The A-Lines burst rudely through your front door, tip a pile of fuzz-pedals from their handbags and without further ado rip into ‘Four’, hammering out an infectious beat that makes the tablecloth billow. Before you know it, you’re fired up, twirling round the gaff drumming along with a hairbrush and a carving knife and you won’t stop ‘til The A-Lines screech to a halt having delivered twelve perfectly formed fuzzpop gems.

So the classily dressed first ladies of furiously fizzing garage flash their fangs, but never their knickers (there’s getting down ‘n’ dirty and there’s just plain vulgar, you know). ‘Nothing Personal’ hums along on a delicious two note buzz and comes complete with el demento yodel-along backing vocals. A cover of Love’s ‘Can’t Explain’ has gorgeous whirligig guitar that makes your insides swoop like you’re on a rollercoaster when it hits the minor chord. ‘Wrong Way Home’ sticks in a Ramones homage with its “Mummy says, Daddy says” line and then there’s a nice chunk of Spectorishness with some big dumb boomy drums. “Kissing the back of toilet doors / Missing the inside of my coat” it goes. Hell we’ve all been there.

‘Nice’ defies you not to shimmy round the room flicking your hips like a demented cocktail waitress and acknowledges the existence (it being a cover of Kleenex and all) of those abrasive and innovative lady rocksters who so often get ignored when it comes to lists of ‘essential’ punk influences. Can we also mention The Slits and Lilliput here please?

Chords crunch, bass rumbles like a washing machine full of rocks, drums rattle spit and hiss. Kyra’s voice brings a further demented animation to the songs; she’s sneering, yelping, spitting and curling out lines in her distinctive Belgian accent. ‘Agitated’ starts off with a worrying growl that builds into a shriek from the very pit of spiky frustration. Yep, you sure know that feeling.

‘One Day’ and ‘Day One’ make for a very pleasing symmetry on the record sleeve and a fantabulous ruckus in your ears; the former with its classic see-sawing low-slung riff inspired by all your fave Nuggets moments, the latter spinning in on two chord punkery. Finally, the cover of ‘Last One There’ by the magnifique, yet dastardly Fire Dept, is like an old friend popping round to show off their new hairdo before ripping down your curtains and running up a fabulous frock. And then, without further ado,
The A-Lines finish kicking the stuffing out of all your cushions and leave you gaping as they slam the door off its hinges on the way out. You shake your head with a rueful smile as you clear up the mess. You’re looking forward to the next time The A-Lines come a calling already.

R.R.R.G: Marshmallow killing attitude

www.thealines.com