In many ways, punk (in its purest form, at any event) is a genre trapped by its own nihilistic remit. Where other genres thrive on evolution, the genesis of punk is trapped in its own fireball of youthful energy and sloganeering sentiments. As such, unless purposefully forced into hybrid forms, it’s arguable that punk’s entire ferocious stock can be condensed into that epitome of the form, Bodies – still one of the most outraged and shocking diatribes confined to tape. That’s not to say that punk has lost its relevance; but rather that, if you are looking to engage in punk rock, you’d better have a fire in your belly because passion is the dark fire that powers this particular beast. Musicality, technicality and innovation, frankly, come second to the level of invective you can summon; and any hint of compromise will be sensed immediately. Here, we have an album from French punk outfit, Spread Like, who deal in unreconstructed punk right down to the cartoon imagery of a skeleton skateboarding a line of fire around the Eiffel tower. It’s an arresting image, suitably iconoclastic, and it says a great deal about the band’s anarchic remit.
Opening with the rampant Tout Le Temps, a raw and rampant assault that harks back to the spit and sawdust of the Buzzcocks in their heyday, Spread Like get off to a good start. As mentioned above, there’s no hint of reinventing the wheel (and no real need either) – it’s simple, adrenaline-charged punk rock delivered with plenty of attitude. Similarly, Marre De Toi takes the agit-punk of early Clash (think Remote Control) and throws in a touch of Minor Threat for good measure. Short and sharp, it gives way to Contre Vent Et Tempetes, a similarly bruising romp around the mosh-pit that packs more attitude into two-and-a-half little minutes than the likes of green Day have incorporated into an entire career. Adding to the sense that this is a band who are fanatically passionate about their cause is the fact that the band sing in their native French, rather than subverting their cause and singing in the more commercially-friendly English. Certainly, the passions that inflame Cirque Mediatique are more felt than understood for those who don’t have the linguistic nous to follow along, whilst Dans La Ville vies with Marre De Toi for the album’s gnarliest riff.
Kicking off the second half of the record, Mon Horizon emerges out of a wall of feedback and delivers its payload in less than two minutes and, if you think that’s brutal, then the visceral proto-thrash of Avec Toi goes off like a cluster-bomb. An album highlight, it has that indefinable quality that comes from listening to a raw, unfiltered performance of a band on the edge. If, then, Ton Dessin feels a touch sedate in comparison (not least because the riff sounds suspiciously like Rock Lobster), it’s only to be expected and things get back on track with Soyons Rainsonnables, a stabbing punk rock blast with a nimble payoff. An elastic riff kicks off Un Cult Imaginaire, another track that leans heavily upon the phlegm-flecked might of The Clash, and then Perdre Encore brings everything crashing to an end.
In the final analysis Dix seeks to be nothing more than a powerful punk album and, in that, it succeeds. Hardly original, nor would you expect it to be, it makes up in energy what it lacks in innovation, and there’s no doubting the love that the musicians have for the genre. Drawing predominantly upon the English school of Punk (Skateboard toting artwork notwithstanding), albeit with elements of hardcore creeping in, Dix offers up a number of cracking tracks, not least Marre De Toi, Mon Horizon and Avec Toi that will find favour with punk fans looking for their next fix. 7.5/10
