There are some things which are just too awful to comprehend. A national shortage of chocolate is surely one. A follow up album from James Blunt is another. Perhaps one of the most frustrating and awful things in life though, is when an album does not live up to expectations. I have to admit that when I first read the press release for Winterville, I was not overwhelmed by the fact that their biggest claim to fame was being poached for a Thin Lizzy tour by original guitarist, Scott Gorham. Though undoubtedly the ultimate wet dream for band members Peter Shoulder, Joss Clapp and Mario Goossens, heavy metal and ‘cock rock’ have never inspired much passion in me.

Despite this, I was impressed with the more bluesy acts that they seemed to take inspiration from and hoped that perhaps they would fill a White Stripes shaped void in the lives of so many fans with their hard rocking blue grass. Sadly these hopes were quashed by the festering turd of an album that was laid before me, an album so boring that it sapped me of the energy to move across the room and turn it off. Every rock cliché is wheeled out, from the references to angels on track ‘My angels’ to the overblown vocals on basically all of the tracks but especially on ‘Last legs’ which features the wince inducing line ‘Feel I’m burning out too fast, feels like these legs are my last” The audacity with which the group compares itself to the masters such as Hendrix is breathtaking and the critic who once said about Shoulder “I saw Clapton at 17 and this guy is better” needs his hearing tuning in.

For Winterville, everything should be in moderation as they leave the real rock and roll to the big boys.




Lucy Moore