File under folk-punks not dead and play loud!

Release Date : 17th October 2025

Label : Hey!Fever Records

Format : Vinyl /Digital

CITATIONS NEEDED

Is it me, but has folk-punk got all a bit meh? I mean, there’s just so much of it around, with just so many bands, almost exclusively male and of, let’s say, a certain age and, often, a matching waist measurement. Don’t get me wrong, when it’s good, it’s very, very good, pace Ferocious Dog, and a fair few others, from all over the world, not forgetting the ongoing daddios of the genre, The Levellers. But it can all get a bit generic, with dense walls of thrashed steamroller riffing, topped by, your choice, fiddle, box or banjo, vocals tending towards the muddier depths of gruff, always shouted rather than sung. So it makes a lovely surprise to make acquaintance with this lot. And yes, the spelling gives it away, these guys are from the green fields of San Francisco. So what makes ’em different?

To be honest, I can’t find a whole lot about them. Their webpage gives very little away, as do neither their socials. Bandcamp references a debut album, back in 2011, with discogs acknowledging only a couple of EPs, 2014 and 2017 respectively, There are also a couple of age indeterminate full lengths also available, from the band directly. Photos tell me there are six members, seeming to handle fiddle and mandolin, alongside electric guitars, bass and drums. Yes, there is a smattering of the de rigeur beards, hats and tatts, and it probably wouldn’t be unfair to say they have likely paid their dues across the clubs and bars of their home town. So, again, what makes ’em different?

A THRILLING START

Well, the first thing that leaps out are the vocals, which sound fresher and cleaner than is so often the case, together with an equivalent lightness of touch about the mix, allowing a differentiation of instruments within the omnipresent buzzsaw. The latter, of course, is a pre-requisite, but is less urban intensive, less grimy, and the drums offer a lighter touch, even if the signature percussion sound remains that of wooden overcoated men, falling downstairs. First track, Grace, exemplifies this, as fiddle and mandolin bounce joyously out the farmyard door, bringing the folk, well, bluegrass, axis into the fore, ahead the stompy rhythm and shouty chorus beckon in the punk. A thrilling start, with lyrics addressing the wrong side of town that often inhabits such outlaw fare.

Documentation then keeps you hanging onto some chattering guitar, before launching into another deft mix of chunky electric and chiming acoustic instrumentation. Echoes of Tom Verlaine’s Television creep into the fringes of the soundscape, had anyone thought to hire a house fiddler for CBGBs, actually not such an outré idea, given the original Country, Bluegrass, Blues original aspirations for the divebar. Rather than Verlaine’s reedy voice, the singer adopts a pure Heartlands rock holler, as the song cranks up through the gears into chug speed. Interestingly, and again credit to Paul Miner, on production duties, if you filter out the separate components, it works equally as punky statement, blue collar anthem or country hoedown.

SPEEDO INTO THE RED

What If begins never more Buzzcocks, if with added Charlie Daniels, before taking a side lurch into Oysterband territory, circa 1990, with an unexpected middle section straight from the Capricorn Sounds of the South textbook. Uncertain if this is all accidental, or merely in the ear of this beholder, but it’s all good. Already in top gear, the next song, Linear, pushes the speedo further into the red, accelerating on a blur of mandolin. So carried away with the overall sound, I confess little attention has been given the lyrics, discovering these to cover most the expected bases, largely midlife angst: “I’ll take my time, and maybe gain some peace of mind“, that sort of concern, and nothing wrong with that, either. The emphasis is, maybe more rightly, on the fiddle and mandolin, each of which execute terrific short solo salvos.

By their standards, Hurricane is more of a low tempo churn. Once more I am catching sparks of Oysterband in the sound and the swagger. Oysterband, that is, if hewn in China Bay, CA, rather than Canterbury, Kent. The rhythm section, generally a dense cohesive sonic amalgam, then get a brief flourish at the beginning of The Sins Of Saints. Here it is very much a feel of the Clash that is evoked, or, the penny dropping for the vocal timbre, Joe Strummer, anyway. One of the singles from the album, a separate and earlier press release reveals that the singer is one Josh Linden, also the main songwriter and band spokesman. And, from the video at the bottom, the mandolin player. It is always a joy when a song has a gap, with a spoken count to get it back going, and the 2,3,4 here is no exception.

FULL ON TURBOGRASS

Mr Grisham has, it seems, guest vocals of a Jack Grisham, of LA hardcore band, The Sounds of Liberty. A gap in my proverbial, I’m afraid, wondering if it is he that offers the spoken part. Actually a folkier side is demonstrated, if with, for this one, the engine room offering an E Street vibe. This is followed by three songs that return rather too much to the full-on turbograss template for me. Individually, Remainders, Stepping Away and Click are all good, but, 30 minutes in, it is all getting a bit too much.

I can still appreciate the soloing in, particularly the first of these, mind. I guess it sums up the artifice of the review room listen, as these are songs surely far more for the stage, rather than immersive solo listening. 8.30 a.m., in my dressing gown, amplifies the disconnect. Let’s be honest, the instruction, “play some slow” is hardly ever likely to be bawled out at their concerts.

RANT OVER

Instantly regretting my rant, of course the band follow it up with not just a slow one, but an absolute belter of a slow one. So, that’s me told, as I Heard A Song prettys out of the traps, the closest thing yet to a ballad, a swaying country-folk shanty. Able almost to hear the sweaty audience singing along, accordion and is that piano make an appearance. This will be a doozy to see their crowd safely home, at the end of a show, except they will probably demand an encore, that too thoughtfully provided, and aptly, with Before You Go, the closer. The barest hint of Wild Mountain Thyme flickers within this second accordion based swagger.

Thinking of the one folk-punk, celtic-punk elephant always in the room for this style of music, these two songs square the circle. The Strummer evoked is, clearly, the one who kept the Pogues on the road, when Shane wasn’t. Fake studio applause seals the final moments, a vanity not strictly necessary, but one ultimately tempting. Put it this way, I joined in!

GET ‘EM OVER!

So, then, Hoist The Colors. What makes them different is the efficiently aggregated combination of influences and enthusiasm, all polished up fancy in the studio, as they play to their well developed strengths, making you want to catch them live. Bearded Theory, have you heard them yet?

Here is The Sins Of Saints (2.3.4…..):

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