JOHN

Sometimes you just need a right good mallet wallop to the cranium and who better to deliver that vicious blow than local brutality peddlers, John?.

The double John assault isn’t so much tempered as infused with a newfound mastery of dynamics, atmospherics, and muscular belligerence. The guitars sizzle, shriek and burr whilst tempestuous drums pummel like the gloves of a cranked pugilist. They’ve long been firm shop favourites, but this has cemented their status as shop legends. It’s the sort of album where you’ll be fighting to catch your breath by the end. Stick this on when naught but sheer hench bedlam will suffice.