Updated: May 8
Review by Anthony Johns
From a basement three floors under the ground, the scent of Benson and Hedges permeates the air. A mixture of alcohol and disenfranchised anger flavours the unmistakable Gibson guitar sound of Rat’s Arse, four disillusioned punks from somewhere in Grantham.
The frantic guitar base sounds like solid steel plectrums were used to carve out this revolt against a gross, long-term rejection from a dead, automated society. ‘Who the fuck do you think we are?’ these men seem to tirelessly rant. We never signed up to your piss-boring facebook bullshit. We couldn’t give a rat’s arse, you cunt!
Rat’s Arse write about kicking Heroin, the corrupt UK government and a society based around the exploitation of the naive. Cleverly arranging these lyrics around heavily-executed instrumental tracks, this band kicks arse. Rat’s Arse.