Snarls with a grit and vigorous teen energy

The Metros are more British than tweed, queuing politely, pints of bitter and Redtop rags.

Mere minutes into their debut, you realise they’ve covered more bases than most bands who spend a career writing odes to getting smacked in the mouth by a bouncer in the Chaff n Parrot. They’re a band you imagine spent their youth watching Grange Hill whilst the Blockheads boomed through a grainy ghetto blaster in ’89.

And if that sounds tiresome to you, get back to scouring itunes for incomprehensible Norwegian grime. Like a greyhound fresh out the racecourse traps, it’s a brash debut that snarls with a grit and vigorous teen energy. Dissecting their three-minute rights-of-passage riots is asinine, best just to pogo along whilst waiting for a bus that’s an hour late.

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