Fair Ohs formed four years ago in a haze of beer-soaked free love party-vibes. Eddy, Joe and Matt came together like young romantics, vowing to show everyone the meaning of true love. The years that followed the consummation of their musical marriage on that hot summer’s day saw them release a series of 7″ singles and cassettes – some shared with the likes of Women, Male Bonding, and Cold Pumas – that made people like Pitchfork say “hey, these guys are A-OK!”. But no one was prepared for the earth shattering power of debut album Everything Is Dancing. A record so inventive and hip-shakingly awesome that fans and critics alike regularly begged them for locks of hair, sweat-drenched t-shirts and babies. But Fair Ohs gave them nothing, the music was the gift they shared, not their love. Everything Is Dancing was the sound of East African guitar music colliding with Indian ragas and Cuban rhythms in the hands of three shirtless London punk virtuosos. And it was rad.
They toured after that, playing to the braying masses. All furious and drunk and hypnotic, they bewitched Europe and Great Britain, casting their magical musical spell in the tiniest of dives and the most sun soaked of festivals. But then they rested, and waited, and created.
Now the fearsome threesome have returned with an enigmatic new opus by the name of Jungle Cats. A heat-soaked traipse through the psychedelic desert of your twenties, filled with voodoo funk grooves, solos like a thousand snakes in heat, basslines that could hypnotise wild beasts and enough hooks to open an abattoir. Inspired by trips to North Africa, the lost musics of forgotten tribes and James Brown’s unequalled dedication to the Holy Groove, Jungle Cats is a record to seduce to. A record to be naked to. A record to dance all night with your crush to. Jungle Cats is the endless fiesta that Lionel Richie promised, but never delivered. It is rad.