In Thirty Minutes We Destroy The Earth

Something is stirring down Cork way. It’s not a question of quality music – that’s been there before – but a burgeoning sense of identity and a fiery attitude that’s willing to take on all comers, be it those who still think that Dublin is the be all and end all of the Irish music scene or those who purport to speak authoritatively on local culture without taking note of the very musicians who make up the lifeblood of the city.
Yet few sound quite so fired up and pissed off as Rulers Of The Planet. In Thirty Minutes We Destroy The Earth is a pent up ball of energy and frustration that explodes into life within the first few bars of ‘Backbencher’, and never manages to regain its composure nor shows any desire to. It could have been a disaster, the sound of a band trying to harness their live show into the studio environment but thankfully it is utterly fantastic. The trick is that they’ve learnt both the wisdom and folly of restraint.
The production aims to be more than just a two dimensional garage rock howl and succeeds fully, the songs are completely familiar with the concepts of verses, choruses and melody, and the whole album hangs together nicely as an overall package. Yet crucially, with these things in place, Rulers Of The Planet allow themselves the freedom to rock the fuck out. Vocalist Barry often occupies an upper range not heard in these circles since Johnny Rotten and Jello Biafra, while his colleagues whip up a storm that references both punk and metal (‘Phone No.’ could be Motörhead at their peak).
It’s fast, it’s furious and you’d be hard pushed to describe it as anything less than a triumph. Where’s me culture? Where do you think?