Italian stompers Giuda live forever in the the diamond sparkle of gelled lights, denim swagger and roller disco crash of the mid-70's. They've picked up the glam yoke and seem to have perfected the space between Slade's raucous drinking anthems, Gary Glitter's fuzz-toned skronk and Mud's Saturday night party starters. Their second record does little to move beyond the party of their first, but that's hardly the point. To enjoy Giuda fully is to suspend that cynical portion of your brain and just give in to the handclaps, stomps, pub life and football atmosphere teleported straight from Top of the Pops, 1974. Not one second of the album gives in to anything that resembles quiet reflection, its made for the loud moments, the epic nights and brilliantly bad decisions. So screw that self-conscious pose and drink up with Giuda.
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