Posts Tagged ‘The Submission’

I’ve made the long trip to Deal a few times, but this one feels a little different – almost as if things have come full-circle. Almost two years ago to the day, I walked into a small pub on a backroad in Gravesend, and came out with my perspective on music and punk rock changed forever, and a fair bit of that impact was down to the band shoved on first, who quite honestly blew me away like few other bands have done before or since. Back then, I knew them as nothing more than three dudes and one dudette kicking out blistering old-skool punk rock so full of energy and vitality that they reminded me of just why I fell in love with rock ‘n’ roll music. Since then, I became quite the fanboy, travelling the length of the county to catch their shows, crashing on band members’ floors, and getting to see in uncompromising close-up detail the rigours of being a fan-friendly punk rock band in a scene full of smug, preening metallers,  ‘hardcore’ kids and scenesters chasing the front page of NME.  I saw members come and go, with those who remained shouldering the burden of progress under the crushing weight of apathy, personal and financial troubles, and motivation, and I witnessed a band I loved veer close to the edge of breakup on multiple occasions. After a year of stuttering through limbo and a limp-wristed attempt at a comeback, tonight feels like a shot at redemption.  Back in the town where it all began, with ghosts of their old hardcore local following gathering in earnest, The Submission are fired up and ready to prove to everyone that they’re back for good – and here to stay.

It should seem pretty obvious from that rather personal intro that there’s definitely a part of me crossing his fingers and hoping tonight is a roaring success – surely, after so many dead ends and mis-steps, tonight will be the night where they get it right. The vibes are good, there’s at last a settled line-up to the group, and with a nicely-large Telegraph crowd – including some ex-members and many long-time fans – stoked and ready to dance, all the ingredients are in place to make this comeback nothing less than explosive. Because let’s face it, if you’re going to make a comeback, doing it in front of a slightly-inebrieted home crowd is as good a place as any, right?

This being a pub show, the majority of the two (two!) lengthy setlists are covers of punk, rock ‘n’ roll and ska standards, but it seems only right that they kick off with one of their greatest tunes, the Rancid-baiting ‘Stay In Action’. From the moment the group hit the first chord, the pace and electricity of old comes rushing back, and with a Ramones-style intensity to proceedings, the set whizzes by on a rollercoaster through rock ‘n’ roll history. It’s blistering, energetic and outrageously fun – y’know, just how it used to be. Immediately the ‘comeback’ shows from earlier in the year pale in comparison, and I don’t find myself making excuses for old times’ sake; every cymbal crash, chord crunch, bass run and keyboard babble is exactly where it should be and buzzing with raw electric vitality. And with all this comes a much-missed sense of fun –  at last, frontman Richard Harris has a smile on his face as he shares some friendly banter with the crowd. Bassist Sadie Williams grooves away to her heart’s content with a constant mischievous grin, constantly hyping the crowd on whenever a big gang chant is called for. When you have everyone in the room, band included, grinning like idiots and  bouncing around madly to not only classic tunes like ‘Johnny B Goode’, the Ramones’ ‘Sheena Is A Punk Rocker’, and Jimmy Cliff’s ‘The Harder They Come’, but storming original tunes like ‘I’m Lazy’, ‘Get Up’ and ‘No Tomorrow’, you know you must be doing something right.

The biggest single reason for this transformation is new-ish drummer Bernie Watts. I say new-ish in that this isn’t the first time he’s drummed with the group – he’s often acted as stand-in where a permanent drummer wasn’t available, and having already hired and fired one sticksman not up to scratch, it was perhaps a no-brainer to get Watts in the hot seat for good. Again, the improvement is staggering – where not long ago you’d listen out for a roll, crash or pounding beat that was never going to come, or grimace at the audible clunks in timing, now the drumming returns to its rightful place as the absolute bedrock of everything good about the performance. No good rock ‘n’ roll group was ever built on shakey foundations, and with Watts behind the kit, finally the Submission have a platform to move forward with, both musically and in the live arena. The other new member, Sadie’s father Cliff Williams, has bedded in rather nicely in his role as keyboardist, and while he nor his musical style is really what you’d stereotypically associate with punk rock – something he seems to acknowledge as he drops cod-gospel riffs into some of the interludes between songs – the musicianship and extra dimension his babbling, syrupy organ blasts give to the melting pot wall of sound is welcome and refreshing in a musical climate that often prides itself on pure unlistenability. The subtlety seems to be rubbing off – even Harris seems a little more reserved with his vocals these days, perhaps realising that he can serenade the crowd occasionally as well as bark at them. No such reservations from Sadie,  and why not; when you’re one of the very finest bassists in the entire UK scene, you have enough of an excuse to go nuts every now and again.

 Alongside the classics from rock ‘n’ roll history and the classics from the band’s back catalogue, there’s also a few hidden gems to saviour. Rarities like ‘Out Of Control’ and ‘Don’t Tell Me’, the latter being one of the most under-appreciated tunes in the band’s canon, get a dust-off and a rev-up tonight, and a couple of brand-new tracks are rolled out. ‘Lay Oh Lay’ is a raucous blast of galloping folk-punk to rival Captain Bastard and the Scallywags at their finest, and ‘Old English Rose’ is a slow, lighters/drinks/fists-in-the-air ballad designed with pub singalongs in mind, and as such works as a calmer sequel to ‘No Man’s Land’. In a way tonight demonstrates all the many facets of the band – they can rock the covers better than most pub bands, they already have an armoury of storming anthems in the bank, and there’s more great music still to come from them. And that’s perhaps where I’d sound my only word of warning – whilst tonight has been indeed a roaring success, The Submission’s future lies in places bigger than this. It would be rough justice if a band with such a derth of passion and talent were allowed to become nothing more than a pub covers band, because as great fun as they are, these guys have the ability to write some truly spectacular punk rock ‘n’ roll music – and it deserves to be heard.

That’s all for another day though. Tonight, in the here and now, was all about getting a once-proud band back on it’s collective feet, and they succeed in style. Back in April, I saw what seemed to be a spent force, dourly rolling through the motions with the handbrake on, and wondered whether now was the time to turn my back on the band that were my gateway drug into the world of underground punk rock music. Well, here’s the news: last time I said this I was proven wrong, but now I can say it with full confidence: The Submission are back.

Setlist Quality: 92%
Delivery: 89%
Crowd Relations: 84%

Overall Rating: 90%

 

All words by Adam Johnson.

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Standing on the platform of a freezing cold Walmer station in the wee small hours of Sunday morning, waiting for the train that would take me homeward bound to Swanley, I found myself (amongst swearing under my breath at the fact my train was delayed, and perhaps yawning) reflecting on the previous 24 hours that had gone before it. Just down the road from the station I was sat at was The Railway Pub, and at this hour of the morning, only some broken glass on the pavement outside and some tatty posters in the windows gave any clue at what had come before it. It had seen me experience a gig like no other, one I had to travel nearly 60 miles just to get to, a fair distance for any gig, let alone one by local bands in a tiny pub in a small coastal town, but one that was a pretty hefty rollercoaster of music, beer, and great fun from its relatively slow start to its blistering finale. And now that I’m back home and back to normal levels of sleep and energy (just about), it’s time for me to recount, in as much detail as I can, that hectic Saturday afternoon and evening.

It’s pretty safe to say that the day hardly got underway in glorious fashion – in fact, if you had no prior idea of the quality of some of the bands following, you’d be well within your rights to have walked through the front doors, seen the first band playing on the first stage (what I’ll call from now on the Bar Stage), and have turned round and walked straight back out the door again to stay in for the evening with The X Factor. I’m not joking – opening band Dr Goon (2/10) were so atrocious they had to be seen to be believed. Not seen for too long, mind – just long enough to realise that listening to them play was on a par with sticking a cordless drill in one ear and a screwdriver in the other. Their main problem (amongst the myriad of others) was that they looked like they had never even seen each other before, let alone played together. Lesson 1 for up-and-coming bands, kids – make sure you are relatively tight as a unit before you even think of looking for gigs. As much as I poked fun at the early iterations of My Third Leg for their technical sloppiness, at least they could hold a tune together. The Total Goons were so shockingly sloppy it sounded at times like each member was playing a completely different song – each very badly. Matters were hardly helped by a singer who looked utterly comatose, and a keyboard player who had got lost at a trad jazz gig and never found his way back home. The only reason they managed two scores was the fact that their guitarist and drummer at least looked into it, although the one shred of talent in the entire band was firmly with the guitarist – imagine Clem Burke after a particularly ham-fisted frontal lobotomy and you have Collection of Dribbling Goons’ drummer. Which leads me nicely onto Lesson 2 for up-and-coming bands: if you are borrowing someone else’s equipment, avoid breaking it, as the drummer did when he managed to somehow split the skin of the bass drum with the pedal. And then Lesson 3 – don’t then use this pause in play to advertise a show you’re playing on the very same day not very far away from there. This is perhaps one of the biggest faux pas you can commit, particularly when one of the chief organisers of the show you’re currently playing (and owner of the piece of equipment you’ve just broken) happens to be standing right next to you. Fortunately, Mr Rich Harris kept his rebuke short and to the point (a barked ‘fuck off’) and the Travelling Band of Blithering Goons were allowed to leave with all of their members still in one piece. What made the incident particularly hilarious was how farcically awful they had performed – it made you wonder how on Earth they managed to get two gigs at all, let alone on the same day. Answers on a postcard please – for now, I’m calling bribery.

It’s not too much of an exaggeration to suggest that anybody could look good following on from the pile of foul-smelling shite that had opened proceedings, but having said that, I genuinely quite liked Shattered Resolutions (6.5/10). They flitted from drop-C tuned metal-y, sometimes stoner-y fuzz rock to something a bit more faster paced, but whilst certainly not reinventing the wheel, they at least showcased a bit of flash and imagination. Of particular note is how the two guitarists, Aaron Dixon and James Revell, deliberately manufactured two different sounds from their respective guitars, which when combined together created an interesting mix, using it to try and expand the songs sonically. They traded solos nicely too, and when you throw in Tyler French’s yelped vocals and the fairly dynamic rhythm section of Robby Levesley on bass and James Nesbitt (no, not the James Nesbitt) on drums, you have a group that have promise. They could’ve scored higher had their set had the energy and confidence their music deserved, but they are a young band, and have time on their side to iron these creases out.

Sadly, one of the bands I was most looking forward to seeing pulled a complete no-show – The Moo Woos. In fact, a no nothing – not a phonecall, not an answering of a phone call, no appearance at all. Very frustrating, as it puts a big black mark next to their name, which their music doesn’t deserve, and I’m sure they would’ve thrived in the intimate setting and atmosphere of the venue, but hey, their loss I suppose.

So we move straight back into the backroom stage where Shattered Resolutions had performed, and we find The Plan’s Andrew Keech (complete with trademark flat-cap) and Ben Gower, but instead of their partners in crime in The Plan, instead they are backed up today by a myriad of different instruments and members. Time to welcome to proceedings Captain Bastard and the Scallywags (7.5/10), a band with not only a spectacular name, but a spectacular array of weapons in their sonic arsenal – alongside the traditional guitar/bass/drums triumvirate, we introduce an acoustic guitar, a mandolin, an accordion, and a penny whistle, just for good measure. I was told beforehand to expect folk-punk fun to rival Calico Street Riots, with perhaps some added Guinness and pirate shenanigans, and that’s a fairly accurate description. They deviated from the standard, fast-paced folk-punk template at times though, and this refreshing change of pace enabled them to make better use of the wide variety of instruments at their disposal – the mandolin in particular, played with great aplomb by Jordan Harris, was particularly prominent, and pennywhistlist (is that even a word?!) Kayla Harlow lead off one song in fine solo fashion. Just like Calico, all of their songs are infused with the bouncing energy and sense of unabashed fun that makes the genre great. Two things largely let them down – firstly, Keech’s vocals were suffering due to illness and were largely reduced to a series of barks and croaks, and secondly, the band are still a work-in-progress in terms of gelling as a unit – one song had to be abandoned and the drumming fell out in several other parts. But, as I was quick to remind Keech afterwards, they are a new band, having only played 2 shows before this, and particularly with this many instruments in the mix, it would take a little more time for things to start clicking completely smoothly. For now, they are a band easing into life on the circuit, and I look forward to seeing them progress, as there is a lot of potential laying in wait.

Next up on the Bar Stage were, from a personal perspective, the biggest surprises of the day – A Boy Named Girl (8/10). I’d seen them a couple of times beforehand, and both times had never really ‘got’ them, and I really don’t know why. Maybe I had an in-built indifference and cynicism for the largely bland, generic pap that passes for modern pop-punk nowadays which clouded my judgement of them before, but on this particular evening, I went into their set with an open mind, and I was hooked from first outrageously catchy note to last. Y’see, this is how modern pop-punk should sound – yes, there’s floppy fringes, yes, there’s half-tempo breakdowns, but they are interwoven into tunes packed with hooks and properly shimmering choruses, and a sound that avoids being hackneyed and cliched, and a stage presence that sidesteps plastic posturing and concentrates wholly on having a damn good time, which is exactly what the crowd that gathers to watch them do have. The theme of being tight as a unit has run constantly throughout this review, and I have to come back to it, because that’s one of ABNG’s biggest strengths – good pop-punk has to be razor-sharp in it’s delivery, and that’s something the five-piece pull off brilliantly. Great job, and I’ll happily admit to being wrong about them before.

I didn’t actually watch directly the next act, the Disclosure Project (6/10), so take this rating as being based on what I heard whilst having a break from the music with a beer in the bar as they performed in the backroom. All I saw directly of them was their soundcheck, which told me that they were a expansive and technical three-piece. What I heard from them in the background after that proved that pretty much right, but also told me that they somehow had a knack of making even epic rock songs by the likes of Foo Fighters and 30 Seconds to Mars sound…well, kinda boring. I don’t know why, they just didn’t grip me. Let’s put it this way – I was waiting for them to drag me away from the bar and into the backroom to watch them, but they never managed it. Every song of theirs seemed to drag it’s heels somehow, and they came across as being a bit MOR for my liking. Still, I will give them credit for being musically tight and technically very sound, with a decent depth.

Hang on, I’m feeling a bit of de ja vu coming on here…or should that be Dave Ja Vu, to be precise? Yes, for the second time in as many days, it was time for me to check out up-and-coming ska-punkers My Third Leg (8/10), Gravesend’s chief representatives at the show, and the penultimate band up on the Bar Stage. Having seen them only the night before I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from them, and so it proved, as they turned in what was not only a step up from their performance in Central London, but the best performance I’ve seen from them so far in their burgeoning career. Bizarrely enough, despite the malfunctioning drumkit (still hungover from the brutalising it got earlier on in the day), drummer Paul Smith produced his most consistent tub-thumbing performance yet, with no obvious cock-ups – I can barely believe I’m writing this! – and the rest of the band also played to the top of their strengths. Frontman Will Woodrow was all-action, a powerful mix of crashing guitar leads and strong singing, and he was ably back up by his cohorts – additional guitarist Mike Smith was a highly rhythmic sidekick in the six-string antics, and bassist Dave Ja Vu was all beaming smiles and rippling, anchorweight basslines. Their standards were all wheeled out and given a battering – the joyous singalong of ‘3470 Miles’, the skankpit-baiting ‘Going for a Drive’, and the moody ‘Time Travel’, and the rest from their Fift E.P., all present and correct and all sounding excellent in such a setting. A nice injection of ska-styled energy into an evening that was swiftly building towards an entertaining crescendo.

I had another break after this one to get another pint or so in and to conserve energy before the finale, so I missed IRIS’s set, only hearing glimpses in the background – nowhere near enough to give them an accurate rating. The odd snatches I did hear did sounded heavy, technical and pretty creative in parts, so one to watch out for for the future perhaps.

In all fairness though, anticipation was by now building with all the speed of a runaway freight train for the arrival onto the Bar Stage of the local heroes to finish off the evening in spectacular style. And so, at around 10pm in the evening, The Submission (9.5/10) arrived on the Bar Stage, briefly tuned up, and blasted headlong into action, with a furious and spectacular medley of ‘Reggae Rock Rebels’, ‘Stay in Action’ and their rendition of the unofficial rock ‘n’ roll national anthem, ‘Johnny Be Good.’ And so began a rollercoaster journey through The Submission’s personal vision of punk rock – rip-snorting energy, raucous singalongs, buzzsaw guitar riffs, hooks aplenty, and pure, uplifting power. Frontman Richard Harris was as always the absolute heart and soul of the performance, channelling the spirits of Joe Strummer, Jake Burns, Tim Armstrong and other legendary punk frontmen into his ballistic, gung-ho delivery, bellowing his vocals, headspinning, jumping around and thrashing the life out of his guitar like it was his last night on Earth – just like every Submission performance, then. That’s not to say they are a one-man operation – in fact, bassist Sadie Williams acted as the calm counterpoint, quietly grooving and locking the operation down with rock solid and neat bass work, and stayed cool and collected despite the chaos erupting around her. A lot of kudoes has to go to stand-in drummer for the evening Bernie Watts, who despite less than a handful of rehearsals with the group, slotted in with no problems at all, and was a reliable and steady hand behind the kit. Sadly, guitarist Phil Morgan was reduced to errant bystander for most of the set, as a stray beer glass caused terminal damage to his amp very early on, but in true Submission fashion, a little hiccup like this wasn’t allowed to get in the way of the chaos.

It’s a measure of their quality as songwriters that their original songs, such as the stomping ‘No Motivation’ or the blistering ‘No Tomorrow’, merged seamlessly into the setlist alongside the gamut of covers they rolled out. Tonight the covers list included the traditional brace of Rancid tunes (‘Radio’ and ‘Roots Radicals’), as well as their 100mph rendition of the classic Clash anthem ‘White Riot’, a frenzied rev-up (if it ever needed revving up in the first place) of Green Day’s ‘Maria’, and further run throughs of ‘Longview’, ‘Should I Stay or Should I Go’ (which pushed the dancing and moshing to almost chaotic levels), blink-182’s ‘All The Small Things’, the ’80s pop hit ‘Spin Me Right Round’ and the Stiff Little Fingers’ ‘Barbed Wire Love’ – all of them delivered with exactly the same hammerhead precision and relentless energy as their originals.

There was also just enough time for a mid-set interlude to finally unveil the surprise ‘guest’ band, Meat Whiplash, whom were in reality The Submission but with sadly departing landlord Stu and wife Wanda guesting on vocals and drums, respectively. As a way to bow out, guest-starring with the headline act at your own farewell gig is a pretty stylish way to go, and Stu celebrated the occasion by rolling back the years and giving as good as he got on covers of Department S’s ‘Is Vic There?’, the Dead Kennadys’ ‘Holiday in Cambodia’, and The Jam’s ‘That’s Entertainment’. Wanda gave the drumkit a sound battering for a few numbers before allowing Bernie to re-take the hot seat and instead gave additional vocal support up front, and the Whiplash’s brief set closed with a madcap run through Electric Six’s ‘Gay Bar’, before they departed to allow The Submission to wrap things up in style, firstly with the aforementioned ‘Should I Stay…’ and ‘Longview’ covers before drawing the mayhem to a close with ‘It Won’t Stop’, as defiant a statement as any to end what could possibly be their last showing at this particular venue. The only things that stops me giving them a maximum score was the issues with Phil’s guitar, and the fact that the set sort of never really regained the early momentum after Meat Whiplash’s cameo appearance, although neither of which can really be attested to the band, and they were still my personal favourite band of the entire day by some way – that’s not to be disrespectful to the other bands, some of whom were excellent (okay, not Dr Goon), but that’s more a measure of just how much I enjoy watching The Submission play – they are, to my mind, a live experience like no other.

So, here comes the part where I try and condense down everything into a handful of easily digestible sentence nuggets to summarise the entire review. Not easy, but I’ll give it a go anyway: as a gig, it was sometimes inconsistent, although fortunately gradually improved to a spectacular zenith at the conclusion after a dreadful start, but as an experience, it was a fantastic day and evening which will last in the memory for a long time – long after I had departed Walmer on the first train back home, and long after I’ve even finished writing this very review. Congratulations to everybody involved in setting up and organising this great show, and I’d like to wish Stu and Wanda all the best in their new pursuits – if this is to be the last time rock ‘n’ roll comes to The Railway Pub in this fashion, then it’s safe to say it went out in style.

Overall Review 9/10

I don’t want to sound too righteous, but honestly, so many people who claim to be deeply into punk rock don’t have a clue about it. I’m talking about the countless NME journalists and keyboard warriors on YouTube who constantly argue about what exactly ‘is’ punk and what ‘isn’t’, and they’ve mostly been miles off the mark. NME are particularly guilty, along with many UK music publications, as they have been busy, in the past few years especially, championing the likes of Gallows as the ‘saviours of punk rock’. Firstly, who decided that punk rock as a genre needed ‘saving’? And secondly, whenever I listen to any of their tracks, all I hear is a messy, tuneless barrage of almost white noise, with the only lyrics being distinguishable being the odd expletive here and there amongst the sound of what seems to be Frank Carter trying to puke up his vocal chords. They certainly aren’t ‘saving’ punk rock. I don’t like the term ‘saviors of (insert genre here)’, but if you’re gonna bandy it around, then I’d be very inclined to take it from Frank Carter and co and slap it emphatically on the backs of Richard Harris, Sadie Williams, Phil Morgan and Stuart Cavell, known collectively as The Submission.

I’m well aware of how bold a claim that statement is, but I stick by it. And that comes after witnessing just one frenzied half-hour set in a small club in Gravesend. And now we arrive at this 5-track EP, purchased for the princely sum of £2, presented as it is in a plastic wallet with the cover being what looks like an intense mosh pit. As visual embodiments of a band’s sound go, this one is very effective. And I will say this right off the bat, I enjoyed this EP almost as much as I enjoyed seeing them live.

In terms of production, I’ve been warned by Rich that the quality isn’t too great, but to be honest I had no problems with it. Sure, it’s scratchy stuff, with the backing vocals not quite meshing with each other, and overall this is the polar opposite of the highly-polished, high-budget affairs many of us are more used to, but I wouldn’t say it affects the quality of the music, and it may actually add something to it – it gives the music a slightly rawer edge which I think actually compliments it. Think along the lines of The Offspring and Green Day’s respective pre-major label records, ‘Ignition’ and ‘Kerplunk’, and you have a fairly accurate picture.

The five tracks on here consist of three originals and two covers, and while the two covers – hugely enjoyable punk remixes of the ’80s pop song ‘Spin Me Right Round’ and the rock ‘n’ roll classic ‘Johnny B Goode’ – are entertaining listens, the three originals are the songs that really merit praise here. It’s easy enough to say that they are simple blasts of pure punk rock joy, but what makes them such entertaining listens is that they aren’t just standard three-chords-and-that’s-your-lot – every individual member injects extra life into the mayhem to take it up to another level. Rich hollers his vocals with wild abandon, but instead of just tuneless larynx-shredding, it meshes into the high-octane rhythms very well. He and fellow guitarist Phil intersperse the fast-paced riffs with thrilling and angular guitar breaks and solos to make the likes of Captain Sensible of The Damned or Brian Baker of Bad Religion proud, particularly on standout track ‘You Just Don’t Know’. Drummer Stuart drives things forward all the time, throwing in rolls and helter-skelter fills only where appropriate, and bassist Sadie augments the six-stringers’ assault with some neat bass lines which bring to mind such famous punk bassmen as Mike Dirnt of Green Day or Paul Simonon of The Clash – hardly the centre of attention, more the glue which musically holds everything together.

Lyrically, do not look at the sniggery, blink-182-esque toilet humour of the title track as a guide, although it is funny in places. Instead, look at the aforementioned YJDK and the ‘Reggae Rock Rebels’ with it’s fantastic skanking verses, as better guides for themes, the former being a powerful rant against those who look down their noses at others not quite like them, with Rich taking great pride in declaring: “I don’t wanna ever be like you!” and the latter acting as a counterpoint, rallying the troops in emphatic style to break out of whatever humdrum town they may be stuck in (quite a common situation for many in towns across Kent), and when all four bellow the lines ‘Jump up!/Shout out!/You’re reggae rock rebels’ with a ferocity that distorts the microphone, you can’t help but want to join them.

Of course, this is hardly original stuff – the title track nabs a vocal line from the Stiff Little Fingers back catalogue, YJDK runs like a medley of all the best songs from the Clash’s debut album, and RRR bounces along on a very much Rancid-style vibe. But at no point does it feel like blatant re-hashing of some dated concepts – the tracks all buzz with their own electricity and intensity, and are laden with hooks which are all their own, no matter how many nods to past legends they may make. And, ironically for a band who sing ‘I don’t think it really matters/whether you are, punk or not’, The Submission are the best pure, 100% punk rock band I’ve had the pleasure of hearing in a long time, and one listen of this handful of tracks will leave you desperate for more.

If you can, go and see them live, and enjoy The Submission in their element. But if they don’t happen to be playing anywhere near you tonight, then this little disc is a very enjoyable listen, and serves as a fascinating taste of things to come.

Rating: 8/10
Standout tracks: You Just Don’t Know, Reggae Rock Rebels.