What do you say about a band that says, straight-faced, that it's two principal influences are the Beatles and the Sex Pistols?

Try: "It's about fucking time"?

Let's face it - the Pistols, for all their yobbo nihilism, were a brilliant pop band and Never Mind the Bollocks is less an album than a hit singles collection. The Fabs, as dear dead George called them, were not only the last century's most respected, creative and successful songsmiths, they were god-damned ferocious, paint-peeling noise merchants when the mood struck them; don't believe me? The rehearsal versions of Helter Skelter make the Velvet's Sister Ray sound positively tame.

So the Philharmonic are not only canny enough to recognize these little-uttered facts but adept enough to carry off the not-inconsiderable trick of marrying legit musical chops and frankly brilliant songwriting to savage musicianship and pure-punk stage delivery. Everything the pop-punk hybrid from XTC and the Pixies on down to the least of what the genre aspires to, the Philharmonic are, and more than that, somewhat frighteningly, still well short of their potential.

If these people had been around back in '77 for the first wave of punk the Eagles and their wretched brethren would have been sent packing for good and the world would today be a better place for all of us.

About fucking time? Damn straight, and better now than never.

-- Buck Cherry
Vancouver, summer '05