So the fast few years have seen Britain go on such a blast beat bender its a miracle our heads don't go pop under all that sonic excess, leaving behind a headless punk-patched anthropomorphic fountain pumping blood and cheap store brand cider in equal measure (dibs on that for a cover art) . One culprit from this very scene who would certainly be up there on the blast induced decapitation level if it was a genuine phenomenon would be Beg. Beg are one part boozy blasters the afternoon gentlemen, another part alchemical sludgemasters the art of burning water and one part stranger, combining for an extrovert blend of elastic grind that does not cease to keep you on edge on a passage by passage basis. Gluttonous in both tunage and in tonnage Beg has indiscriminately wedged itself between a routine of manic chastisement and off kilter groove, driven by Smiths increasingly unorthodox drum routine and a string progression that is about as stonewall as a mammoth in plate mail there is no stopping this band once the play button has been pressed. Beg exude a uniqueness that charms to no end, warlike in its components yet executed with such delirium that it almost seems arbitrary. Despite such a wide play style and erratic tumbles between them, Beg generate sufficient centrifugal force in keeping it all together and on track. So those looking to self flagellate, or those who want to break up their playlist from its sorry and stale predictability of punk tropes and riffs then look no further than Beg!
Original ST CD on Hygiene Records