If the world is actually ending, Scotland’s Cowboy Hunters have decided to go out by throwing a brick through a window while a rave erupts in the background. Their debut release, the cheekily titled EPeepee, is a five-track tactical strike of “rave rock” that makes it instantly obvious why they’ve already been hand-picked to open for the likes of Bob Vylan and Franz Ferdinand. The EP is a high-velocity collision of nihilism and neon, where heavy riffs slam headfirst into relentless, machine-gun percussion and come out grinning.
The EP kicks off with “Have a Pint,” a previous single, that bottles the mood of 2026 perfectly: everything is on fire, so we might as well get a round in. It’s a floor-shaking anthem built for sweat-licked basements, sticky floors and strobe lights, chanting its mantra until the room spins and you forget what day it is. It feels like a night out that’s already gone too far and is absolutely not slowing down.
They pivot quickly into “Shag Slags Not Flags,” a fan favourite that trades hedonism for a sharper political edge. It’s a riff-heavy takedown of keyboard nationalist culture, tearing into flag-waving hypocrisy with a grin and a snarl. The lyrics here are as venomous as they are funny, delivered with a dry, caustic wit that only a duo this self-assured could pull off. The track is the perfect protest song for people who still want to dance while everything collapses.
“Cuntry Girl” is a ninety-second blitz that sums up the band’s entire mission statement in four words: “Serve cunt, not countries.” It’s a simple, anti-war riot-starter that hits like a punch and vanishes just as quickly, leaving listeners slightly dazed yet ready to hit repeat. Before you’ve fully caught your breath, it slides right into the psychedelic grime of “Money for Drugs.” Here, the duo lean into a more experimental, groove-laden sound, where rapid-fire drum patterns tussle with distorted melodies. It’s murky and weirdly euphoric, like finding yourself lost in a club toilet conversation that suddenly feels profound.
They save their most vicious blow for the finale on “Dust Caps.” This is the duo at their most feral, all teeth and elbows, built around a breakdown of scream-shouted choruses and bone-rattling rhythms that sound like they’re about to kick the speakers in.
EPeepee is crass, chaotic and fun, a debut that doesn’t bother with subtlety when it can just kick the door down instead. It’s not flawless, blink and a track is over before you’ve got your teeth into it, but that’s part of its charm. If you aren’t already among their devoted digital following, consider this EP your final warning to catch up before a mosh pit finds you first.
