The short catalog of Australian punks Cold Meat reads like a series of dirty little jokes. There’s the band name, which brings to mind damp bologna slices; their equally unappetizing 2018 EP Pork Sword Fever; and their 2016 7" Jimmy’s Lipstick—Jimmy being drummer Charlotte Thorne’s dog, and his lipstick being… well, you can probably figure that out. But the Perth four-piece are advocates of rage as much as lewd humor. The band’s debut LP Hot and Flustered is 23 caustic minutes of punk rock so corrosive it threatens to melt your AirPods.
Across 10 clipped tracks, lead screamer Ashley Ramsey takes aim at star signs, ZZ Top, and music industry execs—perhaps the kind that self-isolate on their superyachts. Backed by a simple triad of guitar, bass, and drums, Ramsey spares none of them. On “Women’s Work,” she weaponizes the fed-up housewife: “Morning tea and lunch is packed/Her husband is a lazy prat,” she shouts, spitting in his food for good measure. “She’s got better things to do than cook and clean up after you!” It’s as if Betty Draper had bulldozed her house and recorded a punk song standing atop the rubble.
Ramsey has many bones to pick throughout Hot and Flustered, but on opening track “Piscies Crisies” her beef is with the astrology revival. She recalls being “lost in a fog” and weeping at the supermarket, wishing she had answers. When she cries “blame it on Mercury!/blame it on Jupiter!” she’s being sarcastic, mocking those who do put faith in the stars—yet she seems envious, too, of the calm that faith might offer. You just can picture her kicking over an entire rack of Cosmo in frustration.
Cold Meat’s sense of humor is what saves them from the trappings of self-serious street punk, but it’s Ramsey’s outrage that keeps their blood pumping. Her voice—sometimes shrill and squeaky, otherwise coarse and phlegm-flecked—sets Cold Meat apart from the swarm of punk revivalists. It’s not that she’s pioneered a new style of singing (we might credit Ari Up and Crass’ Eve Libertine), but her fierce conviction makes it fresh. Cold Meat’s musical arrangement, however, doesn’t do much to rejuvenate the genre. Guitarist Kyle Gleadell and bassist Tim Guthrie deliver the requisite distortion and feedback in a capacity that doesn’t outshine Ramsey, but doesn’t exactly push the envelope, either. Cold Meat appear more interested in recording immediate, energetic punk rock than becoming experimentalists, and they’ve certainly nailed the former.
Oddly enough, Hot and Flustered’s standout track is its most melodic and least expected. “Beach Photography” drags climate deniers and their bogus evidence: “If you have some time to browse my beach photography you’ll see the water levels aren’t on the rise,” Ramsey shouts, as if unveiling Exhibit A, her Instagram account. We’ve all met these people, whether online or at Thanksgiving, and Ramsey’s ability to personify an opposing political standpoint helps her steer clear of cheesy punk protest territory. It’s a surprising display of restraint from the band who recorded “Meat Joy”—but Cold Meat have much more than shock value on their mind.
