Trying to explain to someone, to anyone, who the Spermbirds are, what they do and why my heart beats faster and my neurons fire more efficiently whenever I hear them, is, as I’ve discovered during the last three decades, nigh on impossible. They have always been there. For as long as I’ve been a part of the scene, the Spermbirds have been a constant, loyal, exemplary and trustworthy companion. Their debut album Something to Prove was one of the first punk rock records I bought and it, and the rest of the Spermbirds back catalogue, has helped me to weather,and guided me through, more hard times, difficult life stuff and soul crushing periods of self-doubt, loathing and directionless anger than I care to remember.

The Spermbirds are as constant as the North Star and they are, always have been and always will be my punk rock anchor. Whenever they release a new record, it’s like a glorious combination of every single non-disappointing Christmas, the happiest of happy birthdays and the tastiest of craft beer Saturdays all rolled into one big smiling, better get dancing, time to learn the words and sing-a-long with the new songs party where I’m the only invited guest. In other words, they’re the days that cancel all the other bad ones out.

Like I’ve already said, trying to explain what the Spermbirds do is like trying to teach particle physics to a goldfish.  Oh sure, there are familiar elements in their sound, a touch of Dead Kennedys here, a sprinkle of Agent Orange there, a smidgeon of X when you least expect it, a pinch of pre-hairy caveman Black Flag and a little bit of classic Adolescents there, but there isn’t enough of any of those bands or the multitude of others that have played some part in, or influenced their evolution to define them. The Spermbirds are utterly unique, they’ve always done things their own way and Go to Hell Then Turn Left is no exception and carries on their proud tradition with magnificent punk rock aplomb. It is, in very single way a Spermbirds record, delivering thirteen blasts of wonderfully catchy, anthemic punk rock that no other band could. From the balls out, venom fuelled vitriol of A Lot of Talk to the locked in, angular grooves of Agent Nine, Go to Hell Then Turn Left flips every switch on the Spermbirds-o-meter and proves that, when it comes to punk rock, age is competely redundant and irrelevant. Today is a Spermbirds day. Today is a good day. A very, very good day… Tim Cundle