of deckhands and drunkards.

As ‘Ha Ha Freak’ glides open upon a continental tinged accordion/banjo sea shanty dirge there comes hints of a darkness within the opening lyrics ‘bitches, brawlers, bastards, rogues, the time has come to tell of stories untold’ delivered in a menacing sneer of a lead vocal that further enhances the underbelly of vicious intent threading it’s way through every click of a half beat that hangs loud in the ghost of a silence. Upbeat, ska-fused ‘Badman’ is followed by the folk/gypsy campfire reel of ‘Buckets Of Blood’ and the trumpet led fast paced ‘Poor Against Poor’ and it’s bristling anger fuelled agitation….’take a swig of your champagne and have a rest….you jumped up tosser’. The final track ‘Cheers’ is a glasses raised, fists clenched final salute and goodbye to newly found friends as they sign off – the melancholic alcoholics lament. And there it ends, one of the most impressive collection of campfire, folklore, bar brawling, street crawling, rat-run, dark end alleyway tales ever stapled together in the same place. A serious Album of the Year contender from possibly the most creative gathering of gifted noise makers of the last 5 years.

*Published in Subba Cultcha*

http://thegreatmalarkey.com/