IRON MONKEY – Spleen & goad / VINYL LP

Any self-respecting sludge fan knows that Iron Monkey created some of the best music in the genre during their initial run. With a self-titled debut (1997) and a worthy follow-up Our Problem (1998), the Nottingham marauders made some of the decade’s most infectiously violent and hateful music. With an impossibly groovy rhythm section, riffs both timeless and grating, and vocals that shouldn’t even be possible, it didn’t take long for the band to achieve cult status within the UK scene and beyond. Unfortunately, it also didn’t take long for the band to implode. The story of label issues, unsustainable tour antics, and a general self-destructive attitude has been well documented, and the tragic death of vocalist Johnny Morrow seemed to close the book of Iron Monkey forever.

Many fans responded with incredulity when Iron Monkey returned with a new lineup and a new album. To that effect, 9-13 did fairly well for itself as an album no one expected and many thought shouldn’t exist without Morrow or founding drummer Justin Greeves. Regardless, founding members, guitarist Jim Rushby and guitarist-turned-bassist Steve Watson, did admirable work with drummer Scott “Brigga” Briggs before he was replaced by Steven “Ze Big” Mellor. The downsized lineup (from five members to three) proved, at least, that they could still create music made for getting zonked and fighting people. And now, at least, Spleen And Goad feels like a step forward for this iteration of Iron Monkey.

As corroborated in the liner notes of a re-release of the first two albums, ‘90s Iron Monkey initially wanted to get away from the stoner music in favor of a punkier sound. To that effect, the opening track “Misanthropizer” doesn’t seem to far from what might’ve happened if Iron Monkey’s initial run hadn’t ended. Stripped back, raw, and primitive, it becomes easier to ignore the fact Ze Big doesn’t throw as many percussive curveballs as Greeves did. In the same way, it’s hard to deny how angry Watson sounds as he screams his brains out. It might not be Morrow status, but it embodies that reckless hate that made the band indispensable. The shuffling battery of “Concrete Shock” achieves something similar, embracing a “thud, whack, crash” approach and keeping the punches coming from front to back. It’s like punkey blues, played by pissed-off orcs on a sick bath salts bender.