Attila The Stockbroker’s new poetry book

This video from England says about itself:

14 Jan 2009

Attila The Stockbroker performs Russians in the DHSS, Asylum Seeking Daleks and Attila The Stockbroker Cleans Up the City live at the Cherry Red Records 30th Anniversary Party at Dingwalls London.

By James Rodie in Britain:

Books: UK Gin Dependency Party and Other Peculiarities

Wednesday 8th January 2014

Blistering broadsides from the boot-boy bard

UK Gin Dependence Party and Other Peculiarities

by Attila The Stockbroker

(www.attilathestockbroker.com, £10)

Regular readers of these pages will already be familiar with a chunk of Attila the Stockbroker‘s latest poetic offering, including the tome’s eponymous tract.

This collection, spanning 2008 to the end of last year, serves up Attila‘s usual biting attacks on the political classes.

They’ll be familiar – and memorable – to anyone who’s come across him during his three decade-long career.

But alongside the satires on the state of Britain today – perhaps best exemplified in Tell Sid, a vicious swipe at the Tories’ privatisation agenda from British Gas in the ’80s to Royal Mail today – UK Gin Dependence Party And Other Peculiarities is also Attila‘s most personal collection to date.

Never Too Late – a piece about Attila eventually getting to know his step dad – and Prince Harry’s Knob, song lyrics where the title give you enough of a hint, may not seem to sit too neatly next to each other.

But the balance between the sentimental and more “traditional” riotous fare should be enough to keep the fans happy.

Indeed, any notion that the Star‘s resident punk poet has mellowed with age is swept away by the likes of Attila The Stockbroker Cleans Up The City, a vicious attack on the spivs pulling the levers of economic power in the Square Mile – “Want to appeal?/Try the Central Committee” – or the selection of lyrics from his latest CD Bankers And Looters.

And Attila throws football into the personal and political pot, attacking terrace homophobia and the commercialisation of the workers’ game with the mandatory mix of anger and humour.

For a collection of poems that raise the fists and tug the heartstrings you can’t go far wrong with this.

But I would recommend you do your best to pick it up at one of Attila’s many gigs – there’s a manic energy to the boot-boy bard’s performance that breathes a life into these works that doesn’t quite translate to the page otherwise.

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