“In ’49 your mum sat on the loo, she took a dump and the turd was you. She looked in the bowl and said “oh bugger, someone in the gangbang didn’t wear a rubber.” Not only is this arguably the greatest first verse of 2025, even better it calls out a racist Australian piece of scum named Fraser Anning (look the prick up – I did after listening to the song). That’s why bands like The Owen Guns matter. Yes they’re funny, yes they’re filthy (Christ, opener “Worst Wishes” contains the thought that “when you’re having a real good wank I hope you break your cock”) but they offer social commentary. They always have.
And by Christ, when the world’s richest man is addressing the crowds as literal fascists marched in London at the weekend, we need it.
One of the best punk bands around, “Cleanshirt” amounts to 44 seconds of bullying a kid with a clean shirt. But on the other hand, “Instagram (Some Cunt On)” is a vicious takedown of our overreliance on social media. “Bullshitter” is fast, furious and nasty, “Robodebt” takes payday loans to task.
You’ll either love or hate The Owen Guns (and I suspect they don’t care either way), but that’s encapsulated in two minutes and fourteen seconds of brutal hardcore called “Me And My Big Mouth.”
“Gene Pool Party” (and maybe we’re back to Yaxley-Lennon and his band of wankers?) is as dumb as it comes. It’s meant to be. “Rat Face” isn’t about Swindon Town manager Ian Holloway but it should be. It underlines again just how good The Owen Guns are.
Ten songs. Eighteen minutes. And it ends with “Had Enough.” Like The Dropkicks on speed, it’s a blur of melody and anger.
Christ, there’s enough to be angry about too, isn’t there? That’s why we have The Owen Guns plays on words
BIg Black plays on words aside, “Songs About Fucking Idiots” is like this: The Chats sing about people like this. The Owen Guns take them out the back and kick their heads in.
