After the spectacular self-immolation of notorious rockers The Amazing Snakeheads, there’s a gap in the market for some grimy, gory Scottish rock and straight out the coffin Bluebirds seem like possible contenders.
There is No God is five-tracks of grotty, shambling post-punk propelled by the sort of funereal organ and scene chewing vocals that would even Nick Cave would probably write off as “a bit much”.
‘New Town Sheep’ is raucous and angry, slurred and cracked and barely in tune, while ‘Dog’ starts with vocalist Daniel Telford taking in a night on the New York tiles and ends with him howling “there is no God” as the darkness swallows him up.
It’s not music for the faint hearted, channelling the B-movie vibes of The Cramps and the livewire energy of Fat White Family with abandon.
‘I Fell in Love with a Call Girl’ is a rambling eight and a half minutes of gothic excess with barroom piano and the sort of circular guitar part that wouldn’t sound out of place on one of the proggier Iron Maiden songs.
Whether the entire exercise really needs all eight of those minutes is up for debate, but it’s impressive that the group are pushing the boundaries of a punkish-indebted sound that tends to frown on anything over three minutes.
‘Subcultural Love’ rumbles with murderous bass, while ‘Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You Mine’ has a piratical swagger and massive build and release dynamics, culminating in Telford screaming hoarsely into the void.
Is it good? Well, if you’re looking for well-rounded character studies you might be advised to look elsewhere, but there’s an unhinged energy to Bluebirds that is impossible to fake; their hunt for haemoglobin is a grimy, vengeful success.
Words: Max Sefton