Winnebago Deal

"Wyld Stallyns rule!" Well, it's not quite Bill and Ted; it's Ben and Ben and they're from Oxford, not some sleepy Californian college town. But give them credit for trying - they've not changed their jeans for the last three weeks and their t-shirts are regulation black. It may be fashionable right now to just work on the basis of a guitar 'n' drums combo, but when singer Ben Perrier does the wild Kurt Cobain stare and leaps onto the monitors for another squaling mesh of noise, you wish that there was the deep throb of a bass to balance out the bleed from Ben Thomas's snare.

Granted, they're not bothered by such petty things as musical fashion or image, but it doesn't dispel the stench of angst-ridden teenage Lynx. Initially, it's their sheer energy that draws attention, plus the added spectacle of a poodle-permed roadie/groupie who flits between stage-diving, head-banging and re-stringing guitars. Each song bursts in with a jagged riff that owes plenty to Nirvana's 'Bleach' and for that we should be thankful, because the minute they kick in with 'Manhunt' the testosterone is swimming through the room. Similarly, 'Whiskey Business' shows that dynamics are all very well and good but when there's absolutely no hook other than a repeated howl, Winnebago Deal become a one-trick mule on heat. A dragging 'quiet' section in the middle of their set does nothing to showcase their talent or understanding of working a crowd into a frenzy. If anything, their set is another argument against thrash punk as a cure for attention deficit syndrome.