- What kind of community radio station would we be if a new record from perennial punks Frenzal Rhomb came and went without giving it our due diligence? It would be a wee bit weird letting this one go through to the keeper to say the least. Six years and a wild time later, Frenzal have bestowed The Cup of Pestilence onto the wider world. Given how long this thing took to bloody be delivered, you can understand why its overflowing with an intimidating nineteen track build. Now don’t despair like I did initially when being confronted by such a listing. Instead remind yourself, much like I had to, that this is punk, meaning that the bursts come and go without any pompous grandstanding. They're such blasts and they come and go in such a concise time that once they’re out of your grasp, you want another round to catch them.

We hear a killer riff to open proceedings but not like you'd expect. Rather than everything thundering away with reckless abandon, the guitar line is sung in acapella. Introducing songs in this way is something the group do multiple times on The Cup of Pestilence and what purpose it serves, if any, is beyond me. What it does bring is a fun peak behind the recording curtain to hear the blistering beginning of Where The Drug Dealers Take Their Kids being vocalised, Dead Man’s Underpants having it’s chorus teased before it's even reached us and the basis for How To Make Gravox being scratchily brought about on a distant acoustic guitar.

Two of those songs I’ve mentioned are very cents concise, and when you add Instant Coffee to the mix, I’m starting to think that Frenzal could well be financial advisors for punks and shit; that wouldn’t be too bad an idea. Back we go to How To Make Gravox -and for anyone with two ears and a working brain- you can clearly make out this is a loving piss-take and endearing reimagining of How To Make Gravy. To complete the simulacra however, I’m now expecting an even more condensed version called How To Make Chef’s Cupboard Brown Instant Gravy in the form of a powerviolence assault. This reworking of an Australian staple does allude to something that pops up on their tenth record: that being a twinge of sentimentality hidden among the cheeky dick and fart joke humour. The Wreckage is a quick whip around those friends who you’ve bestowed the highest of Australian honours upon by calling them a c**t and I Thought It Was Yoga But It Was Ketamine slows things down a bit and breaches some real melodic, nigh on anthemic territory. The lametable situation of trying to improve things while still having naggingly bad habits is about as introspective as it gets.

Old dogs don’t need new tricks and it’s a pretty old dog thing to point out how much beer has been hiked up on Gone To The Dogs but at this stage in the game; Frenzal Rhomb is as Frenzal Rhomb does. It’s why I avoided the trivialities of describing the music: if you know, you know. If not, it’s going to be quicker to listen to one of these sub three minute blitzkriegs of catchy punk than it will be for me to articulate it. You know the world is settling down again when Frenzal put out a new record and man, if they keep pouring that cup, I’ll keep drinking.

- Matt Lynch.