Separating the sweet, juicy flesh from the stone and skin of this week’s major label releases.

Yes, yes, we know you’ve missed us. We are well aware of the weeping, the wailing, and the mass suicides. But quit it already, because we’re back after a brief and unexplainable (without breaking certain injunctions which were secured “in the interests of national security”) holiday.

It’s your Mango!

We shall return to the customary routine: some music is reviewed, and then represented as a thought that the think-creators who buy it may think. If that makes you feel like your brain is a half-set jelly sinking into wet sand, you’ve got it.

Firstly: Cosmic Egg (Deluxe Edition), Wolfmother. Between 1970 and 1971, Black Sabbath released the albums Black Sabbath and Paranoid. During the next two years came Master Of Reality and Paranoid. The world was shocked, awed, and somewhat resigned to the fact that a whole genre of music had been created and reached its apotheosis in just four years.

Then, at the beginning of the next millenium, three Australians decided they could add to the holy quatrus, and released a self-titled debut album that was inspired by, and – let’s be honest – copied gratuitously from, the holy texts of Sabbath.

Well now they’re back, with a new album which plays like a primer in the development of music from 1971 to 1995. The first few tracks are unreconstructed Sabbath. We’re then led through the early 80s via Hair Rock, the late 80s world of U2, finally ending up in the 90s courtesy of a mystifying Soundgarden/Stone Roses/Crowded House mashup which – do not take this as hyperbole – made us use sharpened sticks to push dogshit into our ears in the hope that we would become bereft of the sense of hearing. Scientists predict that Wolfmother will discover The White Stripes sometime in 2015.

Do you want a thought about this? Okay then, here it is, you perverts:

Oh, the new Wolfmother album. Wonder if they’re still using the mighty Sabbath as a template for their music. Hmm, first few tracks don’t sound too bad, hope it…aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrr……..ohhhgodthat hurts………..nnnngggggggghhhhhhhh…………..ahthatsterrible……..uuuaaagggggggggghhhh…..

Secondly: Coming Home, Soldiers. Yes, it’s awful. Of course it’s terrible. And sure, you’ll be reaching for the razor blade before the first two bars of the opening song. But that’s not the point; you’ll  be a better person for buying this. You’ll have done your bit. So go ahead: push aside your prejudice against versions of classic songs which have apparently been produced by three-year old girls made of sugar and fudge, and buy it. For the boys.

This album is represented by the thought:

Well, that’s not a bad version of He Ain’t Heavy. What’s next? Oh cocksocks, it’s Tears In Heaven. Okay, I’m taking this one for the lads in Basra…bring it on, I can take ……aargghh, man down…

Thirdly: One Step Beyond (30th Anniversary Deluxe Edition), Madness. Answering the question of “what’s been released this week which anyone who likes music should buy?” it’s Cockney skastars Madness’s debut album in all its deluxe glory (including a second disc which collates B-sides). If you don’t want this, it’s only because you haven’t heard it.

This album is represented by the thought:

Jesus cracking Christ. Wolfmother, then Soldiers, now what? A recording of Janet Street-Porter passing a kidney stone? An album called “Nick Griffin Sings The Songs Of Yoko Ono While Being Buggered By A Jewish Indian”? OMG it’s Madness! MADNESS!

Farewell, Mangons, until the next time.

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Ever since we found this bunch of rock ‘n’ rollers hiding in the shadowy corners of Myspace on one of our trawls, we have been firm fans.

Nowadays it appears that you can get a one way ticket to brief musical stardom by brandishing an Argos syringe and screaming “look at me I’ve just pricked the skin and all this yellow gunk is squirting out!”

Whatever happened to the good old days of bands getting up to all sort of fiendish antics which resulted in everyone getting a laugh and some poor bastard suffering for a little bit? Can you count on The Kooks, Scouting For Girls or some other indie twonks to do this?

Don’t be daft – you need a real band. After an overdue absence Medusa have returned with another tale which sounds so random that it belongs in one of those Family Guy cutaway scenes.

After recommending the band to you, the welcoming and sometimes friendly hecklerspray readership, we thought we wouldn’t hear from them again, at least not until new releases and tours came about did we expect to push some information your way.

But it turned out that other people had caught on to the buzz surrounding Medusa. Big haired funny man and dodgy author Russell Brand invited the band round to his gaff to play a set and help them get signed. The Sun reported the band simply nicked a naff looking gnome, but thankfully Julian from Medusa told us the truth:

“Russell Brand was gonna set about helping us to get signed a couple of months back, and organised us to play privately at his house. The band got a bit wasted afterwards and bass player Amadeus De La Fontaine had a piss on what turned out to be a ridiculous porcelain statue of a trout wearing pyjamas. Russell went psycho (and he started lecturing us about how much things cost). He told us the deal was off. I stole a garden gnome on the way out.”

Hoorah! Some national press for the band and a chance to laugh at Russell Brand a bit more. But the stories didn’t end there, and in another odd encounter between the two, another bodily fluid was used to annoy people and – even stranger – a goat was involved.

Russell had forgiven Medusa for the gnome nicking incident and invited them on to a pilot of a yet to be seen program. For a reason we are still unaware of, the band smuggled the hairy beast into the studio where the presenter’s clothes were eaten and his shoes shat in. Amadeus De La Fontaine told us what happened at the time:

“We snook the little bastard in inside a bass cab that we use to transport contraband. Shoes’ the goat was in the dressing room on his own for a good 20 minutes and chewed up a couple of Russell’s frilly shirts, shat in his pointy shoes and helped himself to some of his hair products. It was fucking shitting all over the place. Russell was prancing around in a tizz complaining that one of his cravats was missing too. It was marvellous!”

If this isn’t worth the keys to a brewery or a Page 3 factory then we don’t know what kind of award is worthy of them.

After a quite few months of gigging, getting drunk and working on new material, we have been told of a new shenanigan that these rascals have been up to. Moving away from stealing, destroying items and the improper disposal of bodily fluids, the band have this time been involved with comedian and singer Ken Dodd. Yup, we’re confused too. We’ll let Julian explain what happened:

“Medusa got asked to play a gig in the back garden a friend’s birthday. Her mother is a close family friend of Ken Dodd’s and it was held at her house in Liverpool. Our bass player Chrissy had made some space cakes for the night’s festivities. Early on, after we had set up the gear, sitting in a Gazebo, he took them from his bag and put them onto a plate, about to eat them but went off to answer a mobile phone call, when he came back Ken was saying how good they were as he had almost finished one, believing they were part of the buffet. We didn’t tell him, and after about an hour, he began acting a little strange.

“Later on he was in a gazebo entertaining people and put a colander on his head, making people laugh [especially us], then he went off and cooked a ridiculous amount of food in the kitchen, especially concentrating on the gravy wearing an apron and singing Queen’s ‘I want to break free’. He then poured gravy on the birthday cake. We noticed Ken doing a bit of old man dancing during the gig too. Me and our drummer Paul Brynes got kicked out shortly after for feeding the goldfish to the family dog.”

Forget all your mindless destruction to hotel property and shagging fifty groupies in a single session. This is what we want to see happening more often – old people getting involved in amusing incidents against their will. It’s just another day in the life of Medusa really.

The band play Lark in the Park in London on August 31st. Go tell them hecklerspray sent you. Space cakes may be offered. Or a hug at best.