The Mummies
The Mummies..Boy!

Those loveable gore-hounds at Estrus have gone bought the farm & dog gone to garage punk heaven with their latest quality release - “Death By Unga Bunga” - by The Mummies.

The Mummies crypt up on the Punk Rock N Roll scene around the turn of the 90s. They released a whole bunch of 7” 45s (worth digging up - if you can find them) on a multitude of different labels. They even once unearthed their legendary live show in the UK (at the sadly now defunct Powerhaus, Islington) for one unique performance only. Those who were there on the night describe it as an out of corpse experience and claim that the group had sweated their bandages off by the end of the night. Tombmendous.

But wait – there’s a catch:

The Mummies were basically Claude Bols & an ever-shifting bunch of session dudes wrapped up in bandages (including the odd Chinaman). Some may tell you they were the best damn live group they ever saw (true-ish) – some will profess to have met them on numerous occasions & knew them well (not so true-ish) – others may even claim to have hung with them, shared their rider & shagged their women – but they’d be bigger bullshitters than George W(anker) Bush. Why? Because The Mummies never actually existed as a group (not as we know it, Jim).

The Mummies were a scam then – are a scam now - & for all we know, probably always will be - but that don’t make them worthless – does it? Course it fucking doesn’t. If you like your Punk Rock N Roll with that Surfin’ Sonics Childish flava (fact fans: they once even appeared on Billy Childish’s Hangman Records) then The Mummies are just the kind of Oedipal complex you’ve been looking to be re-acquainted with.

Motherfucking their way through 22 hot-shit cuts of rug wax like a sex starved Alsatian on Viagra - The Mummies won’t wash your smalls or iron your tees – but they will piss all over your preconceptions of what’s hip to hop & what’s not (& knock 90% of today’s jumped up pretenders into a cocked hearse). More dangerous riffs than you can shake at a blind man on a moped – more fighter plane cover for the Northern Sea Board of the USofA than on Sept 11th – more indictments than the Bush family – as I said: The Mummies will always go over the top – like cannon fodder on the Somme. As safe as a US Military Patrolman on an Iraqi street corner in the noonday sun.

‘Fuck Vinyl. Ha. Ha. Ha.’, says the back of the CD cover. That’s OK, vinyl fans. It said ‘Fuck CDs’ on the back of the LP. Contrary buggers of the world unite – you have nothing to loose but your internal organs (Canopic jar - not included).

Suburban Kid – tMx11 – 10/03
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