Alright, denim jackets on, crank up the amps. It’s The Groundhogs, and if you haven't mainlined their particular brand of blues-infused grit, well, you've been missing a vital strain in the DNA of proper British rock. Because, for a time, they bestrode the British blues-rock landscape like an untamed dog.
Forget your jewel-caped prog meisters and your stadium anthems polished to a sheen. We're here to talk about a band that sounded like they'd spent a week locked in a greasy garage with nothing but a stack of Chess records and a bad case of Stormy Monday. The Groundhogs; a sound that could strip the enamel off your teeth at fifty paces.
Tony McPhee, the main engine room of this outfit, wasn't about delicate fingerpicking. He was about squeezing every last drop of raw emotion out of his guitar, bending notes until they screamed like a rusty hinge in a gale. His voice? Think gravel gargling with whiskey, served with a side of weary wisdom. This wasn't some pretty boy crooning about lost love; this was the sound of a bloke who'd seen a few things, and none of 'em were particularly cheerful. We loved them as teenagers, I think because they somehow expressed our teenage angst. They felt aggressive and uncompromising. Masculine, even, or so we thought when such things were important.
Being a power trio meant there was nowhere to hide. No fancy keyboards to paper over the cracks, no multi-layered harmonies to sweeten the deal. It was just McPhee's primal guitar work, Pete Cruickshank's solid, no-nonsense basslines, and Clive Brooks (or Ken Pustelnik before him) laying down a rhythmic foundation that was as dependable as a misery They locked in tight, a lean, mean sonic machine that could pivot from a slow, brooding blues lament to a full-throttle, head-banging riff-fest without breaking a sweat. There was nothing smooth or easy about them, as you might expect of a band that released a song called “Bog Roll Blues” as a b-side to a 1972 single “Amazing Grace”. Your credibility as a rock kid would never be questioned if you took a Groundhogs album under your arm to school and its why I said I liked them when I first met Dawn. I wanted their credibility to rub off on me.
Albums like "Thank Christ for the Bomb" – a title that tells you all you need to know about their lyrical bent – and "Split" weren't just collections of songs; they were defiant statements. They tapped into the anxieties and frustrations of the era, delivering a raw, unflinching commentary on war, mental health, and the general state of societal unease. This wasn't escapist fluff; this was music with teeth, music that made you think even as it made you freak out. No I love you’s, just songs about the pain and isolation of war. You couldn’t dance to it and there weren’t any hit singles.
They weren't chasing trends. That they released singles on United Artists was vaguely preposterous because a less ‘singles’ band you couldn’t imagine. They weren't trying to be the next big thing in a manufactured pop landscape, God no. The Groundhogs were their own beast, a fiercely independent outfit that carved out their own niche with sheer bloody-mindedness and a commitment to honest, unvarnished rock and roll. A fixture at early 70s festivals where their blues was usually well received and suited the often bleak and muddy environment.
Others in the blues-rock genre were thought sexy or romantic or even appealed to girls. Not the Groundhogs, they were the sheet metal factory and leather jacket put to music. While other bands from the era bestrode the arena and enormodomes, The Groundhogs were resolutely down in the trenches, getting their hands dirty.
Essential listening for anyone who likes their rock served raw, bluesy, and often properly heavy and not in a down-tuned songs about black magic sort of way.
Their best records are reflected in their UK chart positions, Thank Christ…,#9 Split #5 and Who Will Save The World #8 and Solid #31. Give them a hearing if you’ve not heard them for a while, they are uncompromising and rough-edged, but never contrived, fake or uncommitted. The very antithesis of what has become commonplace.
Crank up the amps - It’s The Groundhogs
