The English Beach
Ah, The English Beach, where sewage meets our battlement-littered coastline and rabid fighting dogs shit on your sandcastle, where posh surfer boys frolic in churning effluence and sweaty burger vans flog choc ices to feral kids and their pished parents. A bounty of inspiration for Oliver Ho aka Broken English Club, then?
Now on his 2nd album under that moniker following Suburban Hunting [2015] for Cititrax, with a handful of interim 12”s on Death & Leisure and his Jealous God co-op, this time he spreads the muck thick and sticky over two slabs, flinging us from the Genesis P-Orridge-as-lifeguard holler of Stray Dogs to the boy racer techno throb of Breaking the Flesh, taking in end-of-the-pub-crawl nausea with The Sun Rising, before drifting into Plague Song’s industrial scrublands where you’ll meet the priapic razz of Pylon and a salty lament named Rust Ballad starring Blood Flower.
By now you’ve definitely got sand in your crack and the panda pop’s kicking in, priming for the tribal fire dance of Wreck and the gothic EBM of Carrion, before Concrete Desert feels to emulate the sound of an arcade under attack from laser-shitting seagulls and the electrified Wire Fence gives access to the whirligig giddiness of The English Beach proper, and the seaside town zombies come out to play on Last Signal.
Put a f*cking flake in it.
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Ah, The English Beach, where sewage meets our battlement-littered coastline and rabid fighting dogs shit on your sandcastle, where posh surfer boys frolic in churning effluence and sweaty burger vans flog choc ices to feral kids and their pished parents. A bounty of inspiration for Oliver Ho aka Broken English Club, then?
Now on his 2nd album under that moniker following Suburban Hunting [2015] for Cititrax, with a handful of interim 12”s on Death & Leisure and his Jealous God co-op, this time he spreads the muck thick and sticky over two slabs, flinging us from the Genesis P-Orridge-as-lifeguard holler of Stray Dogs to the boy racer techno throb of Breaking the Flesh, taking in end-of-the-pub-crawl nausea with The Sun Rising, before drifting into Plague Song’s industrial scrublands where you’ll meet the priapic razz of Pylon and a salty lament named Rust Ballad starring Blood Flower.
By now you’ve definitely got sand in your crack and the panda pop’s kicking in, priming for the tribal fire dance of Wreck and the gothic EBM of Carrion, before Concrete Desert feels to emulate the sound of an arcade under attack from laser-shitting seagulls and the electrified Wire Fence gives access to the whirligig giddiness of The English Beach proper, and the seaside town zombies come out to play on Last Signal.
Put a f*cking flake in it.
Ah, The English Beach, where sewage meets our battlement-littered coastline and rabid fighting dogs shit on your sandcastle, where posh surfer boys frolic in churning effluence and sweaty burger vans flog choc ices to feral kids and their pished parents. A bounty of inspiration for Oliver Ho aka Broken English Club, then?
Now on his 2nd album under that moniker following Suburban Hunting [2015] for Cititrax, with a handful of interim 12”s on Death & Leisure and his Jealous God co-op, this time he spreads the muck thick and sticky over two slabs, flinging us from the Genesis P-Orridge-as-lifeguard holler of Stray Dogs to the boy racer techno throb of Breaking the Flesh, taking in end-of-the-pub-crawl nausea with The Sun Rising, before drifting into Plague Song’s industrial scrublands where you’ll meet the priapic razz of Pylon and a salty lament named Rust Ballad starring Blood Flower.
By now you’ve definitely got sand in your crack and the panda pop’s kicking in, priming for the tribal fire dance of Wreck and the gothic EBM of Carrion, before Concrete Desert feels to emulate the sound of an arcade under attack from laser-shitting seagulls and the electrified Wire Fence gives access to the whirligig giddiness of The English Beach proper, and the seaside town zombies come out to play on Last Signal.
Put a f*cking flake in it.
Ah, The English Beach, where sewage meets our battlement-littered coastline and rabid fighting dogs shit on your sandcastle, where posh surfer boys frolic in churning effluence and sweaty burger vans flog choc ices to feral kids and their pished parents. A bounty of inspiration for Oliver Ho aka Broken English Club, then?
Now on his 2nd album under that moniker following Suburban Hunting [2015] for Cititrax, with a handful of interim 12”s on Death & Leisure and his Jealous God co-op, this time he spreads the muck thick and sticky over two slabs, flinging us from the Genesis P-Orridge-as-lifeguard holler of Stray Dogs to the boy racer techno throb of Breaking the Flesh, taking in end-of-the-pub-crawl nausea with The Sun Rising, before drifting into Plague Song’s industrial scrublands where you’ll meet the priapic razz of Pylon and a salty lament named Rust Ballad starring Blood Flower.
By now you’ve definitely got sand in your crack and the panda pop’s kicking in, priming for the tribal fire dance of Wreck and the gothic EBM of Carrion, before Concrete Desert feels to emulate the sound of an arcade under attack from laser-shitting seagulls and the electrified Wire Fence gives access to the whirligig giddiness of The English Beach proper, and the seaside town zombies come out to play on Last Signal.
Put a f*cking flake in it.
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Ah, The English Beach, where sewage meets our battlement-littered coastline and rabid fighting dogs shit on your sandcastle, where posh surfer boys frolic in churning effluence and sweaty burger vans flog choc ices to feral kids and their pished parents. A bounty of inspiration for Oliver Ho aka Broken English Club, then?
Now on his 2nd album under that moniker following Suburban Hunting [2015] for Cititrax, with a handful of interim 12”s on Death & Leisure and his Jealous God co-op, this time he spreads the muck thick and sticky over two slabs, flinging us from the Genesis P-Orridge-as-lifeguard holler of Stray Dogs to the boy racer techno throb of Breaking the Flesh, taking in end-of-the-pub-crawl nausea with The Sun Rising, before drifting into Plague Song’s industrial scrublands where you’ll meet the priapic razz of Pylon and a salty lament named Rust Ballad starring Blood Flower.
By now you’ve definitely got sand in your crack and the panda pop’s kicking in, priming for the tribal fire dance of Wreck and the gothic EBM of Carrion, before Concrete Desert feels to emulate the sound of an arcade under attack from laser-shitting seagulls and the electrified Wire Fence gives access to the whirligig giddiness of The English Beach proper, and the seaside town zombies come out to play on Last Signal.
Put a f*cking flake in it.