They took the name The Bluefields because, let's face it, they could hardly call themselves The Shrinking Violets.

Joe Blanton, Warner E Hodges and Dan Baird – the core Bluefields – are larger than life characters, and in his supersize, medicine show spiv's topper, Baird cut even more of a big figure. With some hundred years' accumulated experience in the business of undiluted rock 'n' roll, they know how to create maximum damage with scorching guitars in a tight formation and a concisely turned lyric.

It's the fact that they do it with such air-slashing commitment, unbridled relish and yet pin-point precision that makes them so admirable, however, and with recent addition Brad Pemberton kicking them along with expert clattering and a deep, piston stroke-like groove behind the drum kit, their short, sharp, shiver-inducing songs have all the more impact.

There's no pretence at creating a new strain of rock music here. It's good old fashioned revving up of familiar concerns: waiting for love – or, more likely, sex; getting over the pain when it all goes wrong; and being bad boys in dark corners.

The reference points are many: Led Zeppelin lies behind What You Won't Do, allowing Hodges to play his Jimmy Page-like twin-necked guitar; Lay it on the Line has a determined beat that Neil Young would covet; and She's So Sick calls to mind the James Gang. Somehow, though, it all comes out sounding as if produced from the one source. Folks, we have been Bluefielded.

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