Under normal circumstances, it would take something pretty special to get me to spend an hour and a half on various trains and cold platforms heading down to a pub in a quaint old town in the middle of Kent on a weeknight. That, or a mild case of solvent sniffing. Not that the Beer Cart Arms isn't a nice venue - it's a pleasantly spacious and atmospheric pub in the quaint town centre of Canterbury, certainly. But a midweek gig with a journey time like that? Well, it just so happens that tonight is one such special event: the return of one of my favourite bands in the local scene to action after a lengthy hiatus. The weight of expectation is hanging in the air like tense fag smoke. Don't call it a comeback? Well, what else can I call it? After four months or more of inactivity and a lineup reshuffle, it's hard to really know what to expect tonight. It could be a flaming, embarrassing disaster on a par with letting off an eggy fart in a crowded elevator, or a glorious success that makes Elvis Presley's '68 comeback special pale in comparison. Time to find out.
But before all that can take place, three dodgy-looking blokes step onto the stage, exchange knowing grins and dive headlong into a set of hook-infested hardcore punk shenanigans. "So this is Melchett (76%), then?" I say to Captain Bastard and the Scallywags frontman Andrew Keech, who is there along with several other members. "Yeah. Basically, they're like Snuff" comes the reply. And simplistic as it is, he's got it just about spot on, as the hometown boys proceed to rocket through their repertoire of chaotically fast melodic hardcore punk. Snuff, as well as perhaps some early NOFX genetically spliced in with a bit of Dillinger Four just about covers Melchett's sound, and it's a very entertaining sound too, delivered with plenty of energy. The drumming in particular is tremendous, and puts me in mind of Brandon Barnes of Rise Against - deceptively (to look at at least) powerful and precise. In between songs, banter is rife, and often the audience dictates what song will be played next; what, you thought they had organised their own setlist and stuff like that? Don't be so bloody ridiculous! There's plenty of gooning around and we-don't-have-a-bloody-clue-what-we're-doing banter, as well as some technical cock-ups, but it's all taken in good humour, and this shouldn't overshadow the fact that their songs are actually very strong. It's up to the band now whether they go on to fulfill that promise, and I look forward to seeing them again, whenever they may be.
So here's the news, then: The Submission (88%) are back, and frankly, I have no idea what the bloody hell I was getting so worried about earlier. In fact, such worries are brutally kerb-stomped to death within seconds of the thumping 'Number One Sensation' crashing into life to ignite the start of the set. Frontman Richard Harris expunges several months' worth of frustration within the first five minutes, flailing, jerking, thrashing and bellowing madly into his microphone with a ruthless, steely determination in his eyes. His delivery is explosive, his words evocative, his rage focused - just like old times, then. I guess some things never change, right?
But really, you've heard me raving on many times before about Mr Harris' stage persona - him going nuts on stage is about as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning, after all - so instead, let's focus on what has changed since we last saw Deal's finest. Well, the obvious place to start would be with the new boy, drummer Matt Browne, who in his first live performance with the band, simply tries as best he can to suppress the inevitable nerves and just keep up with the others, which is an achievement in itself when you think about it. To his credit, blink and you'd miss the two or three slip-ups he does make, but what's more important is that he really does find his groove on several songs, and we get a glimpse of the destructive power he has the potential to unleash when he really gets going. It only appears in fits and starts tonight, but give him a little while to bed in to life in The Submission and this may well become the norm, which is a real shot in the arm for the band's future prospects.
The other big difference is that the band have downsized to a simple power trio template, with no rhythm guitarist, and this has more of an effect on the group than you might think. Obviously the versatility of being able to call on another guitar to keep the riffs going whilst Rich goes all rock god and unleashes wailing solos is missed tonight, particularly on the classic 'I'm Lazy'. But having said that, no songs are that much the worse off for it, and the trade-off is that bassist Sadie Williams is thrust more to the fore than ever before. She's effectively tasked with holding the songs together on a tight leash all on her own, a responsibility she handles effortlessly and confidently; not that she ever had a problem with holding things together before, of course. It's noticeable that she has more of a spring in her step - perhaps she trod on the same mains electricity cable that Rich obviously had inserted up his arse earlier, because there's more carefree jumping around than previous shows, and her backing vocals are much more audible, serving to beef out the already muscular tunes on display. Alongside Rich's lunatic spazzings of energy, she is even more assured and comfortable than ever onstage.
Oh yeah, the songs themselves. It's not unfair to say that the setlist has a hybrid feel about it, with Matt still yet to learn the entirety of the 'Mission's vast back catalogue. Nevertheless, there are still old favourites to enjoy: 'I'm Lazy', 'Reggae Rock Rebel' and 'You Just Don't Know' are as catchy and addictive as ever. 'No Man's Land' gets a rare airing tonight, and their cover of The Clash's 'Should I Stay Or Should I Go' (dedicated to Captain Bastard himself, Tom Gardener) ends the set in stomping style. But really, it's the two brand new songs that steal the show. '...Sensation' is a brave but inspired choice to start the set, and it's gung-ho riffing drives the entire song forward. Both that and 'Sunkissed Paradise' show a marked evolution - they sidestep four-chord hooks for big, battering riffs full of muscle and melody, with evocative, snarling lyrics. Big targets are in their firing line now, and they're no longer restricting themselves to singing about not having a job or being a lazy tosser; not when they can take bold swipes at topics such as the troubles in the Middle East and beyond.
It's this limitless ambition and belief in their own abilities that gives an exciting signpost as to where The Submission will go next, but really, worrying about the future is for another day. Tonight, in the here and now, they successfully bury the months of frustration and dead-ends and re-ignite themselves as a force, and with the new drummer still bedding in and further songs and gigs in the pipeline, it's onwards and upwards from here. Welcome back, The Submission - we've missed having you around.
Headliner's Setlist:
- Number One Sensation
- Reggae Rock Rebel
- I'm Lazy
- Johnny Be Goode (Chuck Berry cover)
- Sunkissed Paradise
- No Mans Land
- What If I Give Up
- You Just Don't Know
- Should I Stay or Should I Go (The Clash cover)
The 12 Bar Club is exactly the kind of venue you can imagine a band playing just before they get really massive, with the show in question being one of those that thousands of people will end up claiming that they were there for it. It has that sort of quaint, slightly run-down feel to it, with an excellent retro charm exuding from the old Beatles LPs, ska posters and tinplate Americana signs up on the walls. Oh, and the actual gig area is bloody tiny. A dark kitchen-sized room with a bizarre random balcony perched high above and a stage barely large enough to fit a jazz string quartet made up entirely of ants and dung beetles, let alone an 8-piece folk-punk behemoth with an arsenal of instruments. This should be interesting.
Oh yeah, the band themselves. Capt. Bastard and his assorted scallywags first came to my attention at the all-day show at The Railway Pub in Walmer last October, where, in their second ever appearance as a band, they turned in a performance which, whilst marred by drumming cock-ups and infected vocal chords, was entertaining enough to suggest that, with time and a little elbow grease, this rowdy bunch could evolve swiftly into a formidable live prospect. Since then they've been putting in the hours on the live circuit, and with a mini-tour of sorts coming up in March, as well as a 4-track demo tape by the name of 'Racing Legend', tonight feels like a good night to check in with the Scallywags and see how things have progressed since I first witnessed their folk-punk carnage four months ago.
Remember how I made a point in the intro of emphasising just how bleedin' minuscule the stage is? Well, that point is made again here, as half the band manage to squeeze onto it, and the other half just shrug and set up on the floor. How's this for intimate? If I were any closer to the band, I'd run the risk of getting a guitar stuck up my nose. Or perhaps an accordion...not quite sure how that'd work, actually. Anyway, after all instruments/voice boxes are finally soundchecked, the band turn to face front and pelt out the opening notes to the rollicking 'Along Came A Spider', and away we go. Down those pints and sit tight, folks - this is gonna be fun.
And so it proves, with a set of chaotic Celtic-tinged carnage which pilfers all the best bits from the Dropkick Murphys, Flogging Molly and Calico Street Riots' respective back catalogues, but also adds just enough of a sprinkling of original ideas and energy to keep it fresh and very enjoyable. Everything is done at helter-skelter pace, and there are moments where it threatens to tip over the edge and completely disintegrate. The fact that it never does is a huge complement to the manic drumming of 'Miami' Keith Sargent, who does his best Tre Cool impression for most of the set - that is, gurn spectacularly, act the showman and beat the bejasus out of your kit. He does so with great aplomb, and it's his relentless energy that drives the set forward. The rest of the band seem to give the odd sense that, rather than all playing as one with a telepathic unity, they seem to all be doing their own thing, in their own way, and it just so happens that it all merges together into one cohesive entity, further adding to the runaway train edge-of-disaster feel.
The two guitarists demonstrate this phenomenon well - Tom Gardener, the proverbial Captain Bastard himself, strums hard at his acoustic guitar, banging out riffs and the odd bit of backing vocals with a wide-eyed and sometimes manic stare, whilst his colleague on electric guitar, Lucas Razzell, barely seems to break sweat whilst jiving and strumming in what sometimes appears to be a world of his own - a world where presumably slicked-back haircuts and rockabilly-style guitars would be mandatory by law. Singer Andrew Keech bellows his lines with wild abandon down the front, aided by mandolinist Jordan Harris' emphatic blasts of backing vocals, and Harris' choppy mandolin work augments the six-stringers' riffs very well. In the eye of the hurricane, pennywhistle-ist Kayla Harlow is an oasis of calm composure and cheerful melodies, and brothers Bill and Ben Gower (bassist and accordionist) are similarly relaxed and cheerful in the bedlam.
As I said before, the songs do stick to quite an established formula, but it's never a tired running through the motions of stuff that's been done to death before - for one thing, the originals allow each instrument to shine individually and expand the song sonically as well as power forward the overall mix, which makes a refreshing change of pace and scenery at some parts. But chaotic energy and raucous singalongs are what the entire folk-punk genre were built around, and the Captain and his merry 'wags will be damned if they're gonna be ditching those principles any time soon. They are quick to tip their hats to their influences, with covers of the Murphys' 'I'm Shipping Up to Boston' and Flogging Molly's 'Seven Deadly Sins' (the latter ending the set in style), and a gleeful romp through the classic 'La Bamba' comes four songs in. There's a strong consistency to the set, which tells you a lot about the strength of the originals, in that they can hold their own against the established covers. Indeed, songs like the aforementioned '...Spider', 'You, Me And The Devil' and 'Getting Out of This Town' have the potential to become band anthems in their own right, with vocal lines just waiting to be bellowed back at the band by intoxicated future audiences as their name spreads. Who knows, maybe they could hit the heights of fame and popularity, and tonight will be one of those nights where half of London will go on to claim they were present for?
All I know is this: it must be hard-wired in my DNA to enjoy live folk-punk, and in that respect, Captain Bastard and the Scallywags have an ace live show full of boundless energy and enthusiasm. But what makes them a truly exciting prospect is that they are far from a one-trick pony - there are hints of variety and uniqueness, and if they continue the upward curve of improvement from since the last time I saw them, by my calculations, they'll be destined for true greatness by mid-summer. Enjoying a hot summer's evening by drinking copious amounts of Magners and watching this lot absolutely tear it up? Aye, now there's an enticing thought. I'll see you there.
Rating: 84%
Setlist:
- Along Came A Spider
- I'm Shipping Up to Boston (Dropkick Murphys cover)
- Getting Out of This Town
- La Bamba
- 9 Layers of Hell
- Covers Medley (incl. Whiskey in a Jar and The Wild Rover)
- Scream
- You, Me & The Devil
- 7 Deadly Sins (Flogging Molly cover)
Photography by Rosetta Baker.
Blimey, we really were spoilt rotten on the 5th of February 2011, weren't we? A day of absolute mayhem in the football Premier League (and a day that Arsenal fans are probably still trying to forget about), and then this gem of a gig tucked away in the evening, with in my opinion the two best bands on the circuit at the moment in the top two slots on the bill. The term 'not to be missed' is one of those terms bandied around by over-zealous promoters in a desperate attempt to get bodies into venues and cash into their pockets, but in this case, such a term feels wholly appropriate, which is why I'm thankful for the late lift down there I received at literally the 11th hour.
This late arrival meant that I missed everyone's favourite Gravesend ska-punkers My Third Leg, but honestly, if you're that interested to know what they are like live, go and read one of the many other reviews I've written on them in the last few months, and odds are good that you'd be able to apply what I've said in those articles to their performance tonight. Unless they had just finished packing away the pyrotechnics and breakdancing cats, then I'm pretty sure I've not missed anything I haven't seen multiple times before.
Having said that, I'd rather have missed L.O.W.D (39%) (that's pronounced 'loud' if anyone was wondering) and seen M3L for the umpteenth time in the last few months, such was the mediocre fare of their set. It's probably unfair of me to fully grade their performance, seeing as I was outside, taking my chances with the cigarette smoke and the cold for most of their set, although that in itself probably tells you how highly I regarded them - answer, not very. The first impression was not good - they suffered from 'yeah, we're a band' syndrome, which seemed to give them an excuse to stand completely still and not look in the least bit interested in what they were playing, whilst the singer strutted around and demanded that the audience get moving, jump up, etc etc. Such things are a two-way street, pal, and if you're not putting in the effort, then why should we? Especially when your music is so painfully anodyne and by-the-numbers that this alone is enough to bore most of the prospective crowd into submission and a long ciggie outside. Their take on aggro-punk was so painfully tedious and beige sounding that had this been the sound of London and New York in the late 70s, punk rock would never have made it out of the squats, and thank fuck bands like The Ramones, The Clash and others were there to turn it into the amazing musical genre it has become today. Oh, and speaking of the Ramones, they then went and massacred 'Blitzkrieg Bop', which I thought was both illegal under international law and impossible to actually do. They played it slower than the original studio version, for Pete's sakes! And unbelievably, despite this, they will now be able to say that they've supported Random Hand. Don't let that fool you, folks - this was some of the most boring dross I've ever heard served up under the banner of punk/rock 'n' roll, and this crushing lack of energy and joie de vivre will hinder any further progress the band wishes to make.
So whilst they headed back to the rehearsal room and the proverbial drawing board, the anticipation levels cranked up as the time ticked down to the start of this colossal clash of the titans. The challengers and potential heirs to the throne, Tyrannosaurus Alan (92%), were up first, and unsurprisingly, it was explosive and energetic from the word go. The boys seem to have a knack of finding an involuntary muscle reflex in everyone's bodies that makes them start skanking, dancing, jumping and hollering along like lunatics whether they were actually planning on doing so or not. You just can't help it - with the ferocious cocktail of outrageously catchy horn hooks and muscular guitars and drumbeats laying waste to everything in it's way, you have absolutely no choice but to respond accordingly and dance. As usual, guitarist and frontman 1 Ollie Harries' vocals are set to full-auto, and they chatter and rattle unrelentingly alongside trombonist and frontman 2 Simon Champ's cannon barks at the choruses, and the formidable rhythm section of Ben Robinson on bass and Craig Shephard on drums is rock solid and razor sharp, holding the myriad horns and crashing riffs in check with immense precision and fluidity. The majority of the brilliant 'Campaign' record is rolled out, as well as one new song, which largely eschews the ska-punk carnage for the most part and worships at the alter of hip-hop, with a suitably grimy beat driving on Ollie's extended raps, and it's an interesting change of pace, although I'd be concerned if this was the exclusive new path they were taking. Still, look how far Sonic Boom Six have got with the whole hip-hop-with-guitars path, and besides, the T-Alan collective could release a second album comprising entirely of Mumford and Sons covers played on balalaikas and harpsichords - with anthems of such strength as 'The Officer Problem', 'Bombard the BBC', 'Spitting in a Dead Man's Eye' and 'Kourtney Palmer' already in the bank, and with a live show as devastating and immensely enjoyable as this, their status is secure, and their star will continue to rise in 2011.
So, the challengers laid down the gauntlet in stunning style. How did the incumbents respond? With a powerhouse performance right out of the top drawer, that's how. Despite the traditional bout of early deserters, there was still a large contingent with just about enough energy left over to skank and shout themselves to a standstill. And Random Hand (94%) provided the perfect fuel for this rabid fire, with a set of crunching, melodic and soaring ska-rock anthems, delivered with rabid, phlegm-spitting energy from frontman Robin Leitch and his cohorts. Recently added drummer Sean Howe has earned his stripes as a rock 'n' roll drummer par excellence, and his rock-solid beats and raucous crashes drive the entire music on at a relentless pace, with bassist Joe Tilston locking everything down alongside him. This allows Leitch's vocals to snarl and bark with wild abandon, and Matt Crosher's crunching guitar riffs to smash through the mix like a devastating whirling dervish of overdriven power and melody. They are a monstrously tight and razor-sharp unit, and all this adds up to great anthems aplenty. A shrieking siren wail signals the crushing 'Anthropology' to start the set, and the excellent 'I, Human' swiftly follows. 'For Roni' (a personal favourite of mine), 'Devil's Little Guinea Pig' and 'Roots in the Crowd' keep the pace fast and unrelenting throughout the set, before the quite brilliant triumvirate of 'Anger Management', 'Play Some Ska' and 'Scum Triumphant' brings the evening to a spectacular crescendo.
So, after a thoroughly boring undercard, the heavyweight title fight was an absolute stormer, with the reigning champions from Bradford only just retaining their title on points after an epic bout. Fantastic fun, and both are looking in fine fettle to take 2011 by storm and make it their own.
A nice evening in the company of a charming American woman aside, 2011 has been relatively quiet so far. Too quiet. And after a few missed chances thanks to inopportune public transport times (so what's new, then?), all of a sudden, two excellent-looking gigs come up on the same night in the same area of town. Oh, and both have the entrance fee of absolutely free. Typical, right? In the end, I plump for this show, and after getting lost in the streets of Finsbury Park (it's not an experience I'd recommend), I eventually make it to the World's End pub, ready for the first duty of 2011.
I'm thrown straight into the fray as soon as I step inside - my tardiness and willingness to explore the local area mean that I'm late arriving for the start of The Dilenquents' (69%) set. And a fairly good set it is too. I'd read on the event page for this show that The Dilenquents bill themselves as a 'reaction to modern day music' with an 'aggresive (sic) horror Punk sound', and who hope they can 'horrify/enlighten you'. Well, they dismally failed in the latter two points, as I wasn't scared or particularly enlightened in the slightest, and the usage of the word 'horror' in relation to their music is misleading - it's plain depressing, more than anything. However, an odd contradiction arises in their songs - whilst they try so hard to load them down with doom, gloom and quasi-Black Sabbath moody guitar licks and breaks, occasionally an outrageously catchy chorus or riff will burst free and ingrain itself in your ear canal. And it's these flashes of brilliance that mean that, despite all the mean stuff I've said, I'm intrigued to hear more from the Bedfordshire four-piece. They strike me as a band perhaps trying too hard to be edgy and to get up in people's faces, but their horror-punk schtick comes across more Twilight meets a particularly depressing episode of Eastenders than Last House on the Left, no matter what they themselves would want you to believe. Thing is, though, if they threw off the shackles and just went for it, there's enough here to tell me that they have the potential to really make the impact they desperately want to.
In fact, an apt demonstration of how to play to the top of your strengths without giving a stuff about an image for yourself is unveiled next up, as Inter-City Crazy Train (87%) unleash their set of punky ska fun. Fun being the operative word, as it's exactly that and more from start to finish, with bodies being persuaded to start skanking and moving for the first time this evening. The swing in mood is dramatic, with infectious off-beats and warm, summery melodies powering their high-energy set forward at a relentless pace. Frontman Gordy Cullum shouts his lines with a nice mix of raw power and soul, and is a livewire, bouncing presence throughout, flanked on his right by guitarist 'Mexican' Ed Dickinson, who augments Gordy's skanking riffs and vocal lines with neat licks and yelped backing vocals. The songs themselves are perfectly weighted and well-crafted; any unnecessary flab has been trimmed to enable the scalpel-sharp hooks (and there's plenty of those in almost every song) to shine. Gordy also takes a pause from singing every so often to interject blasts of trumpet into the skanking fun, but he's trumped in the additional instrument stakes by Ed, who first whips out a harmonica at opportune moments before tossing his Gretsch guitar to one side mid-set and plugging in a ukulele to raise the levels of skanking to new heights. These bursts of additional instrumentation add another string to their bow, but to be honest, the bow itself is so well-crafted and fun that these asides are just cherries on the top of a rather delicious cake of tight, high-energy two-tone ska. Raucous covers of the reggae classic 'The Harder They Come' and The Clash's 'White Riot' and the singalong antics of 'Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em' wrap up their set in style - great fun, and definitely one to watch for the future.
According to the words of a wise, sage old prophet (erm, Paul Smith), the next band up were on the verge of really going places in the scene, before disappearing into the wilderness without trace way back in 2003. And now they've broken cover again out of nowhere for tonight's show. Nine years is a long time in this business, but on tonight's evidence, it doesn't seem to have affected Jakal (78%) one bit - in fact, if Paul's rave reaction to them is anything to go by, they've only gotten better. As for me, someone who was oblivious to their existence first time around? The first impressions are very, very good. Like a fair few bands doing the rounds, their schtick is rooted firmly in a heavy, ska-punk type hybrid. Multiple vocalists? Check. Skanked verses and powerhouse choruses? Check. T-Alan style muscular riffs and sometimes rapped vocal lines? Check. The standard procedure then, although I won't accuse them of following the trend, as there's a chance that they invented the trend in the first damn place. And besides, it's a very entertaining trend when done well, as the aforementioned T-Alan and Random Hand have demonstrated. Jakal aren't quite at that stage yet, but they're not far off, I'll tell you. The trouble is with this type of music is that, as I've mentioned before, it's easy to fall into the trap of just throwing stuff at a wall and seeing what sticks, with the result being a clunky, grinding mess as songs lurch from one genre-checkbox to another, and Jakal do occasionally skirt with this trap - for example, some songs overstay their welcome, and some vocal lines get unnecessarily raucous. It's almost as if the band themselves don't have faith in the songs in their original form, and in their attempts to beef them up, they just end up over-egging the pudding. However, none of these additional bits of flab are deal-breakers, and I still enjoyed their set - female co-vocalist Tali is gunning for Laila K's crown as the most all-action frontwoman on the circuit, and she damn near succeeds, jumping, dancing and belting out vocal lines with wild abandon all set long, and she is the focal point of the performance in amongst the army of guitars and dub-echo. So, the occasional flirt with disaster doesn't stop Jakal from being a success; here's hope they stick around and fulfill their early promise after the previous false starts.
Sadly, it's time for me to make the dash across town for the last trains home from Victoria, so I miss The Sterilizers, but I've already see enough to make the trip to North London very much worthwhile. A great evenings entertainment, all for the entry price of free - I'd say that's value for money, wouldn't you?
A disclaimer - if you're here for sweaty, loud and fast punk rock carnage, then you've turned up at the wrong place.
It's probably ironic that my first show of 2011 is the first non-punk rock gig I've been to in actually a few years, and it shows - it takes a while for me to get the idea out of my head that, no, there probably won't be circle pits and flying pints kicking off when the music starts. Probably the weirdest thing of all, however, is whom I'm actually seeing tonight - namely, a female singer-songwriter with a big acoustic guitar.
No, I've not gone completely doolally. I know what kind of maudlin, MOR images are springing into your mind, but happily, tonight's main attraction is none of the above at all. I've made no secret of my admiration for Ms Bryden before on this blog - I may well have said that her album What Does It Take? was for a long time my favourite record of 2009, before being pipped at the post by a certain punk band from Deal. So I'm understandably excited to, after several missed opportunities, get to see in action one of my favourite artists from outside of the sphere of punk tonight in the relatively intimate surroundings of the Borderline.
First up though, is a bloke with an acoustic guitar singing earnest ballads - Roddy Hart (5.5/10).
Oh dear oh dear, corduroy tedium awaits.
However, another surprise - I find myself actually not hating it. Yes, the Springsteen-esque acoustic pop nuggets tick every single cliche box in the acoustic singer-songwriter book, from hackneyed titles to cloying, melancholic vocal lines, but they're charming and inoffensive enough most of the time for me to actually quite enjoy them. They're honed and polished, and delivered in a tidy, mildly soulful manner, and some guitar lines actually make it into the 'I might go and download that' category in my mental filing cabinet. However, this lack of originality means that the songs suffer from being easily forgettable, so much so that I'm struggling to remember any details of any of them - in fact, the only thing that springs to mind is that Hart's vocal delivery ends up coming off like Davey Havok from AFI trying to cover Springsteen, and if that's not one of the most bizarre comparisons I've ever made, I don't quite know what is. Impossible to dislike then, but also difficult to like with any degree of passion, if you wanted to sum up Roddy Hart in a pithy nutshell, although what I will say is that I can see people who are more into this stuff than I am absolutely lapping this up.
Frankly though, he's gone into battle tonight woefully under-equipped - he could've had a stage show featuring pyrotechnics, burlesque dancers and a chimpanzee playing bongos, and he still wouldn't have upstaged tonight's headliner. From the very moment Nell Bryden (10/10) hits the stage and kickstarts the action with her backing band of cohorts, she has the crowd in the palm of her 1947 Gibson guitar-toting hand, and boy, does she know it. The amount of energy, heart and soul she loads into her performance is quite astonishing - her vocal delivery is overflowing with sassy charisma from the get-go, and she dances, struts and jives around the stage with a confident swagger and a constant grin. Her stunning voice is given full reign here, and she takes advantage, damn near bringing the house down at times with her staggeringly powerful high end wails as the pace quickens. Conversely, she's equally at home when the tempo slows, adding delicate and gorgeous vocal lines to the mid-tempo numbers. Comparisons with Freddie Mercury sound completely ridiculous at first, but as the show goes on, they make perfect sense - just like that famous rock frontman, she's a born performer with charisma by the bucketload, and a wonderful spontaneity born out of a passion and unbridled love of music. When you couple this with guitarist Leon Rossiter's ice-cold, bluesy guitar lines, bassist Andy McConkey's bobbing grooves and drummer Leo Sutherland's fast 'n' loose skiffle beats, the result is an absolute joy to watch.
All of this means that the songs, highly polished and intricately woven on record, are stripped down and given a firm kick up the arse, with the more high-tempo songs benefiting the most from this. 'Late Night Call' and 'What Does It Take' become rousing stomp-a-longs, 'Where The Pavement Ends' just manages to retain it's sense of drama despite being beaten to within an inch of it's life, and star single 'Second Time Around' is even more outrageously catchy and danceable than normal. The slower tracks, such as 'Goodbye' and 'Only Life I Know' also benefit from a stripped-down approach, mainly serving to emphasise the gorgeous emotion at their core, particularly so on the former, a personal favourite of mine. She takes the brave decision to load the middle of the set largely with new tracks, but to be honest, if you've got a tonne of new material to preview, then the middle of the set is the best place to do it, leaving the familiar anthems to the sharp end of the show. The newies display promise and a good progression, with the two highlights being the beautiful 'Sirens', a plea for hope in post 9/11 America, and 'Soundtrack', an old-fashioned, energetic and hooky roots-rocker.
In between songs she is a warm and incredibly friendly presence, and it's sometimes hard to believe that someone with such a confident, gunslinger stage persona can be so humble and down-to-earth when the music stops. She displays a ready sense of humour, poking fun at both dissident crowd members and her own band, and is completely free of any ego at all, which means that the barrier between performer and audience is casually tossed aside. It even continues after the show is over; she is quick to come out front and make time to talk to fans, and has a great, Joe Strummer-esque gift of zoning in on one person or group and making them feel truly appreciated and at ease in conversation. I wound up having a great conversation with her about punk music (and also discovering that she's a closet Ramones and Green Day fan in the bargain), and I kid you not, I could easily have been talking to a mate. I know this sort of thing is largely a given at the underground punk gigs I'm used to, but to meet an internationally well-known artist with such talent and popularity, yet so free of pretension or ego, is truly refreshing.
I was beginning to wonder whether I was going soft, with all these awardings of 10s all over the place in recent reviews. However, I've thought long and hard, and there's no reason why I can't give top marks for this performance - it was awesome from start to finish, and when it's all being delivered with such charisma, warmth and soul from an artist who is just as much a great person as she is a confident, assured performer, you've got the makings of a truly brilliant show which will live in the memory long after the evening is over and the dust has settled. This may not have been a punk rock show, but I absolutely bloody loved it all the same.
Overall Rating: 9/10
Headliner's Setlist:
- Late Night Call
- Tonight
- Where The Pavement Ends
- Glory To The Day (Helen's Requiem)
- What Does It Take
- Lost In His Eyes
- Mercy On Me
- Soundtrack
- Fingerprints
- Goodbye
- Only Life I Know
- Second Time Around
- Sirens
- (Encore) Not Like Loving You
It's safe to say that ska-punk is very much in rude health in the U.K. right now. Wherever you look, there are bands using the potent mixture of off-beats, bouncing horns and belting punk riffs to craft anthems aplenty. What's particularly refreshing is that nearly all of these bands carry their own identity with ease, and this offers a swift and effortless rebuke to certain hacks who accuse the genre of being generic, samey and hard to take seriously. In all honesty, most of these hacks are hardly the kind of people worth wasting the effort needed to take them seriously, but should you encounter one in the near future, then please point them in the direction of, on balance, the two best live acts on the circuit at this moment in time: Tyrannosaurus Alan and Random Hand. While you're at it, chuck them a copy of Detached's 'None the Wiser' EP and demand that they play it very loud on the headphones over a pint or four of beer, just to make sure they get the message.
Detached are a band I was told to look out for by quite a few people in 2010, and on the evidence of their set in Sheerness at the start of this month, this hype is nicely justified. That day, I witnessed a band high on energy and bursting to the seems with hooks, but sometimes tampered by a slightly schizophrenic delivery. To be honest, the recorded output on display on this disc does nothing but back up those impressions,but one thing I will say is that the ADHD tendencies (namely flipping between beats and tempos in the same amount of time it takes most of us to blink or register a light being switched on) seem less obvious here. I put that down to me getting to know the songs a little better after repeated listens - it seems first impressions can be misleading.
So, with that criticism disposed of in a back-alley dustbin, we are left with a collection of songs that batter the listener over the head with equal parts melody, energy, frantic tempos and fun. It's fair to say the Caerphilly sextet nail their colours firmly to the mast and aren't for turning away from the formula they've brewed, and quite frankly, why should they when it sounds this good? The six tracks fly by in short, sharp, white-hot shocks, with Rhys Mence and Owain Evans' frenzied guitars and Josh Clark's pounding drumbeats driving the action forward before allowing bursts of horns from Gareth Talbot and Ben Nicholls to mesh in and out of the action to great effect. Mence's gravelly, bellowed vocals work very well, and bassist Gethin Lock does a mean job of keeping the guitars on a tight leash and locking everything together. Overall, the band, despite their numbers, are a potent and razor-sharp cocktail of speed and musical chops. If one is looking for direct comparisons, then try to imagine an unholy alliance between Less Than Jake and mid-90s era NOFX, with the result being as good as that combination sounds.
As for the songs, can I just say that whoever wrote the intro/chorus riff to 'F.U.B' deserves a beer for writing hands down one of the catchiest riffs this year and for many years. Oh yeah, and the song it's attached to isn't too bad either. Opener 'Don't Bite The Crust' sets the frantic tone from the outset, and the closing one-two burst of 'Horizons' and 'Rid Of It' are also highlights in the festival of punchy hooks and melodies. 'Teeth Rattling Boneshaker' is perfectly placed mid-disc, as it offers a nice, skank-tastic interlude, and is guaranteed to whack a smile on your face; that's assuming the tracks surrounding it haven't done that already, of course, which is highly unlikely, as this is overall one of the most enjoyable discs I've heard in a while.
I could be picky and say that the production quality, whilst brilliant at boosting out the guitars, makes the bass and drums sound a little rubbery, or that the songwriting is still a little rough around the edges, but the bottom line is this: there are records that I listen to once or twice, then put on the shelf and occasionally dig them out now and again thereafter, and there are records that I put on and winding up listening to start to finish multiple times in succession. This EP falls squarely in the latter category. Great fun, and if this is a blueprint of the future, then bring it on - 2011 is there for the taking for Detached on this evidence.
Label: None (Unsigned)
Release Date: 13th March 2010
Rating: 8.5/10
Standout Tracks: 'Don't Bite The Crust', 'F.U.B.', 'Teeth Rattling Boneshaker'.
You know something? This whole local punk scene thing has it's upsides. 2 gigs in 2 consecutive Saturdays, both blessed with awesome lineups of the movers and shakers of UK underground punk and ska music. And both featuring Tyrannosaurus Alan, funnily enough. But, whilst the Medway boys were the undisputed stars of the show last week in Sheerness, a crammed Camden Underworld packed with an all-star lineup from the length and breadth of the UK is a different proposition. Make no mistake, this is a step up from last weekend, as good as it was; this is a heavyweight showdown in the heart of the capital, and one that has 'gig of the year' stamped all over it, top to bottom.
There's two ways you can view Tyrannosaurus Alan's (9/10) opening slot - either, it's to guarantee a blazing start to proceedings, or a result of booking agent politics that does the band a disservice. In a way, their 30-minute set gives evidence for both cases - for the former, they blast out their fantastic rap-ska-punk hybrid and get bodies moving with no effort at all despite the 4:30pm start time and a distinct lack of alcohol consumed thus far (I say that - I wouldn't put it past some members of this audience to have been drinking since sunrise), and for the latter, their set is of such storming quality (as always, really) that it leaves the nagging impression that they should be hitting the stage later and further up the bill. That would be the case in a perfect world, but a) I can understand the reasons behind the scheduling, and b) to be honest, the T-Alan crew don't look like they give a fuck about such issues - they're just here to kick ass and have fun, just as always, and it's only good and proper that they have a like-minded audience, with skank pits kicking off without a second invitation. The dual-vocal attack is as always a devastating combo, with guitarist Ollie Bill Harries spitting, bouncing and skanking, and partial trombonist Simon Champ hollering, barking and urging the crowd on. Drummer Craig Shepard holds everything together with tight and ruthless beats, and the horn section of Sam Wilson (trumpet) and Tom 'with dreads' Broster and Chris Humphrey (saxophones) deliver hooks aplenty in the eye of the storm. A blazing start to the event, and a childhood dream (if you believe the band) fulfilled in style. If there's any justice, this lot should be back here in more prominent slots - who knows, maybe even headlining - in the near future.
I spoke before about how difficult it is to follow on from T-Alan, and tonight it's the turn of Broken Nose (5.5/10) to try and step up in the wake of the explosive opening. What doesn't help this particular band's cause is a lead singer who's constant screamed vocals sounds like Zach de la Rocha getting raped by Frank Carter and Kid Rock in the toilets - this may be personal opinion, but I couldn't stand them. The rest of the band appeared to follow suit, spewing forth a somewhat functional blasting of punky, hardcore-y heaviosity that, combined with (and mainly because of) the razor-blade-being-rammed-into-my-ears vocal delivery, begins to grate very swiftly. However, occasionally they'll switch to a slower reggae groove, and it's here that they earn a few points back, because they're much superior in this element. It's almost cunning how they do it - just when I'm really getting pissed off over the terrible screaming, a nice reggae section or riff comes along to calm me down again. Yes, I see what you did there, Broken Nose, you sly bunch, but it's still not enough for me to fully enjoy your set, especially when you toss aside the reggae pretensions anyway for a final two songs of crashing caterwauling. Like I said, this could be personal opinion; I mean, a fair few people seem to think Laila from Sonic Boom Six's vocal delivery is maddeningly awful, and I quite like it. Also, the idea of ska-core as a genre doesn't really wash with me, so what I will say is give them a listen for yourself - if this is your thing, then take this review as ignorant bile. Otherwise, steer clear.
It appears screamed vocals are en vogue tonight, as next band up I.C.H. (7/10) are also quite keen on them. But instead of shrieking-cat-in-a-washing-machine, I.C.H.'s frontman prefers gruff, whiplash barking to get his point across, and it's a little easier to digest, if no easier on the ear. I was told minutes before their set that these boys are due to tour sometime next year with The Jack Brews, and it doesn't take long to work out why - crushing, rollicking old-skool punk rock with hardcore overtones are the order of the day here, delivered with absolutely no subtlety and a lot of devastating pace. If you're looking for a metaphor to describe them, try to imagine Rancid doing a set composing entirely of covers of all of Lars Fredrikson's favourite 1980s UK street punk and hardcore bands, and you have a fairly accurate summation of I.C.H.'s schtick. It's relentless, with buzzsaw riffs and runaway train drumming battering you senseless, and although I don't have much time for hardcore music personally, there's enough punk rock crunching guitars and attitude in the melee for me to be drawn in. It does suffer from getting a bit samey, but in a short, sharp, half-hour shock of a set, the lack of deviation from the standard formula works well, especially with the amount of alcohol now starting to float around the venue. Job well done, and that tour with the Brews sounds like an enticing prospect.
The first of the three touring bands, Dirty Revolution (7.5/10), are up next, and...hang on, are you sure this isn't The Skints arriving early? A female-fronted band playing mellow reggae...actually, that's where the similarities end. For one, The Skints actually have memorable tunes - too many of DR's early songs just seem to float absent-mindedly out of the venue without ever leaving any kind of mark. Which is rather odd, considering I've been led to believe that these guys (and girl) are known for a gritty and powerful mix of punk, ska, and reggae - I can only think I got the wrong Facebook page, although it did look very convincing. Because what I'm seeing, and what I'm hearing, isn't particularly dirty, and it's not very revolutionary either, if you'll pardon the pun. I did miss the very start of their set, so maybe I missed a few gems, but what I did see was pretty run-of-the-mill, cookie-cutter stuff, with their music lacking the chilled, easy melodies of Captain Accident or Jaya the Cat, or the gritty street feel of The Skints. It's desperately crying out for an identity, which is why it's refreshing to see them chuck the reggae pretensions in a skip for the final couple of songs and up the tempo, and it's now that they reveal themselves as a fine little ska band with real promise in this area. And by ska, I do mean just ska, for a change - as I've said before, whilst ska-punk is all very well and good, there seems to be an absolute deluge of bands ploughing that particular furrow currently (including the two bands at the top and bottom of this bill), and not much exclusivity for either ska or punk rock as individual styles, and I'd love to see Dirty Revolution progress with their ska overtones, not only for the reason above, but because they seem so damn good at it. The excellent band anthem 'I Love Reggae (I Love Ska)' proves this with a fine ending to their set, but it doesn't seem enough. It may be that the earlier reggae-orientated stuff needs repeated listens on Myspace to sink in, but it's the 2-3 ska tunes at the end of the set that earn them most of the points, because they were the only tunes that managed to hold my attention and get me interested.
I happen to end up directly stage front for the start of Moral Dilemma's (7.5/10) set, and as a result I end up getting shot-blasted in the face with an assault on the senses as they kick into their set. It's a 3-piece, with a singer touting a Gibson SG and a female bassist who contributes backing vocals, but any comparisons to The Subways are given a stern battering over the head with a stick of wood before being dumped in the gutter. Like I.C.H. earlier, MD are all about the hardcore punk, and just in case you hadn't gotten enough screamed vocals for the evening, frontman Craig Temple knows no other way of delivering vocals than by screaming them like an outraged bear. Musically, they remind me a lot of Black Flag, and for most that would be a massive complement - but I'm not a big fan of Black Flag, sacrilegious as that probably is. So by all rights, I should stick my fingers in my ears and head for the bar, but again like I.C.H. earlier, there's more than enough here to keep me heartily engaged, no matter how much the vocals begin to grate - and believe me, they do. First off, the sheer amount of energy on display is pretty astonishing, from all members. Bassist Chloe Chourrout snarls backing vocals and bounds around the stage with wild abandon, and Temple himself is a mass of sweat and frenzied spasms of movement - when he's not abusing his guitar or loosing his temper with the microphone, he's rallying the troops in the crowd in between the songs with stirring anti-authoritarian speeches, topically revolving around the student protests and riots in London a few days ago, and whilst I do think it's easy nowadays for bands to shout 'fuck the police!' and get a reaction, much like it was cool for US bands to shout 'Fuck Bush!' intermittently a few years ago, the level of passion and righteous fury these sentiments are delivered with deserves much respect. Secondly, they aren't afraid to mix the standard hardcore formula up occasionally, either by slowing the tempo a little (which isn't saying much considering their standard tempo is somewhere between stupidly fast and hyperspeed) or breaking things down, bit by bit, allowing Chourrout a chance to exhibit some neat and excellent bass skills, before building things back up to a riotous conclusion. It's these moments that prevent things from getting too samey, and this (admittedly rather slim) level of restraint gives the high-octane moments more impact. I'm curious to see if they develop on this in the future. For now, I can best sum them up as Black Flag mixed with 80s UK and US hardcore punk, so if you're a big fan of those styles, then feel free to dismiss my ramblings, because you'll almost certainly enjoy Moral Dilemma.
Since when did it get so crowded in here? Seriously, there's suddenly no room to move in here, with bodies crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the Underworld floor. Actually, it's no surprise that the room has filled up so quickly - we're at the business end of the gig, and the penultimate band on have been the go-to band to support pretty much every big US punk/ska band that has toured here in the last 18 months or more. Yup, it's time for me to see what the fuss is about and catch The Skints (8.5/10) live for the first time, and whilst I do enjoy their set of gritty street reggae/dub stylings, it bewilders me just how maniacal the crowd get - moshing, pogoing and stagediving at the slightest opportunity, which seems odd considering the music they're actually hollering along to, though I suppose with the amount of drink flowing around the venue by now, you could put some dross by Coldplay on the speakers and people would still go berserk to it, and as I've already said, The Skints collective have been gathering fans left, right and centre over the last year or so to form together a hardcore band of followers. All of what I've written so far sounds like I'm being condescending to The Skints, which would be doing them a disservice - their high musicianship and technicality flows into the gritty, guttural rapped vocal lines to create a lovely fusion of melody and bubbling rhythm. They see T-Alan's 2 co-vocalists and raise them 3 here - drummer Jamie Kyriakides is probably the pick of the bunch with a throaty and soulful delivery, which meshes brilliantly with quasi-frontwoman and multi-instrumentalist Marcia Richards at stage front. Richards' vocals veer sometimes into dancehall in a rootsy trip through reggae's history books, and it always has this lovely feeling of flitting over the top of the music around it. The only weak link is guitarist Josh Rudge - his rapping is often close to God-awful, and sometimes downright cringeworthy, but it does improve in all fairness as the set goes on. Musically the band are close to spot-on, with Richards' threatening to steal the show whilst flitting between vocals, saxophone, flute, melodica and keyboards with ease, but to be honest the true heroes of The Skints are the rhythm section of Kyriakides' drumming and Jon Doyle's excellent and fluid basslines. The band themselves recognise this and allow Doyle a nice solo section in one of the songs, and his bass work subtly drives each song forward. In reggae, great bass work is absolutely vital, and The Skints have that area nailed to a tee. Overall, a higly enjoyable set, although it still doesn't convince me that the band are worth the rabid adoration they are affored. Maybe I'm being overly cynical, and The Skints themselves certainly deserve plaudits for an excellent and unique take on roots reggae.
So, just like last week, the penultimate band on the bill threaten to steal the show, and also just like last week, a fair few people seem to bail, thinking that there's nothing else to offer. Unlike last week though, a) there's still a very healthy contingent in the crowd for the headline act, and b) there's absolutely no way Random Hand (10/10) will allow themselves to be upstaged by one of the support acts, and as they charge into action, there's a sense of something pretty special erupting. 2010 hasn't been the best of years for the Hand, but now that they have a new drummer in place, they've returned and are ready to make up for lost time. The formula they've crafted and honed demonstrates the advantage of restraint I talked about earlier - the furiously skanked verses mixed with anthemic choruses and buzzsaw riffs to form a ridiculously catchy, energetic and powerful ska-punk-rock explosion quite unlike anything I've heard. The closest comparison I can perhaps give is a ska-influenced Billy Talent, but even then that particular metaphor is tenuous to say the least. What is so special to behold is that nothing the band does feels at all forced; it's all so natural, effortlessly fluid and razor-sharp. Frontman Robin Leitch is an intense whirligig of energy during songs, and a warm, friendly presence between songs, chatting with the crowd in his distinct Bradford burr, and directing the captive audience to pull off a couple of Camden Underworld firsts: the first ever 'crawl of death' (as opposed to Wall of Death, see?), and the first ever figure of 8 circle pit around the twin pillars on the Underworld floor. As a promised reward for this, he gives us 'partial nudity' in return - basically him struggling to get his sweaty T-shirt off. All fun stuff, especially with guitarist Matt Crosher interjecting occasional lines, and a brief technical delay with Crosher's guitar is smoothed over effortlessly. So, with any divide between band and audience well and truly dismantled, we're invited to join in heartily with the Hand's ska-punk party, through any way possible - outright moshing, pogoing, skanking, hollering along with Leitch and his cohorts, crowd-surfing, stage-diving, you name it, people are doing it without a second thought; almost as if it's obligatory, nay, compulsory. Even members of the other bands are at it, with several members of T-Alan in particular dancing and grinning like idiots (and even stagediving at some points). They inspire that level of rabid emotion through almost every second of their set - and when you've got an armoury of tunes of such high quality as this, coupled with such a superb live show, it's no surprise at all. Every member plays their part - new drummer Sean Howe is a powerhouse of crashing beat precision, bassist Joe Tilston stakes his claim to be one of the best bassists in the business at the moment with a superbly rhythmic and fluid performance, and the dynamic duo of Leitch's barked vocals and Crosher's dynamic guitar work are the formidable icing on a brilliant and anthemic cake. Speaking of anthems, the Hand certainly aren't short of one or two of those - the obligatory new songs from delayed new album 'Seething is Believing' show a nice progression from the already existing material, ramping up the riffs and trombone hooks to new levels. But with a back catalogue as strong as this, inevitable fan favourites have already been formed, and nearly all of them are unleashed tonight; the rousing 'Play Some Ska' comes early on, and the stunning double-gut-punch of 'Anger Management' and 'Scum Triumphant' ends the regular set. After a one-song encore, the band say their goodbyes and depart, to leave behind the wreckage of a sweaty and delirious crowd, delighted with the night's entertainment.
I began this review by touting this gig as possibly one of the best of the year, and overall, despite some dips in quality (and a contingent of plastic punk posers trying not to spoil their mohawks, but we'll talk about that in another post), tonight has lived up to billing in some style - a great combination of reggae, ska and uncompromising hardcore punk, bookended by probably the two strongest ska-punk bands in the U.K. at this time. And on tonight's evidence, 2011 looks like a fantastic year in prospect for the UK underground scene.
Overall Rating: 9.5/10
Considering the continuing presence of mysterious white powdery stuff on the ground, the fact that this gig even took place is a small miracle in itself. Seriously, it goes beyond funny and into the realms of facepalm-inducingly pathetic just how bad this country - mainly the government and local councils - are at dealing with the snow. After a week couped up inside listening to interminable news reporters standing around looking stupid and wittering on about 'the treacherous conditions taking their grip' and other such bollocks, I was rather up for a decent gig, and it appears Mother Nature agreed, easing up on the snow just in time for what, on paper, looked like one of the gigs of the year. A great little venue playing host to a roster of bands which read like a who's-who of the UK scene, complete with American headliners fresh off of tour with none other than Less Than Jake. This was a gig not to be missed, and by hook or by crook, and with a helping hand from Messrs Wayne and Tom with Dreads, I hitched a lift down and was able to bare witness to the fun that unfolded.
It's pretty much a given that any all-day event will never start on time, and I arrived just after the 4:45pm eventual start time, to be greeted with the slightly surreal sight of a bloke bobbing around on stage with an acoustic guitar doing tongue-in-cheek covers of Disney themes and old 90's pop songs. It didn't take long to deduce that this was in fact opening act Team Harry (6/10), though it's debatable whether the 'Team' element could be applicable, seeing as it was only the 'Harry' part, in the form of vocalist and guitarist Harry Broster, present onstage. He took the opportunity of having a stage to himself to essentially dick around for half an hour, poking fun at James Blunt and cheesy boy bands, amongst others. Hell, this was about as life-affirming as the toast I ate that morning, but it's still good fun all the same, and actually comes across more as a stand-up comedy set than a live music show, not that that's a bad thing at all.
Dodgy S Club 7 covers aside, the first band on proper were Gravesend's own My Third Leg (7/10), a band I seem to have seen live more times in the last few months than I have eaten hot dinners. And to be honest, there wasn't that much different about this show to the previous three times I've seen them - you could practically copy-paste my review of them at Piccadilly Circus at the end of October and you'd have an accurate picture of tonight's show. Frontman Will Woodrow was as always warm, witty and humble, acting as a counterpoint to bassist Dave Ja Vu, who bounced around the stage non-stop and punctuated nearly every song with staccato 'eys!' and other yelped backing vocals. Drummer Paul Smith had a fairly decent set, making only a couple of mistakes - it's just a shame then that they were both so glaringly obvious that a deaf man wearing earmuffs in Timbuktu would've winced at them. It wasn't a great set overall for the Smith brothers - guitarist Mike also suffered problems with his amp cutting out, and overall the set felt a little flat compared to previous shows. Perhaps it was the early start time, a lengthy journey down from Gravesend, maybe both? I'm not sure, but what is certain is that they are admirably consistent in the quality of their performances, which considering the amount of gigs they've gotten through this year, will serve them in good stead. The challenge now in the new year will be to see if they can lift themselves up another few gears as a unit and go from 'good band' to 'great band worthy of headline status at events like this'.
I know what you're thinking - that bloke in the picture doesn't look much like either of The Plan's vocalists, Tom Crabb or Andrew Keech. That's because neither of them were actually present, for some reason or another. So rather than bail altogether, bassist Wayne Tully and drummer Ben Gower hastily recruited Captain Bastard and the Scallywags' resident mandolin player Jordan Harris (pictured) as makeshift frontman, renamed themselves Mexican Wave (6.5/10), and proceeded to belt out a set of various Nirvana and Green Day covers with varying degrees of success. Of course, mistakes and technical sloppiness in these circumstances are about as inevitable as the sun rising in the morning and politicians lying to save face, so we wound up hearing the same verse to 'Longview' repeated 3 times (in fact, most bands have a problem with that song - Dr Goon brutally buttfucked it, and even The Submission struggled with the lyrics), and 'When I Come Around' clunked badly at times, but all things considered, the group actually did pretty well. Wayne's slick bass playing and Ben's driving beats formed a strong backbone when they fire together, just as they do on a regular basis with The Plan, while Harris brought an energetic delivery and barked vocals to the party. The Nirvana covers in particular went down very well, and as they ended on another Green Day cover, the criminally underrated 'Burnout', there was a sense that the trio might have stumbled on a combination that has potential to work if it's actually formed into a proper band. It'll be interesting to see if they decide to progress with the idea.
Next up came part one of the Welsh invasion, in the form of Caerphilly's Detached (8/10). I'd heard a lot about this highly-touted ska-punk sextet, and tonight I saw exactly why they're creating such a buzz. This is proper ska-punk, in the purest sense of the word - snarling guitar riffs meld with bouncing horns and skanking beats to create a vicious, hook-laden assault that owes heavily to Less Than Jake and Big D and the Kids Table, but there's also a mild pop-punk streak running through their repertoire, bringing to mind early Kids Can't Fly or perhaps a revamped version of A Boy Named Girl with an added horn section, if you can imagine that. Frontman Rhys Mence was a livewire firecracker of energy with a vocal delivery to match, and bassist Gethin Lock cut an imposing presence next to him as they led the charge from the front. They did fall at times into a familiar trap experienced in this genre, in that some of the songs flit undisciplined from tempo to tempo, and there's never much time for a hook to embed itself in your head before they veer onto another one. Just because you have a lot of weapons in your armoury, doesn't mean you have to use as many as you can at any one time. They certainly don't suffer this as badly as other bands (I'm looking at you, Sonic Boom Six), and it didn't detract from what is an exhilarating performance full of high technical skill and chemistry. Watch out for a review of their current EP very soon, which I picked up immediately after their set from the merch stall.
Part Two of the Welsh invasion came courtesy of the band I was most looking forward to seeing for the first time - Cardiff's Captain Accident and the Disasters (9/10). Considering the enormous gamut of ska-punk bands littering the scene right now (in itself no bad thing), CA&TDs embracing of reggae so wholeheartedly makes for a refreshing change of pace, and they laid down a set of relaxed and heavily melodic grooves which got heads bobbing and bodies swaying with consummate ease. This is music so infused with the spirit of summer that it felt criminal that we were hearing it on a cold December evening, but the truth is, everyone was too busy having fun to notice - much like Jaya the Cat, this is music to loose yourself for half an hour with, swaying with the chilled melodies. Frontman Adam Parsons, in his alter ego as Captain Accident, had a soulful delivery with his vocals, and was very friendly and affable in between songs. His Disasters backing band were a smooth and fluid combination, with Earl Christian's excellent basslines and Huw Jones' nifty drumbeats providing the perfect foundation for both Parsons and lead guitarist Ryan Steadman, who's gorgeous, surf-rock-infused lead parts added another dimension to the fun. Like a modern-day Jimmy Cliff or Toots and the Maytals, this Captain and his merry men are a shining example of just how joyous reggae music can be, and long may they continue - their Pick Up the Microphone EP/Album is another record I'll run the rule over in the next few weeks.
One Day Elliot (7/10) are a band who have certainly paid their dues and earned the respect of the scene - touring and recording for all of 12 years, with multiple big-money record deals turned down along the way, tells it's own story. Tonight they successfully managed to defy their age and delivered a set full of heavy, pop-punk-inflected action, with the occasional bursts of epic overtones a la Funeral for a Friend. I personally didn't take to their music as enthusiastically as others did, but that didn't stop me admiring the energy of the performance, with frontman Paul Richards working the crowd brilliantly. They also exhibited on the shiny new tracks some awesome vocal harmonies, something that caught me completely by surprise and adds another string to their already rather crowded bow. Impressive stuff, and a demonstration from the proverbial greybeards of the scene that they still have the drive and hunger to continue for many years yet - here's to another 12 years, eh?
We were by now heading towards the climax of the event, and despite the best efforts of a valiant band of Welshmen earlier to try and steal the show, the night was only ever going to be about one band - the pride of Medway, Tyrannosaurus Alan (10/10). From the moment the seven members crammed onto the stage and surged into action, it was complete carnage on the floor - bodies pogoing and skanking everywhere in an incendiary display of energy from both crowd and band. Co-vocalist and occasional trombone player Simon Champ took centre stage and led the troops, snarling and spitting his vocals with wild abandon and whipping the crowd up into a frenzy with ease, getting fists in the air and circle pits spinning. Guitarist and fellow vocalist Ollie Harries gleefully assisted in the mayhem, and the band as a whole drove home bouncing hook after powerhouse riff with stunning precision and unity. Horns blared, basslines boomed, drums crashed, Harries' guitar crunched and the aforementioned vocals chattered like staccato machine-guns in a devastating display of contemporary ska-punk, blending their wide-ranging influences (from hip-hop to funk by way of Skindred ragga-punk) into a seamless and rip-roaring stream of awesome and honestly life-affirming anthems. The horn hook from 'The Officer Problem' embeds in your brain like a piece of white-hot shrapnel, and if the likes of 'Cheer Up' and 'Tunnels' don't get you skanking frantically, then I'm going to save you the bother and declare you medically dead. Fantastic fun. Time to raise a glass for T-Alan, one of the finest live bands in the UK right now - 2010 has certainly been their year.
You really had to pity We Are The Union (8/10) - they were supposed to be the headliners and all-star international act, and yet they discovered tonight that it's almost damn near impossible to follow on from T-Alan, largely because, once the dust has settled, there's barely anyone actually left in the venue - I'd say around 20-30 people remained when the American ska-punkers hit the stage. It may well have made sense for the two bands to have swapped around on the bill, with T-Alan headlining instead - yes, WATU are internationally well-known, and it's a pretty big deal for them to be playing a tiny club in Sheerness having just come off of a UK tour with Less than Jake and Zebrahead, but let's face it, you could put Less Than Jake themselves on and offer free beer to all attendees, and they'd still struggle to pull a crowd on a par with T-Alan. The fact that WATU still managed to rip through an energetic set despite the thinning numbers (trombone player Matt Belhanger took time out after one song to bemoan this fact, and thank those who stuck around) is admirable and shows great conviction. Mind you, the music they play demands an energetic delivery by it's very nature - buzzsaw ska-punk rock that varies in pace between breakneck and blistering. In fact, I'm going to coin a new term for them - 'skate-ska'. Because listening to them felt like listening to a skater kid's mixtape, a mixtape that skips from Less Than Jake to NOFX to Black Flag to Bad Religion to Mad Caddies and back again. It's just a shame that they fell into the same trap I mentioned above with Detached and SB6 - ill-disciplined songwriting. In fact, forget just bad discipline, this was flat-out musical schizophrenia - if ten seconds went by without sudden tempo change, then that meant you had probably passed out unconscious on the floor, gibbering and foaming at the mouth. Their music has promise, definitely, it's just that it comes and goes so quickly that you'll wonder if you were just imagining it. Like I said earlier with Detached, pick one weapon, or perhaps two at the most at any one time, and batter us over the head with that - switching weapons every five seconds more often than not kills any momentum you've built up, and can mean that songs breeze by with a lot of bluster and flare, but with no end product. Whereas T-Alan's songs will be lodged in my head until sometime after Christmas, too many of WATU's tracks will slip into obscurity until I look them up on Myspace again. If they rectify this, then they have potential to be a great band; there's nothing wrong with their live show, which was tight and frenetic from first note to last. Drummer Jim Margle switched through the various tempos without breaking sweat, and his powerhouse drumming drove the entire performance with great precision and technical ability, whilst directly in front of him onstage, frontman Reed Michael Wolcott was a hunched, aggressive figurehead with a whiplash vocal style to match. In the end, this was never going to be the glorious finale it claimed to be - T-Alan ruthlessly saw to that - but it was nevertheless a decent way of wrapping things up, and there was more than enough on show to convince me that WATU are a band worth investigating further. If they can get whoever writes their songs to calm the fuck down, then there's a chance they can harness the explosive power they possess and focus it into something great.
Summation time: with a lineup this strong, it was always going to be difficult for this show to live up to the heavy weight of expectation, but do you know what? It actually does end up matching the hype, and then some. Arguably though, this was by far and away Tyrannosaurus Alan's night, and their spectacular performance was worth the trip down and admission fee on it's own. The likes of Detached, Captain Accident, We Are The Union et al all played their part well, but in the end they were all overshadowed by one of the absolute greats of the current UK scene right now, and it was a pleasure, as well as quite a thrill, to bear witness to them.
Overall 9/10
All photos by Vic Wintergreen.
Allow me to be frank: In terms of new music, 2010 has been a barren wasteland of sand, more sand and dog turds. I thought I must've missed something in my coursework and A-level-imposed exile from society during the earlier months of the year, but since then I've been digging around on my hands and knees in the piles of generic, manufactured, Auto-Tuned to death excrement, and there really has been only two records worth noting this year - Feeder's Renegades, and Bad Religion's The Dissent of Man. Even Paul Smith, a veritable oracle on punk and rock 'n' roll music, and a man who has his finger relatively on the pulse of new releases, was at a loss to recall any decent records emerging this year.
If there has been anything I've missed in my musical dumpster diving, then please do endeavour to bring them to my attention, but for now, fuck it, I've had enough. Let's sweep aside into the recycle bin the droves of monotonous bilge that have made up 2010, and cast our minds way back to 2009, which while not being a classic year, was a damn sight better in terms of records. It appears, however, that I was too busy sticking the boot into Green Day for producing the obese, flatulent monstrosity that was 21st Century Breakdown to notice that another band had put out a political punk rock record - and what's more, it was infinitely better. Welcome then, to Anti-Flag's The People or The Gun, an album that, had I known about it at the time, could've gone up against The Submission and AFI for the 'Album of 2009' challenge belt, and given both a seriously bloody nose. It really is an absolute treat, and I thank Paul for finally bringing it to my attention.
I've long had a soft spot for Anti-Flag - It doesn't particularly matter if you agree or not with the strident political and social observations present on nearly every song of theirs, as there's a lot to admire in the blisteringly hooky and punchy punk rock that these sentiments are attached to. They have a back catalogue positively teeming with anthems, and I'd recommend 2004's The Terror State and 2005's For Blood And Empire to anybody wishing not only to get into the band, but the genre of punk rock in general.
However, the latter of those two albums was released on a 'major' label, RCA Records, and this brings us to a sticking point with latter-day AF. Having openly stuck two fingers up at major labels earlier on in their career, their decision to defect to the dark side was met with howls of derision, and 2008's The Bright Lights of America was a lacklustre damp squib. They were subsequently dumped by RCA right around the same time the object of so much of their ire, a certain George W. Bush, was being forcibly ejected from the White House. Instead of putting their feet up and congratulating themselves on a decent decades' work, the band regrouped, returned to the independent arena with SideOneDummy, and instead refocused their crosshairs onto new targets, of which there are still plenty.
This fresh impetus of rage and rebellious frustration is what drives The People or The Gun, but what is refreshing about the record as a whole is that it is no backwards grab at credibility (hell, it's unlikely the band gave a shit about such trivial things in the first place), rather, a condensing of all the best moments and successful experiments of the last five to seven years into eleven tracks of vibrant hooks and varying degrees of punch. The slower numbers balance out the white-hot intensity of the faster tracks, giving a nice feeling of pacing and flow - it's no good just bombarding someone with endless sensory overload, as this simply dilutes the power and message and grows tiring really quickly. Exhibit A: The already mentioned 21st Century Breakdown. Exhibit B: The last few Call of Duty videogames. Anti-Flag are masters of pacing, and what helps is that when they do deviate off-script, some charming surprises crop up - 'The Gre(A)T Depression', loosely based around a Bob Dylan number and featuring guest vocals that read like a who's who of modern punk rock, is a nicely melodic, vaguely Springsteen-esque piece, and 'This is The First Night' uses a more folky rhythm to emphasise the uplifting lyrics.
That being said, it's when the band are foaming at the mouth with rage that the best tracks arise. Opener 'Sodom, Gomorrah, Washington DC' has all the battering ram energy of a runaway freight train, complete with religious references that would make Bad Religion proud, 'The Economy is Suffering...Let It Die' is a stinging indictment of the bank bail-outs strung to an outrageously catchy chorus, and 'You're Fired (Take This Job, Ah, Fuck It)' is a 60-second slice of crunching hardcore punk with a very AFI-esque backing vocal line. The highlight of the entire LP, and indeed one of my favourite punk rock songs for quite a while, is the fantastic 'We Are The One', which sounds not dissimilar to Rise Against's 'Savior' - with the big difference being that it's much, much better. Unfortunately they cannot quite sustain the same level of quality throughout, and the end of the disc isn't quite as strong as the start, but the clincher here comes in the overall consistency - there's not one bad track on the LP, and not once will you be reaching for the 'skip' button.
So, a punk rock group who not only survived a weakening of their powers in the hands of the big bad major label wolf, but emerged on the other side stronger than ever before? How many other bands can you think of who have managed to pull that one off, aside perhaps Bad Religion? If you were one of the many cynics who turned their backs on Anti-Flag the moment they signed on the RCA dotted line, you can come in from the cold now - this is a brilliant return to form. For everyone else who never doubted Anti-Flag's continuing power in spite of their dalliances with the darkside, then rejoice and rock away - you've just been proven right.
Album Details:
Label: SideOneDummy Records
Release Date: June 9th, 2009
Rating: 9/10
Standout Tracks: 'Sodom, Gomorrah, Washington DC', 'We Are The One,' 'You're Fired (Take This Job, Ah, Fuck It)'.
