CUD, Malet Street ULU, September 1990

They've been kicked and ignored, lambasted and laughed at yet somehow Cud still manage to look on the bright side: "This one was number 170 in the charts last week," says shaggy-haired frontman Carl Puttnam of 'Robinson Crusoe'. "And it's still rising."

Awkward but ebullient. Cud are the band who decided to rejuvenate their flagging limbs by enrolling at the local funky farm, only to emerge many months later to discover they'd been short-changed. What Cud had asked far was a slick change of identity, no questions asked; what they got for their money was a thin coat of paint, a tattered set of togs and a selection of songs that were quite obviously forwarded by Stump.

That Cud perform adequately. then, is a tribute of sorts. In fact, in short doses they can be quite addictive. 'Hey Wire'. with its "Hey, don't play that trick on me" refrain, is rather rousing in a casually demented sort of way, while 'Purple Love Balloon', a eulogy to psychedelia as scripted by Pere Ubu's David Thomas, is a welcome burst of crazed, perverted pop that sees Puttnam holler an array of spluttered syllables like an eccentric town-crier paying tribute to Deputy Dawg.

The key phrase, however, is 'in short doses'. In an ideal world, Cud would play three short songs and then bugger off. File under 'terminally wacky' and turn the other cheek.

Paul Mardles