Review for Heatwave Magazine
Label: Dirty Water Records - Released: December 2015
Raw Fun, for me, embodies sixties rock ’n’ roll on speed. This depiction was my initial thought when I first heard them and I’m sticking to it. Now let me tell you, this sound makes me happy, very happy. Raw Fun is raw fun indeed.
Raw Fun consists of singer, songwriter and guitarist Patrice Picard from The Cannibals, guitar player Manuel Santos from the infamously named band Michael Jackson and drummer Joaquin Gonzalez from the reborn Johnny Throttle. With impressive baggage, it’s no surprise that when these three met they were bound to have success. So much so that after publishing a demo on Facebook, Jim Diamond reached out to them and ultimately mixed their EP in his Ghetto Recorders Studio back in Detroit. The same Jim Diamond who played bass for the amazing Dirtbombs from 1997 until 2004, and has produced glorious bands such as the Sonics and White Stripes.
The EP “Won’t Be Told” is so danceable, vigorous and happy that it is hard for me to stay put on my chair whilst writing this review. Pure sixties cheer. What strikes me most is the easiness of Patrice’s vocals in his dynamic fervour. It’s like they’re playing to a group of good friends in a private party– no pretence, no putting on a show, just the love of music and dedicated joy in making it. How invigorating!
“Till The End of The Song” is a tad more down-to-earth in its arrangements, a good full-bodied rock ’n’ roll song. Trashy enough with an upbeat rhythm, it emphasises the drums and guitar of Joaquin and Manuel with the vocals accompanying them with a quirky wink, fun and flirtatiousness.
“Shades” is atmospherically languid; a sound as if taken straight from the wonderful hazy sixties surf. It twirls around your senses in a persistently flirty and enchanting dance. I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw some hypnotized snake coming out of a basket at a live show.
Raw Fun has an uncompromising readiness with an easy and rough sensuality to it. And in the background, we see the mini skirts swinging lasciviously.
Cheers, me hearties, and don’t forget to hug the music.
By Penelope York