Reviews
Dick Venom & The Terrortones – Snake Oil For Snakes review

By Jordan Mooney.
Proofreading by Lydia Byron.

Dick Venom is easily one of the most creative voices of corruption in the United Kingdom today. His Terrortones are enamoured and feared; not only at Cat on the Wall towers, but across the country. Few groups can hump a stage to such a fine art. Few groups can alliterate their song titles so titillatingly. It’s all rather delightful. And when we had a beautiful, shiny vinyl arrive in our letterbox one rainy Thursday evening with Jailhouse Morgue’s unmistakable insignia, well…

Let’s just say we were visibly excited.

Oh yes, we like this one…


 

 SNAKE OIL FOR SNAKES
a2121473131_10Released: November 2015
Dick Venom – Vocals
Stevie Vee – Guitars
Wrex St.Clair – Bass
Dusty Vegas – Drums

1.Gun of a Tongue
2.I Can’t Find my BrainCell
3.TightPants (DoubleHeaded)
4.Dead Deadbeat Delinquent
5.FFFunny Kinda Luvin
6.Last DumbDregs of Dragsville
7.Go Fuck on the Sidewalk
8.Do The Mash
9.No Good to get Up To
10.Planet of the HoneyFuzz
11.MyWay or the DryWay
12.Crypt Tonight
13.Get Fucked Up Good


 

Levelling those usual beautiful qualities plucked out of the age of leather jackets, greased hair and Harleys, with catchy riffs and the usual rock and roll sleazy showmanship we know and love, Dick and his Terrortone pals have produced a lecherous album that is likely to find its nimiety celebrated for many years to come.

It’s rather incredible how Nottingham’s finest group of B-movie shagging miscreants are able to provide something new every single time, but they’ve sure as hell managed it here. This is the Terrortones at their finest, a new threshold in what they ‘do’ and what they…do.

Ahem.

It’s difficult to take any of it too seriously; the nature of the group’s sound is shamelessly antiquated and thrives on that very stand point, but the polish on the thing is unreal and impossible to ignore. It’s an impeccably crafted modernised time capsule. Like a group of greasers found themselves a time machine and trolled up at Nottingham city centre.

It’s truly the most beautiful, loveable, amiable and relatable call-back to the sleaziest, easiest and most rebellious time in North America – shit, sleazy horror and sci-fi films with Frisbees on string. Knackered, but lovingly kept, bikes and dragsters rattling down dirt roads… and leather adorning six out of ten teenagers in every town on the lost belts of the plains. Romanticised? Shamefully. Glorified? Definitively. Sci-fi’d showboating? Deep inside every groove.

It’s an album of veritably retroactive earworms that battle for centre stage in a show of lechery. It’s got the imaginative, cheeky, blood-and-ink penmanship that only Mr. Venom is able to spade out in such quantities – it even manages to make their last release, The MonsterPussy Sessions, feel like a set of demo tracks; that’s no mean feat – and it ups the ante on the group’s output massively. The record is a very lean, speedy piece of hardware that rattles through its high-octane, mountainous Hellscape, carrying the energy of a coked up greaser with a girl in daisy dukes holding his handlebar.

Carrying such beautifully evocative titles as Planet of the Honeyfuzz and Myway or the Dryway, the record manages to pop up its shiny helmet in more than just leather; there’s the odd wrapping of surf tunes and speedos, an occasional foil-wrapped spaceman from only the finest schlock, the odd ten-cent Western and more than a quick cruise down the Vegas Strip – with each song less than four minutes in length, every single one feels like a glowing, green shot in the arm – conjuring images, hallucinations and the odd bit of belligerent flirtation with ridiculous ease.

Perhaps my favourite among the voluptuous thirteen sound tracklist is Last DumbDregs of Dragsville, jabbing an intricately painted fingernail towards the ridiculously safe rock bands that now line the airwaves with beige – while simultaneously cracking a bit of a joke towards the genres of old. Combined with some of the catchiest riffs on the entire record, it’s perhaps the closest I’ve heard Dick lean into an 80s rock and roll anthem – defiling the industry in its loss of the punk attitude. And telling it to piss off, too. I don’t know if it’ll particularly help but damned if it isn’t therapeutic.

Paste it over some Ed Wood clips and a black and white porno, and you’ve got a music video lined up ready and waiting – for practically any song in the firm and fondleworthy tracklist. It’s an absolutely glorious ambassadorial record for every filthy image flying from Dick’s flagpole – and if you want to see just what the group is capable of, without a doubt, this record is for you.

Rockabilly taken to its most filthy logical conclusion.

It’s now available in digital format, but we heartily recommend the choose-your-own-cover vinyl if you have the facility. Like all of the best things, it comes in a rubbery sleeve – and has eight dirty pictures and lyric sheets to take you on your way. It’s a non-stop drag ride in filth; what more could you possibly want?!

 

Don’t forget to track down Dick and his Terror chums on the relevant links below..

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The Official Dick Venom Site

About the author

Compulsive hat wearer, eccentric, fan of all things audio-visual, part time Goth, historian, and railway enthusiast, Jordan is the closest you can get to everybody's weird uncle. Except he's less than 60 years old.

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