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Catbite "Amphetamine Delight" (7" square yellow flexi disc, Bad Time Records, 2019): While awaiting delivery of my mail-ordered copy of their debut album, I received a free copy of Catbite's sweet flexi disc single with another LP I bought (the ACLU-benefit Bad Time Records compilation album The Shape of Ska Punk to Come, to be reviewed soon). Ostensibly about the joys of doing speed (though maybe obliquely it's about the high that comes from being with that special someone?), this wonderfully catchy jolt of ska, pop-punk, power-pop, and rockabilly is completely winning (among their influences they list The Specials, The Exploding Hearts, The Undertones, and Chuck Berry--all of whom you can hear in this track). Props to the label for this cool old-school promo item and to Philly's Catbite for knocking it out of the park with this song.
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While their music mines retro sounds from yesteryear, the topics of King Zepha's songs address some of today's madness. "Bottom of the Pile" is an anthem of solidarity among the working class, as well as a critique of free market capitalism ("We welcome one and all/Together in this hall/There's room for everyone/Together we are strong/Stick together, all the rank and file/It's fine at the bottom of the pile/It's lonely at the top/But there's a bigger drop/To get there one must climb/On those they've left behind"). In what is clearly pointed commentary on Rupert Murdoch-like right-wing tabloids and their slimy ilk and how they've been weaponized (and not aimed at papers striving to sort out and convey the truth), "Shoot the Messenger" advocates the boycott of the conservative echo-chamber media: "They pit the labourer against the foreigner/They call a traveller a lazy scavenger/They use the newspaper to stir up hate in you/We need a takeover, let's shoot the messenger/Propaganda, fabricated facts/Leading weapons of the ruling class/Just as deadly as a poison gas/So, shoot the messenger."
The completely epic "Mother of All Hangovers" should be your go-to song whenever you find yourself in this inevitably regretful/hellish state. "Let Your Hair Down" is a lovely plea for a good deal more more than the proverbial lowering of one's locks, while "You Let Yourself Go" admonishes the aging rude boy for going to seed, both physically and fashion-wise ("You used to be lean, mean and very, very clean/Now you're chubbier and grubbier than others on the scene"). King Zepha offer their own (not John Holt's) Middle Eastern-tinged ska take on the Ali Baba/"Arabian Nights" myth (which is accompanied by its dub version "Dubfart"). And there are also instrumentals on hand: the swinging jazz of "Tin Man" and the contemplative "Catalunya" (dedicated to that breakaway province from Spain). The album closes with "Grass is Greener," a sweet fantasy (?) about shedding one's dreary, soul-deadening, day-to-day life and going on holiday for good ("Days are longer and the beer is stronger/And the locals are a scream/By the sea, as he escapes reality/Our boy's the cat that finally got the cream"). All in all, this is a tremendously good record that is destined to become a classic of whatever we're labeling this current era of ska.
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