Trying to write a review, even a description, for the The Real McKenzies is difficult. I was happy that this CD arrived in my review pile, but I’ve put off writing about it until now. Their press release calls them ‘the Sex Pistols meet Scottish folk legend Robbie Burns’. Even for those who’ve never heard them, you must surely guess that this is just crap. They bear just about no resemblance to the Pistols in any shape or form.
Hopefully, as this lot are on Fat Wreck and have been over to Europe many a time most people will already be familiar with the sound. But for those who aren’t – well there is just about no other punk band like the Real McKenzies. They are a lot more partial to keeping clear of just being power chords with bagpipes than you’d expect – they are not the Scottish answer to the Dropkick Murphys. (OK, they aren’t Scottish at all, but you know what I mean.) They mix up their influences – punk, the odd little ditty, traditional folk, it’s all here but given the certain McKenzies treatment that only Mr Paul McKenzie himself can offer. His lyrics are pretty clever – hearing him sing about being the kid at school with the bruised, brown banana in his lunchbox will endear him to everyone who’s mum was a bit shit at making packed lunches. From there, he’s happy to sing about the usual topics of war and the American government.
For a man in his 50s, Mr McKenzie himself is keeping it fresh. If quirkyness in your punk is up your street, then so, surely, are the Real McKenzies.
Mike