“Mother Dirt is a result of too many line-up changes, alcohol and substance abuse and a general lack of faith in everybody and everything. Fast as fuck, loud as fuck, unholy sons of bitches, fuck you.” – Dan Best, Mother Dirt
Born in a tiny town in the dark hills of Worcestershire, Mother Dirt, in their own words sound like “some kind of bastardised necro doom punk.”
I don’t know what it is about our little arse-end of nowhere, but the past few years has seen Malvern churn out more than its fair share of damn good bands. From your AZWAIs, your Deacon Birches and your Push Me Unders at the heavier end of the spectrum, to more expansive artists like Orbit: Dear Beacon. I can pretty much guarantee you won’t have heard of most of them, but that’s besides the point. These bands don’t do it for the glory; they do it because there’s fuck all else to do when you live in a field.
Mother Dirt are not for everyone. In fact, they’re utterly horrible. But in a good way. They are as dirty as both their name might suggest, and as the cow shed they use as a practice space. I don’t really have a basis for comparison I can offer you bar that their vocalist sounds like Jacob Bannon with a throat full of barbed wire. Their EP has absolutely no title bar the moniker above, but it’s angry, full of contempt and should probably come with a health warning. I doubt they care what you think of the recording quality (which is raw, to put it lightly), but it really doesn’t matter with this kind of brutality – in fact, it’s kind of the point.
Live, they’re on a different level. I believe at their last gig a banister got destroyed. I’ve seen blood and beer flying, and everyone in the room fucking loves it.
- Belly Crawler
- 5 Bar Prison Blues
You’re not likely to ever get your hands on a copy, so hit the link below if you think you’re ‘ard enough. As an extra treat, you can also download their live set from The Purple Turtle in London last year over at their Last.fm page. Better quality, equally as nasty.