The boundaries of British heavy metal have become so elastic that out-and-out popmongers such as the Stereophonics have crept into the formerly purist pages of rock magazine Kerrang! Raging Speedhorn (best name of the year by miles) have arrived from Corby, Northants, to restore the genre to its pariah status. Their ammunition is nihilism, humongous riffery and an attitude problem, adding up to a sludgy racket with few redeeming qualities. Fantastic fun, in other words.
If you could decipher the lyrics screeched by dual lead vocalists John Loughlin and Frank Regan, you'd be treated to apocalyptic angst eloquently summed up in Necrophiliac Glue Sniffer: "You throw the petrol and the matchstick/ You stupid fuck, you forgot to light it."
Their squabbling over a petrol bomb makes them a refreshing alternative to the humourless American thrash-lords who have turned 2001 into the year that rock went overground. The Speedhorn are as English as battered sausages, from Loughlin and Regan's hooligan scowls to the amphetamine-fuelled pogoing of the undernourished guitarists. They even mind their manners - when Loughlin, a bald bruiser who looks older than his 21 years, shoulders his way into the audience for some hands-on shrieking, he mouths "Sorry" as he squashes a moshing fan's foot.
Their musical inspiration, as such, is also British. From the way songs trundle ponderously along, it's obvious Black Sabbath are never off the CD player chez Speedhorn. The Clash figure in there, too, when they crank up the pace a few notches. Gangly bassist Darren Smith even looks like that band's Paul Simonon, his instrument slung near his knees. The rest of the group, to go by their skinny frames and wild eyes, seem to be descended from one of the murkier 1970s punk bands.
The set consists of what might as well be one long song, interrupted by pauses for Regan and Loughlin to get their breath back for more growling. It's impossible to make out lyrics, or even who is singing what. They use their voices as rappers do, bouncing verses back and forth, then melding as they sweep into cacophonous crescendos. There are no tunes, subtlety or pacing, but that's what George Michael is for.
Dumb and dumber, Raging Speedhorn are primitive, cathartic and could soon supplant the trouser press as Corby's most famous contribution to British culture.
• Raging Speedhorn play Rock City, Nottingham (0115-958 8484), tonight, then Manchester and Glasgow.
