Raw as F**k

As any big bad wolf would confirm, if your intentions are entirely dishonourable the last thing you want to do is alert your victims prematurely to the threat.
As in fairy-tales, so in pop music: real danger isn’t marked with a skull and crossbones.
What then to make of Freestyler’s decision to name their album Raw As F**k?
Do you imagine, as the band themselves seem to, that the 13 tracks are edgily aggressive, and provocative?
Or do you take one glance at those ridiculously self-defeating asterisks and conclude that these erstwhile pals of Lenny Kravitz are all mouth and no trousers?
If you fall into the former camp then, my friends, you’ve obviously spent the last ten years in the Taliban. Because the generic big beat (can you believe I’ve just typed that?) on offer here, despite the subaltarn inflections (titles include ‘Boom Blast’, ‘Punks’, ‘Warrior Charge’), has about as much delinquent force as a Lucozade ad.
Raw as F**k? Ropey as, more like.