Crapsons: Birkenhead’s Finest Noise Merchants
Credit: Facebook
If you're after gnarly, snotty punk that doesn’t give a toss about polish or pretence, this Birkenhead three-piece might just be the best in the game, although they're still criminally underrated. They first landed on my radar thanks to post-punk legends and fellow Birkenhead sartorialists Half Man Half Biscuit. If Nigel Blackwell knows about them, then so should you.
Crapsons are loud, messy, gloriously obnoxious—and they absolutely revel in it. They take the piss in all the right ways, blending absurdist humour with sharp social jabs, all crammed into fuzzed-out, lo-fi, blink-and-you’ll-miss-it chaos that feels like it could fall apart at any second... but never quite does (well, not entirely anyway).
What makes them so bloody good is how fun it all is. The songs are fast and ridiculous. Their debut album Songs to Make a Brew To is 16 tracks and just over 10 minutes long, pure wit and humour delivered at breakneck speed. The lyrics swing between bleak observation and complete nonsense, but never miss a beat. It’s DIY punk in its rawest, daftest form. Three blokes making a racket that’s way smarter than it looks to people who don’t get it.
The sound is rough as hell. The drums clatter like bins down a stairwell, the guitars are filthy and blown-out, and the vocals have that bratty, nasal charm that only the best snot-punk bands can pull off without sounding like they’re trying too hard. It’s gloriously in-your-face noise, like involuntarily puking up a kebab after too many pints, and lauging about it.
There’s proper bite to it, too. You’ve got working class struggle and social commentary in ‘Mustn’t Grumble’, a satirical jab at a self-centred prick in ‘Petrol’, digs at the music industry on ‘Bandcamp Friday’, and a well-aimed punch at Ian Brown in ‘Ian Brown is the Resurrection’. ‘Fuck Off Again’ captures the endless frustration of social media burnout, while ‘Single Greatest Game You’ve Ever Seen’ is a heartfelt nod to the simple joy of a kickabout with your mates. Then there’s the absurd but clever brilliance of ‘Elephant in the Room’, which turns a tired phrase into surreal chaos, and of course, the token COVID tune; ‘That Bit Between Christmas and New Year’, which somehow makes the weirdest week of the year even weirder.
They’re the kind of band who belong in a sweaty back room with a sticky floor, a tiny stage, and a room full of beer-bellied blokes half-shouting about crap jobs, shit bosses, and council estates. Pints flying. Everyone snarling every word back at them. Beneath the piss-taking and punchlines, there's real heart and authenticity. They’re not chasing fame; they’re here for the noise, the catharsis, and the pure joy of yelling into the void.
Crapsons aren’t trying to change the world, but they are absolutely shouting about it; one short, sharp banger at a time. It's silly. It's sharp. It's unfiltered brilliance. And for my money, they might just be the best at doing exactly this. Definitely my best musical discovery of the past year. I cannot get enough of their rough-around-the-edges sound.
Wanna mosh with a grin on your face and a Greggs sausage roll in hand? Crapsons are right up your alley. Get them on your radar now…. you can come back and thank me later.
