Call it psychobilly, punkabilly or voodoobilly, The Cramps were the band who initiated punks into the subterranean realm of 1950s rockabilly. Formed in 1976 by husband and wife duo Lux Interior and Poison Ivy, the black leather-jacketed Addams Family of rock's kinky, everyday-is-Halloween trash aesthetic hotwired 70s punk with primordial first generation rock'n'roll - because what were Charlie Feathers, Hasil Adkins and Link Wray but the original punks?

Proving that juvenile delinquency is a state of mind, The Cramps seemingly would have lasted forever if the cadaverous Interior hadn't died aged 60 in February 2009. But their impact lives on. Perhaps their greatest legacy is that you can go to any rockabilly weekender and see fresh generations of The Cramps' spiritual progeny: sullen greaser punks characterised by their black T-shirts, werewolf sideburns and tattoos.

This compilation goes back to the raw source, trawling through the original vintage songs that The Cramps gleefully tore apart, plagiarised, re-interpreted and deconstructed over their long career. While genres like tear-jerking doo wop ("Death of An Angel" by Donald Woods and The Belairs), blues ("It's Mighty Crazy" by Lightnin' Slim) and raunchy Rhythm & Blues ("Baby Let Me Bang Your Box" by The Bangers) are represented here, unsurprisingly the emphasis is on rockabilly.

Songs the Cramps Taught Us is a reminder how 50s rockabilly at its wildest still sounds stark, strange, threatening - almost futuristic, like science fiction. Rockabilly is a glimpse into weird America, made by amphetamine-crazed hillbillies with names like Vern, Hank and Dwight. Take Charlie Feathers' wracked, sensual, atmospheric and eerie "Can't Hardly Stand It", his hiccoughing, lecherous vocals wreathed in echo. "Her Love Rubbed Off" by Carl Perkins packs a sinister throb, while the anguished thrashing of "Love Me" by The Phantom is a frantic howl of lust, checking in at just one minute and 32 seconds.

To be fair there is no shortage of Cramps-inspired compilations of this type featuring many of the same songs (In the 1980s there were the six volumes of the Born Bad collection; there's already a compilation called Songs the Cramps Taught Us Vol 1 ). But to paraphrase Mae West, too much of a good thing can be wonderful! The tunes compiled here are lurid stabs from the jukebox jungle, an irresistible invitation to swallow a fistful of bop pills, drag a comb through your Gene Vincent pompadour and hit the dance floor.
Graham Russell