Such a perfect plan…

They always start off like that. Don’t they. But don’t they also go really wrong soon after? You watch a film and start creaming over the leading lady. You’re already in a band so you think it won’t hurt to write a song about her. You start trying to get in contact with her. Eyebrows are raised and people start to talk. These guys are stalkers. Right? But then she feels strangely enamoured towards these quaint young men and decided to pose for the cover of their record. That is *Hondo Maclean *history now.

You’re addicted to disco…

And so you sing along and you dance. When they sound like this? Unreserved shrieks flailing through carefully deformed riffs sauntering wildly, over and over, through a refrain untouched by the thrills of disco; throbbingly thunderous rhythms caress the melodiously infrequent releases of soaring vocal. I don’t think so.

This is disco as you’ll never see it elsewhere. Alternatively, this is brazenly intelligent hardcore. Alternatively this is craftily warped metal. Switch. Between the two. Taking providence from Slayer’s grinding brutality and Poison the Well’s trademark irregularity, they fit in with the ease of a fat man to the £5 buffet. It would be expected for this EP to become tiresome and dull as the predictability of a début oft dictates, yet new aspects of the music are revealed with every listen. You’d better believe it’s not average.

Finish him…

You’ve been looking for something that bit heavier, recently. But you need your tunes: the killa hooks and the poundin’ riffs; something even, to sing along to in the safety of your bedroom. A comedy nu-metal band still seems to be the record in your collection that upsets your mother the most. It troubles you. Look no further.

*Hondo Maclean *are here. Dance.