Nothingheads: The Art of Sod (Sister 9 Recordings)

Employing the standard music journalist word salad of music genres, Nothingheads are garage infused post-punk with a side order of metallic noise rock guitar textures, Rob Fairey’s compellingly snotty lead vocals coming across like a particularly phlegmatic John Lydon crossed with early days Jaz Coleman. Like Killing Joke, the quartet share their fellow London antecedents knack at shaping gnarly elements into solid song structures.

Private Pyle, named after the poor unfortunate put through boot camp hell in Full Metal Jacket supplies The Art of Sod’s opening salvo. Amid the trebly guitar rampage, there’s clearly method to their madness, as the drums enter on the offbeat before clicking into place as the vocals arrive.

Salt, sample lyric: "I like watching people / From the back of the esplanade” feels as though its verses are being bellowed down the receiver of a barely functioning phone box on the seafront, while Digging shares some of PiL’s dancefloor adjacent Death Disco vibe, before lurching into a Tony Iommi worthy coda. Underlining the quartet’s loud – louder still dynamism, Gouthead (sufferer Henry VIII is namechecked) and Crumbs of Pleasure are driven by the outfit's formidable rhythm section. Down the Doomhole sounds not unpleasantly like early Black Sabbath fronted by an ultra-stroppy Brett Anderson, Suede’s recent output showcasing a group with far sharper claws than many give them credit for.

Cranking up the tempo to showcase the ‘Heads' punching speed, Cabaret evokes Motorhead having a bar brawl with a biker gang. Similarly pugnacious in lyrical terms: “No-one will fight me” More Minutes Please, placed last is something of a departure, based around a glam rock schaffel beat and rattling tambourine to conlude a bracing blast of a debut album. Sod’s Law? Not on this occasion. 4/5