Get all 66 Horn & Hoof Records releases available on Bandcamp and save 25%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Step Back, Time To Pack Up, Simpler Times, 69 Spotify Listeners Can't All Be Wrong, Rise and Grind, Alt Bristol. Volume 1, Another one about how shit it all is... live from the Castles, Nil Per Mouth, and 58 more.
1. |
A Quiet One
02:21
|
|
||
|
HOW DID I GET HERE? THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A QUIET NIGHT IN. EARLY HOURS OF THE MORNING; GOT A SPLITTING HEAD AND I FEEL LIKE DYING. THESE DAYS MY PAST IS SO FAR REMOVED, BUT I DOUBT SOMEHOW THAT THE OLD ME WOULD EVER APPROVE, NO! I’M IN MY LATE TWENTIES AND I KNOW THE SCORE – I’VE GOT TO DO SOMETHING! I GET THE MESSAGE; I’LL BURN OUT IN TIME; (EITHER WAY) I KNOW IT’S COMING. I DON’T WANT TO GET OLD BEFORE MY TIME, AND I REALLY CAN’T SEE MYSELF GOING BACK TO TOEING THE LINE, NO! IS THIS SOMETHING I’M REPRESSING OR AM I REGRESSING? OR COULD IT BE THAT I’M ENJOYING MYSELF, EVEN THOUGH I’M KILLING MYSELF? SO HOW DID I GET HERE? I GUESS I DIDN’T WANT THAT QUIET NIGHT IN. I’VE SLEPT-IN ALL MORNING AND NOW MY HEADACHE’S GONE; SO MUCH FOR FUCKING DYING! THESE DAYS MY PAST IS SO FAR REMOVED, BUT I COULDN’T GIVE A DAMN IF THE OLD ME WOULD NEVER APPROVE, AND I DON’T WANT TO GET OLD AND BURN-OUT BEFORE MY TIME, AND I DON’T EVER, EVER WANT TO GO BACK TO TOEING THE LINE. NO MORE REPRESSION, OR REGRESSION; I’M ENJOYING MYSELF. NO MORE REPRESSION OR REGRESSION, I’M JUST KILLING MYSELF...
|
||||
2. |
CUI
02:15
|
|
||
|
LAST ORDERS DOWN THE PUB ON A WEDNESDAY NIGHT; IT’S TIME TO PEDAL BACK HOME AFTER ONE LAST PINT. POLICE CAR IN THE DISTANCE, BUT I’VE GOT TO PRESS-ON; I REALLY OUGHT TO GET OFF AND WALK, BUT NOW I’M TOO FAR GONE! WELL I’M ALL FOR LIVING FAST; I’M NOT IN A HURRY TO DIE JUST YET, BUT I DON’T WANT TO FACE A BLACK MARK ON MY RECORD, ‘CUS THEN I’LL NEVER BE ALLOWED TO FORGET! I SAID I WAS GOING OUT, BUT TILL I DON’T KNOW WHEN; I’M NOT EVEN UP FOR WORK UNTIL 7AM. MADE IT HOME WITHOUT DEATH OR ARREST, LIKE ALL THE TIMES BEFORE; BREAK INTO THE VICTORY DANCE WHILE TRYING TO OPEN THE DOOR - I CAN’T OPEN THE DOOR! WELL I DON’T WANT TO GO DOWN TO THE STATION; DON’T WANT TO RISK PASSING-OUT ON A TRAIN. YOU JUST CAN’T BEAT BEING OUT IN THE OPEN, GETTING PISSED WET-THROUGH WITH THE RAIN. CYCLING UNDER THE INFLUENCE. SO I’M WELL AWARE THAT IT SOUNDS PATHETIC, BUT I WOULDN’T HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY; I’M GONNA WAKE UP WITH A THICK HEAD IN THE MORNING AND GO ABOUT MY DAY. IT’S A SPIRAL OF SELF-DESTRUCTION, A ROULETTE WHEEL FOR COMMON SENSE; YOU COULD CALL IT A VICIOUS CIRCLE, CYCLING UNDER THE INFLUENCE...
|
||||
3. |
Whisky Eyes
01:43
|
|
||
|
I lie awake at 3 O'clock each morning, always thinking,
It’s been the same score every night, despite all I’ve been drinking,
I’ve watched my 6th sunrise in a row; now it’s begun to lose its charm...
What can you do, I wish someone would please explain,
The clock keeps ticking, and it’s driving me insane,
Don’t need epiphanies, don’t need to realise,
And all I want to do is close my whisky eyes...
I’ve got no problems I can’t solve, although sure I’ll think of something,
No energy to move but I can’t sit here doing nothing,
Erupt in rage to morning sounds of cats, cars, birds and my alarm...
I toss and turn, but don’t know how much time has passed,
The morning lingers and the night won’t come on fast,
On-edge all day and it’ll come as no surprise,
And all I want to do is close my whisky eyes...
What can you do, I wish someone would please explain,
The clock keeps ticking, and it’s driving me insane,
Don’t need epiphanies, don’t need to realise,
I toss and turn, but don’t know how much time has passed,
My head’s in pieces now; my body cannot last,
I’ve had enough, and don’t you dare look so surprised,
‘Cus all I want to do, yeah all I want to do is close my whisky eyes...
|
||||
4. |
3 Days
02:50
|
|
||
|
IT’S BEEN A LONG TIME SINCE I’VE BEEN LEFT ALONE WITH MY THOUGHTS, BUT THREE DAYS DOWN, I ALREADY FEEL LIKE I’M SINKING. I THINK I’VE TOOK THIS FOR GRANTED, THANK FUCK IT’S NOT FOREVER. THREE DAYS - IT’S JUST A PASSING LOW, SOMETHING WE ALL GO THROUGH, BUT I WON’T ADMIT I NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO, AND I’LL EXPLAIN HOW I LIKE THE PEACE AND QUIET, BUT COMPARED TO THIS I THINK I’D RATHER HAVE A RIOT. ONCE AGAIN I’M RUNNING LATE, BUT I’VE GOT NOTHING TO RUSH FOR; I DREAD THE COMING MINUTE WHEN I WALK IN THROUGH THE FRONT DOOR. BOREDOM SETS IN AND I FEEL LIKE SCREAMING. FIRST TIME IN A WHILE THAT I’M FLOORED COMPLETELY; I’LL KILL-OFF HALF AN HOUR WITH A WHISKY AND THE TV. THE TICKING OF THE CLOCK SLICES SECONDS THROUGH THE SILENCE. TEN NIGHTS OF PASSING TIME WITH MY PROCRASTINATION, BUT I’LL DENY I’M MISSING CONVERSATION. BARING MY SOUL IN ANGST AND AIMLESS LYRICS, WHEN I KNOW FULL WELL THAT ONLY I CAN FIX THIS, BUT INSTEAD I WASTE AWAY ANOTHER DAY, ROT AWAY ANOTHER DAY, I’LL HIDE AWAY. IT’S JUST A PASSING LOW, SOMETHING WE ALL GO THROUGH, BUT I WON’T ADMIT I NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO, AND I’LL EXPLAIN HOW I LIKE THE PEACE AND QUIET, BUT COMPARED TO THIS I’D RATHER HAVE A FUCKING RIOT, AND STOP WASTING TIME.
|
||||
5. |
|
|||
|
MONDAY FEELING ALL WEEK LIKE I’M LOSING THE THREAD, SPENDING WEEKEND NIGHTS DRINKING OUT OF MY HEAD, BUT NOW I’M SEEING THE APPEAL OF A NICE WARM BED WALKING HOME AT 4 O’CLOCK IN THE RAIN. THERE’S THOSE WHO CRITICISE ME LIVING LIFE TO THE FULL, HAVING SUCH A GREAT TIME THAT IT’S TERRIBLE, BUT IT’S ALWAYS TOO QUICK UNTIL THE WEEKEND COMES, TWO NIGHTS TILL IT GOES AGAIN. OH WELL. COULD IT BE THAT I’M SLOWING DOWN, HOW LONG TILL I HIT THE GROUND? FLAT-TIRED ON FRIDAY NIGHT; BUT NEVER MIND, IT’LL SOON BE MONDAY. BUSY ALL DAY, DAYS ON END WITHOUT REST; ALWAYS THINKING OF THE WORST WHILE I’M HOPING FOR THE BEST. THIS WILL NEVER BE A CHORE, BUT BECOMING A TEST, AND I JUST CAN’T PRETEND THAT WHEN THE LIGHT COMES THROUGH THE CURTAINS I’M UNABLE TO SEE, I’M NOT QUITE AS YOUNG AS I USED TO BE. (WITH A BEER-GUT GROWING AND HIS HAIR THINNING-OUT) I WISH MY TWENTIES DIDN’T HAVE TO END. OH WELL. IT’S NOT LIKE I’M SHORT ON TIME, BUT AT SOME POINT I’VE CROSSED A LINE, TIRED EVERY FUCKING NIGHT; BUT NEVER MIND, IT’LL SOON BE MONDAY. OH WELL. I KNOW I’M SLOWING DOWN, NOT LONG TILL I HIT THE GROUND, LONG DAYS AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS. NO, I’M NOT SHORT ON TIME, BUT PRETTY SURE I’VE CROSSED THE LINE; I’M GONNA GET AN EARLY NIGHT.
|
||||
6. |
Blurring the Lines
02:16
|
|
||
|
LINES I’VE BEEN FALLING BACK ON HABITS SUCH AS DRINKING ON A SCHOOL NIGHT, EATING CHEAP CRAP AND STAYING UP TOO LATE. IT’S A SLOW DAY IN THE OFFICE AND I LOOK LIKE A ZOMBIE; I TRY TO KNUCKLE-DOWN BUT ONLY HALF-AWAKE. THERE’S A HAGGARD EXPRESSION STARING BACKWARDS FROM THE MIRROR; A LOOK BEHIND THE EYES THAT SAYS “THIS ISN’T OK”. I KEEP THINKING TO MYSELF PERHAPS I’M MISSING SOMEONE SPECIAL, BUT EVERY CHANCE I GET I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO SAY! WHY? WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT I HAVE TO DO; I’VE RACKED MY BRAIN BUT I DON’T HAVE A CLUE. WHY CAN’T I BRING MYSELF TO TALK TO YOU? WELL MAYBE I’M JUST BLURRING THE LINES. I NEVER LEARNED THE ART OF MAKING CONVERSATION. DON’T HAVE THE GUTS TO ASK HER “ARE YOU DOING ALRIGHT?” I’LL WAKE UP ON THE FLOOR, SPEND ALL WEEK IN A DEPRESSION, AND THEN I HOPE THAT I’LL RUN INTO HER ANOTHER NIGHT. WHY? I’LL KEEP ON SAYING I HAVEN’T GOT A CHANCE; I’LL PUT IT DOWN TO TIME AND CIRCUMSTANCE. WHY CAN’T I EVER SEEM TO GET THIS RIGHT? WELL MAYBE I’M JUST BLURRING THE LINES. THERE’LL BE BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME, CAN’T BEAT MYSELF UP; MUST ADMIT I’M STILL HAVING QUITE A GOOD TIME, AND MAYBE THAT’S ENOUGH. ONE DAY I’LL LEARN THE ART OF MAKING CONVERSATION; ONE DAY I’LL TURN AND ASK HER, “CAN I SEE YOU AGAIN?” ONE DAY I’LL FIND A CURE AND SNAP OUT OF THIS DEPRESSION, ‘CUS DROWNING IN THE PUB I KNOW I CAN’T SUSTAIN! WHY? WILL SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT I HAVE TO DO; I’VE WRECKED MY BRAIN BUT I DON’T HAVE A CLUE. WHY CAN’T I SIMPLY FUCKING TALK TO YOU? WELL MAYBE I’M JUST BLURRING THE LINES. I CAN’T MAKE EXCUSES, GOT TO TAKE A CHANCE - THERE’S NEVER GONNA BE A PERFECT CIRCUMSTANCE. I REMAIN CONVINCED THAT I CAN GET THIS RIGHT, BUT MAYBE I’M JUST BLURRING THE LINES.
|
||||
7. |
WA5ive
02:55
|
|
||
|
WHEN YOU’RE GREETED AT THE STATION BY THE INDUSTRIAL DECAY, SEE TWO HUNDRED YEARS OF INNOVATION, AS IT SLOWLY DIES AWAY. BUT THEN THE STREETS AREN’T THAT MUCH BETTER; THE SHOPS CAN HARDLY STAY AFLOAT, ‘CUS MY HOMETOWN’S A FUCKING SHITHOLE, BORN FROM RUGBY LEAGUE AND SOAP. AND YOU WONDER WHY MY TOWN BREEDS CYNICISM; I AM A CYNIC IN THIS TOWN; THERE’S JUST NO ARGUMENT FOR COMING-UP, WHEN THE EVIDENCE ALL SAYS WE’RE GOING DOWN. PLEASE TELL ME, IS THERE A WAY OUT? THE GOLDEN GATES ARE JUST AN EYESORE AND THE SKITTLES ARE A JOKE. MR SMITH’S WAS ONCE A LANDMARK, ‘TIL IT ALL WENT UP IN SMOKE. IT’S OLIVER CROMWELL THIS AND CROMWELL THAT, ALL SEIZING ON HIS NAME; HE MIGHT HAVE STAYED ONE NIGHT NEAR HOWLEY QUAY, BUT HE NEVER CAME BACK AGAIN. AND YOU WONDER WHY MY TOWN BREEDS CYNICISM; I AM A CYNIC IN THIS TOWN; THERE’S JUST NO ARGUMENT FOR COMING-UP, WHEN THE EVIDENCE ALL SAYS WE’RE GOING DOWN. PLEASE TELL ME, IS THERE A WAY OUT, ‘CUS I’VE NO REASON TO BE OPTIMISTIC, NOT WHEN I’M PRESENTED WITH THE FACTS. I’LL READ THE PAPER EVERY MORNING – SEE THE KNIFE CRIME, RAPE AND ARSON ATTACKS. PLEASE TELL ME, IS THERE A WAY OUT? NOW IF ONLY THINGS WERE DIFFERENT, WE COULD PUT THIS ONE TO BED; THE COUNCIL PROMISED TO BUILD BRIDGES THEN DUG UP THE ROADS INSTEAD. SEEMS THE TIDE JUST ISN’T TURNING, THINGS AREN’T GETTING OFF THE GROUND, ANOTHER CAR PARK NEAR COMPLETION, WHILE ALL THE PUBS ARE CLOSING DOWN. I’M SICK OF LIVING IN THIS TOWN AND YOU WONDER WHY MY TOWN BREEDS CYNICISM; I AM A CYNIC IN THIS TOWN; THERE’S JUST NO ARGUMENT FOR COMING-UP, WHEN THE EVIDENCE ALL SAYS WE’RE GOING DOWN. PLEASE TELL ME, ‘CUS I’VE NO REASON TO BE OPTIMISTIC, NOT WHEN I’M PRESENTED WITH THE FACTS. I’LL READ THE PAPER EVERY MORNING – SEE THE KNIFE CRIME, RAPE AND ARSON ATTACKS. PLEASE TELL ME, IS THERE A WAY OUT?
|
||||
8. |
Online Civil War
03:07
|
|
||
|
WHY TAKE TO THE STREETS, WHY FACE-DOWN BARRICADES, WHEN YOU CAN POST ANOTHER RANT UP ON YOUR FACEBOOK PAGE? WHY SUPPORT WITH SUBSTANCE, WHY MAKE A POINT THAT’S REAL, WHEN YOU CAN LOOK DOWN FROM YOUR LAPTOP ON YOUR VIRTUAL BATTLEFIELD? YOU TAKE A SOAPBOX STANCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA, A BITE OUT OF THE HANDS THAT FEED YOU, ALL THAT ATTENTION THAT NEVER REACHED YOU; WHAT IS IT FOR? DON’T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOUR SPITE, YOUR SLANDER, YOUR RHETORIC OR YOUR PROPAGANDA. YOU’RE STILL SPOUTING ON, REVOLUTION; IT’S JUST YOUR ONLINE CIVIL WAR. YOU TAKE NO PRISONERS; YOUR FIGHT IS NEVER-ENDING, AT LEAST AS LONG AS WHAT YOU’VE GOT TO SAY IS TRENDING. YOU WOULDN’T VOTE FOR WHAT’S-THEIR-NAME, BECAUSE OF WHAT THEY’RE WEARING; YOU JUST WON’T TAKE THE HINT THAT EVERYONE IS RIGHT PAST FUCKING CARING! YOU TAKE A SOAPBOX STANCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA, A BITE OUT OF THE HANDS THAT FEED YOU, ALL THAT ATTENTION THAT NEVER REACHED YOU; WHAT IS IT FOR? DON’T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOUR SPITE, YOUR SLANDER, YOUR RHETORIC OR YOUR PROPAGANDA. YOU’RE STILL SPOUTING ON, REVOLUTION; IT’S JUST YOUR ONLINE CIVIL WAR. “HERE’S THE DISEASE; CLICK HERE – YOU WON’T BELIEVE THE CURE!” THINK WHAT YOU WANT, YOU’RE NOT SUBVERSIVE ANYMORE. SPREADING THE WORD, PIN THE LATEST COLOURS TO YOUR MAST; I REALLY HATE TO SEE YOU DISAPPOINTED, BUT IT’S GOING NOWHERE FAST. YOU’LL SPEND YOUR LIFE MAKING WAR ACROSS COMPUTER SCREENS; SHUT UP, STEP BACK, TAKE A MINUTE TO WORK OUT WHAT IT MEANS. YOU’LL SEE, IN TIME; ALL THAT YOU DO IS GOING TO COUNT FOR NOTHING. YOU TAKE A SOAPBOX STANCE ON SOCIAL MEDIA, A BITE OUT OF THE HANDS THAT FEED YOU, ALL THAT ATTENTION THAT NEVER REACHED YOU; WHAT IS IT FOR? DON’T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOUR SPITE, YOUR SLANDER, YOUR RHETORIC OR YOUR PROPAGANDA. YOU’RE STILL SPOUTING ON, REVOLUTION; FUCK YOUR ONLINE CIVIL WAR.
|
||||
9. |
Hard Habits Die Old
02:17
|
|
||
|
THROUGH ALL THESE YEARS, KEPT HIDDEN SAFELY FROM THE TRUTH BECAUSE ‘CUS YOU DIDN’T WANT TO SCARE ME; MAKING NO MISTAKE, YOU’D GONE AWAY WITH THE FAIRIES. TAKE YOUR CASH AND RUN, NOW YOU’VE GOT TO GO AWAY; LET YOUR GUILT ROT IN THE GUTTER DOWN THAT UNLIT ALLEY. YEAH, WE JUST NEVER KNEW WHAT YOU WERE THINKING, WITH ALL THE LIES ABOUT THE DRUGS AND THE DRINKING. IT SEEMS YOU NEVER SAW THE LIGHT, NEVER CAME IN FROM THE COLD; WELL I GUESS HARD HABITS DIE OLD. POSSESSED WITH NEVER-BLINKING EYES AND A RABID PARANOIA; YOU INDULGED YOURSELF FOR YEARS, SO CONVINCED WE NEVER SAW YOU ALL THE TIMES YOU CRIED, AND YOU THOUGHT THAT IT WOULD PAY. YEAH, YOU MUST HAVE THOUGHT THAT I WAS BORN YESTERDAY. YEAH, WE DIDN’T WANT TO KNOW WHAT YOU WERE THINKING, WE’D SEEN ENOUGH OF ALL THE DRUGS AND THE DRINKING. YOU DISAPPEARED ONE NIGHT, AND OFF YOU HEADED DOWN THE ROAD, WELL I GUESS HARD HABITS DIE OLD. AND NOT A SIGN, AND NOT ONE WORD; BIDE YOUR TIME AND MAKE YOUR PRODIGAL SON’S RETURN, SWEARING BLIND THAT THINGS ARE GONNA CHANGE NOW. “SURE”, WE SAID, “YOU’RE BOUND TO FUCK IT SOMEHOW!” AS YOU CONFESS YOU WERE WRONG, AND WE WERE ALWAYS RIGHT, I NEVER THOUGHT YOU’D MAKE AN EFFORT TO SOUND CONTRITE, BUT ONCE AGAIN YOU WERE KIDDING US, KIDDING YOURSELF - OH, WHO WERE YOU KIDDING? AS THE YEARS WENT BY I SIMPLY HAD TO WONDER, WHY YOU WEREN’T ALREADY SIX FEET UNDER; I HEARD YOUR FINAL CALL FOR HELP, BUT ONCE AGAIN I WASN’T SOLD, ‘CUS AFTER ALL, HARD HABITS DIE OLD. WE JUST NEVER KNEW WHAT YOU WERE THINKING, WITH ALL THE LIES ABOUT THE DRUGS AND THE DRINKING. IT SEEMS YOU NEVER SAW THE LIGHT, NEVER CAME IN FROM THE COLD; WELL I GUESS HARD HABITS DIE OLD. AND I’D BE LYING IF I SAID I MISSED YOU; YOU WEREN’T ON MY MIND ENOUGH TO CAUSE AN ISSUE. YOU PLAYED A GAME YOU COULDN’T WIN, AND YOU FINALLY HAD TO FOLD; ‘CUS AFTER ALL, HARD HABITS DIE OLD. NOW THERE’S NOTHING LEFT TO WONDER, NOW YOU’RE FINALLY SIX FEET UNDER.
|
||||
10. |
Nostalgia
02:43
|
|
||
|
WE CAN’T NOT LOVE THE WAY THINGS USED TO BE, BUT YOU DON’T WANT TO MOVE ON. REGURGITATION’S NOT FOR ME; WE MUST ACCEPT WE WEREN’T THE FIRST TO PUT THREE “OI!”’S TOGETHER, SING A SONG ABOUT THE WEATHER, PROTEST LIKE IT’S ’77, 40 YEARS AGO. WON’T YOU JUST GIVE IT A REST WITH YOUR NOSTALGIA, GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR NOSTALGIA; YOU MUST KNOW THAT YOUR NOSTALGIA DOESN’T DO ANY GOOD. IF YOU’RE ENJOYING WHAT YOU’RE DOING THEN IT’S FINE AS LONG AS YOU REMAIN SINCERE, BUT ALL YOU DO IS TOE THE LINE, PLAY WHAT THEY WANT TO HEAR. PERHAPS STEP BACK AND TAKE A BREATH, REALISE THE NICHE HAS NOTHING LEFT, REALISE IT’S ALL BEEN DONE TO DEATH A THOUSAND TIMES BEFORE. IT MIGHT BE FUN BUT COULD BE MORE IF YOU’D JUST GIVE IT A REST WITH YOUR NOSTALGIA, GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR NOSTALGIA; YOU MUST KNOW THAT YOUR NOSTALGIA DOESN’T DO ANY GOOD. CAN’T THE OLD GUARD TAKE A BACKSEAT, LET THE NEW BLOOD TRICKLE THROUGH? WON’T BE NO “REVOLUTION” WITHOUT “EVOLUTION”, SO WHAT ARE WE TO DO? MAYBE I’M BITTER, TWISTED, JADED ‘CUS MY TIME WAS NEVER CALLED, OR THAT I CAN’T GROW A MOHAWK ‘CUS I’M GOING FUCKING BALD! SO WON’T YOU GIVE IT A REST WITH YOUR NOSTALGIA, GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR NOSTALGIA; YOU MUST KNOW THAT YOUR NOSTALGIA DOESN’T DO ANY GOOD. WE WON’T BE THE LAST TO STICK THREE “OI!”’S TOGETHER, PRAISE THE UK’S SHITTY WEATHER. RELIVE 2007? OH IF ONLY WE COULD! PERHAPS IT’S TIME TO STEP BACK AND TAKE A BREATH, ACCEPT THE NICHE HAS NOTHING LEFT. IT’S ALL BEEN DONE TO FUCKING DEATH – THERE’S NOTHING NEW; THERE’S NOTHING GOOD IN NOSTALGIA! AND I DON’T WANT TO BE A BORE, BUT TO ’77 AND ’94 WILL YOU JUST GIVE IT A REST WITH YOUR NOSTALGIA, GOT NO TIME FOR YOUR NOSTALGIA; YOU MUST KNOW THAT YOUR NOSTALGIA DOESN’T DO ANY GOOD.
|
||||
Horn & Hoof Records Manchester, UK
Horn & Hoof Records are a Independent distributor of punk rock / ska and general good vibes. Based in South Manchester, England
Horn & Hoof Records recommends:
A cool 4 track ep from Manchesters Glue Ear. Street punk meets Ska. Give it a spin
go to album
Grunge meets punk in this Album from Manchester band Tio Rico.
go to albumIf you like How Did I Get Here, you may also like:
supported by 6 fans who also own “How Did I Get Here”
go to album
Jagged post-punk from Sydney captures the sound of the ’70s in its acute angled guitars and detacted vocals.
go to album
Gutsy rock & roll from this Brooklyn group bursting with hot-rodding riffs and snarling vocals, hearkening back to classic dark punk.
go to album
