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Mad Lucas.
Dual Sparrow

Well well well, an album by those conisseurs of cult, Mad Lucas. Intriguing title, might I add, and I think I might, for it conjurs up images of four useless, derivitive fucks struggling to come up with anything that has actual meaning on a deeper level and have instead, predictably enough, surplanted wisdom with wackiness in an attempt to gain credibility amongst a record-buying public that the band presumably think is too unintelligent to `get' much of their work. My my, Lucas most certainly is `mad' is he not?

Debatable naming of both band and album does not, one fears, bode well for the actual content of the work. And one listen to ".....Sparrow" confirms such fears unreservedly. Indeed, the only saving grace for the musical content comes from the fact that it is in no way as nauseatingly wank as the titles given to it "Sometimes Sinister Orange", "Charlies in a bad way". Indie posturings at least five or six years off base do not make for a foray into the world of cool understatment to which Mad Lucas appear determined to cling. If I hear one more album like this turgid nonsense I may have to plot to assassinate its perpetrators - god forbid that when Pavement and Sebadoh set out they ever dreamt they could give birth to such sa bastard love-child as Mad Lucas, who might have started off cute and harmless but have turned into that whining early adolescent that everyone wants to slap. One earshot of this and Steve Malkumus may have difficulty sleeping, in much the same way as Hendrix probably would have killed himself if he had lived to see the waves of piss- poor imitators who gave us the cultural apocolypse that was Heavy Metal. My message to Mad Lucas is simply this - "Shut the fuck up, put down your instruments, pick up your pens and return to the shitty office jobs for which God intended you. In fact, just do anything, but please, please, do not darken our doors with this type of shit ever again.

(1 out of 10)

Tuesday, March 3rd, 1998:
Reports are beginning to surface today that a prominent member of crazy, wacky, indie pop band Mad Lucas, known to some as `wankdog', Timothy Stephens has labelled homosexuality, and by implication most homosexuals, "cool as wool, man". Reporters from the Sun newspaper were particularly shocked at this outburst as their interview had in no means addressed the subject of homosexuality and it would seem that Stephens simply threw this phrase in without warning. Rumours inevitably followed that perhaps Stephens himself was a raging bender but these were soon forgotten when a surly, unwashed man of around fourty appeared with actual photographic evidence of Stephens kissing a girl. "It's not true", said Stephens, "I don't even like girls. Homos are brilliant and dead indie n all and I am one, right?" Real homosexuals are thought to be disgusted at Stephens' protestations as even they are not as gay-lookin' as he is. One, mister Bernard Slurpcumdrip, pointed out that Stephens would gain no respect among the gay community until he stopped being "a twat". Another random punter off the streets of Belfast claimed "Stephens is a tit and no mistake - but in fairness, he was never going to live up to his production work on Kesso Blossom, it's been downhill all the way from there".

Those involved in the band Junction, performers of Kesso Blossom, were quick to distance themselves from Stephens and claimed "All he did was bring the 4-track in. He's a fuckin' arsehole", as well as "Cunt".

Live review from Bristol Herald:

The crowd tonight, consisting mostly of teenage boys in tight jeans and openly homosexual drag queens, seems to be expecting something special from the band in their homecoming gig. Mad Lucas(named after a supernatural 50 ft dildo which features in a William Burroughs novel) clearly sense the anticipation and the strong smell of jiz in the air, judging by their opening number.
They rip through a searing rendition of "Jew Haters", their last single. The interplay between the band is as fascinating as their fucking awful, piss poor music. Guitarist (or whatever) Tim Stevens exchanges coy glances with the drummer throughout, and the sexual tension is palpable.
The first half of the set scorches by at lightning pace, but respite finally comes in the form of "Grace of a White Race", a mellow, lilting melody, the sentiments of which cause severe nausea in most of the crowd.
Just when things are slowing down, comes the finale, "Hey Black Race! You're a disgrace!" An anthem which the likes of The Verve would kill for! By this time the three drag queens who have stayed for the end are in a state of delirium. Mad Lucas have returned in triumph, and charges of inciting racial hatred will be brought in the morning. (If such a thing was actually illegal in Northern Ireland.) Watch out Groop Dogdrill and Earl Brutus, the big boys are in town.