Alright, buckle up. The Rockschool Sessions Volume 1 by Deirdre Cartwright, Henry Thomas, and Geoff Nicholls is a raw, unfiltered slap in the face of mediocrity. Released way back in '84 under Boosey & Hawkes, this sucker doesn't pretend to be anything but straight-up rock with a side of grit. And trust me, it’s got teeth.
Let’s get one thing straight—this ain’t your polished stadium anthem crap. This album feels like three musicians jamming in a garage that smells faintly of stale beer and ambition. No frills, no auto-tune nonsense. Just pure, uncut rock energy. Tracks? Oh, there are plenty, but let’s zoom in on two that’ll stick to your brain like gum under a barstool.
First up: "Melt Down." Holy hell, this track rips. From the opening riff, Cartwright’s guitar screams like a banshee with something to prove. You can practically feel her fingers bleeding all over those strings. Paired with Geoff Nicholls’ thunderous drumming? It’s chaos—but the good kind. The kind where you wanna punch the air and scream along even though you don’t know what the lyrics are saying (because honestly, who cares?). If this song doesn’t make your heart race, check your pulse—you might already be dead.
Then there’s "Reggae Got Blues." Yeah, yeah, I see you raising an eyebrow at the title. But hear me out. This tune flips between reggae grooves and bluesy licks so smoothly, it’s almost unfair. Henry Thomas lays down some bass lines here that feel like they’re crawling right into your soul. It’s weird, man—it starts off chill, then BAM! The blues kicks in harder than a steel-toed boot. By the time it ends, you’re left wondering if someone spiked your coffee with adrenaline.
What sticks with me about these tracks—and this whole damn album—is how alive it feels. Like they didn’t care about being perfect; they cared about making noise that mattered. Messy? Sure. But isn’t that what rock’s supposed to be?
Now here’s the kicker: For an album called The Rockschool Sessions, it sure as hell doesn’t sound like something made for practice rooms or textbooks. It sounds like rebellion bottled up and shaken until it explodes. Maybe that’s why it slipped through the cracks back in the day. Or maybe people just weren’t ready for its jagged edges and refusal to play nice. Either way, listening to it now feels like finding a forgotten treasure buried in the dirt.
So yeah, go listen to it. Crank it loud enough to piss off your neighbors. Let “Melt Down” melt your face and “Reggae Got Blues” twist your insides. Just don’t expect it to hold your hand—it won’t. And honestly? That’s exactly why it rules.
