Cockney Rejects meet John Cougar Mellencamp. Who knew there’d be magic? The Utters are very continental in their Americanness and very San Francisco in their Britishisms. The Utters could have easily turned into cornpone oi or liver-damage anglophile sad sacks lamenting drained pints, shagged birds, and deflated weather balloons of careers. Instead, the Utters are reliable, always worth a listen, and are aging with defiant, honorable dignity. One question. How the hell can a table legs ever be illegal? I’ll take my answer off the air. Worth the wax.
–todd (Fat, fatwreck.com)