There is something strangely comforting to me about old school punk. Perhaps it's the notion that I'm not the craziest young firebrand to have existed, or at least the idea that all this shit has already happened helps to reassure me that contrary to appearances I'm not a total fuck up. There is a sense of overwhelming and in many ways atavistic power to what punk rock legends Chelsea do on their latest record, the always delicious and endlessly fun thirteen track masterpiece that is Saturday Night Sunday Morning.
I think part of the charm of Saturday Night Sunday Morning comes in how it really just reflects a time and a place. It seems to be a product of Britpunk of the purest vein – but beyond that it has a sense of primeval beauty. The influences here are pretty clear and straightforward, there is nothing overtly challenging about Saturday Night Sunday Morning and I'd even go so far as to say some of the tracks are predictable – but I mean that in the best way possible. Chelsea are aware that they are no longer on the cutting edge, but they're fine with that. They don't need to be Full Of Hell because they were there generations Full Of Hell. Instead this is just the sound of a couple of mates having fun and playing catchy tunes that manage to stick it to the man.
There is something distinctly English about Saturday Night Sunday Morning that shows that this is the kind of record that will keep on rolling through the night. These guys have a deeper understanding of the genre than almost any of their peers because they've been doing it longer than just about anyone. Delving in to what Chelsea do is always a pleasure because they manage to make anthemic and musically pleasing punk rock that never strays from beautiful simplicity. Brilliantly composed and always stripped down, these Brits will always have a piece of my heart.
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