2.27.2006
KID DYNAMITE- Four Years In One Gulp DVD
Boasting family ties with Lifetime, Good Riddance, Ink and Dagger and Paint It Black, Philadelphia’s finest, Kid Dynamite, were something of a hardcore punk institution before they even played a gig. The fact that their last show was barely four years later is something lamented by most of the people on board ‘Four Years In One Gulp’. The DVD charts the trials of refining a nervous group of friends (grainy basement footage) into sweat-soaked and sturdy performers (bigger and better venues with Alkaline Trio) by way of far too many hours on the road, hours and miles that would eventually end the band (until the momentous reunion shows). It’s obvious KD meant everything to the people in the right place at the right time; this just gives the rest of us a chance to catch up.
2.20.2006
WE ARE SCIENTISTS. Fez Club, Reading. 14.02.06
Somebody booked this an age ago. We Are Scientists have sold out the Astoria two nights in row on their upcoming April tour but tonight they play a club about the size of your living room, surely the setting for gig-of-a-lifetime stuff. The fervour of people's conversation revolving entirely around the three Scientists and their all-catchy debut album, the smell of those sweaty fans straining to get close to the band, the screams of their voices drowning out the music, every word sung in unison, this is how the Fez is supposed to be tonight.
Except something's gone horribly wrong. Even when the band play their hits, songs that have been clogging up MTV2 for weeks like 'It's A Hit' and 'Nobody Move', well, nobody moves. There are some half-hearted hand wavers and the odd camera flash but there's no dancing, no choir of loved-up couples (it's Valentine's, people), nothing.
To their credit, the band seem unfazed and with the aid of a sharply accurate sense of humour, some killer tracks (including a cover of 'Be My Baby' from Dirty Dancing) and some bad-ass moves do eventually get a reaction and if anybody had stayed still during a closing 'The Great Escape' they may as well have been declared dead at the scene.
This could have been an event; a last shot at catching close-up the breath of cool that We Are Scientists provide. As it is most of this crowd thought they themselves were all the rage, either for pulling a fast one on real fans and snagging tickets here or just for their new shoes.
Whatever happened, a massive chance went begging.
Except something's gone horribly wrong. Even when the band play their hits, songs that have been clogging up MTV2 for weeks like 'It's A Hit' and 'Nobody Move', well, nobody moves. There are some half-hearted hand wavers and the odd camera flash but there's no dancing, no choir of loved-up couples (it's Valentine's, people), nothing.
To their credit, the band seem unfazed and with the aid of a sharply accurate sense of humour, some killer tracks (including a cover of 'Be My Baby' from Dirty Dancing) and some bad-ass moves do eventually get a reaction and if anybody had stayed still during a closing 'The Great Escape' they may as well have been declared dead at the scene.
This could have been an event; a last shot at catching close-up the breath of cool that We Are Scientists provide. As it is most of this crowd thought they themselves were all the rage, either for pulling a fast one on real fans and snagging tickets here or just for their new shoes.
Whatever happened, a massive chance went begging.
2.19.2006
JOHNNY TRUANT+ Waterdown+ Architects. West End Centre, Aldershot. 13.02.06
Apparently Aldershot is a glutton for punishment. Booking Johnny Truant to play anywhere means reinforcing the walls but when they've got this much fire in their bellies and a crushing new album to showcase it's like asking for a demolition order. And getting German hard(core)men Waterdown and Brighton new boys Architects to join them only increases the size of the wrecking ball.
High on talent but low on fashion, whole tours like this can end up playing to the proverbial one man and his dog but as the devastation begins the West End Centre is almost full. There's not much movement in the crowd though, maybe it's cold feet, maybe it's cold everything; it's bloody freezing outside, or maybe people are just stunned by the sheer ferocity on show. Architects, including a manic lead singer and guitarists who are apparently robots, flay the shit out of their songs, gleaming slabs of scything and technical metal. The technicalities don't distract from how much fun the boys are having or how heavy they play and on the basis of tonight's cuts their new 'Nightmares' album is going to be stunning.
Waterdown are having a blast too. Despite being roundly ignored in the UK, even in the face of three albums worth of fantastic riff-driven, choppy hardcore, tonight they bring the party. There are glitters and streamers and dance moves and singers getting in people's faces and even a Refused cover but still they find it hard to get the crowd going. They don't hold it against us though, unless somebody can translate German and find out what they really think.
What Johnny Truant think is that their rightful place is on the front cover of your new favourite magazine, that they should be touring with Metallica, that it's their time now, and if it hasn't quite happened just yet it's surely only a matter of time.
The new material is explosive, the crowd lap up the real metal behind Truant's grinding hardcore and the band are loving it too. Singer Olly collapses and tenses like he's got mains current for blood and his voice may be frightening but there are smiles all round.
'I Love You Even Though You're A Zombie Now' and 'The Bloodening' sound massive and through all the lyrics of drugs and sex and death the band laugh and joke and put on a real show. 'Realist Surrealist' and 'Throne Vertigo' are quick-fire mosh rockets spinning the crowd into a frenzy and an extra guitarist thickens up the abrasive sound until it rumbles like a bee behind your eyes and when the band click into a groove or ride a riff until it dies they look triumphant.
Tonight felt like metal shows used to, when it didn't matter how tight your jeans were and you didn't have to be po-faced to be heavy. Tonight was a lesson in how to make music that sounds like 1000 dying screams, fun.
Also appears at New-Noise
High on talent but low on fashion, whole tours like this can end up playing to the proverbial one man and his dog but as the devastation begins the West End Centre is almost full. There's not much movement in the crowd though, maybe it's cold feet, maybe it's cold everything; it's bloody freezing outside, or maybe people are just stunned by the sheer ferocity on show. Architects, including a manic lead singer and guitarists who are apparently robots, flay the shit out of their songs, gleaming slabs of scything and technical metal. The technicalities don't distract from how much fun the boys are having or how heavy they play and on the basis of tonight's cuts their new 'Nightmares' album is going to be stunning.
Waterdown are having a blast too. Despite being roundly ignored in the UK, even in the face of three albums worth of fantastic riff-driven, choppy hardcore, tonight they bring the party. There are glitters and streamers and dance moves and singers getting in people's faces and even a Refused cover but still they find it hard to get the crowd going. They don't hold it against us though, unless somebody can translate German and find out what they really think.
What Johnny Truant think is that their rightful place is on the front cover of your new favourite magazine, that they should be touring with Metallica, that it's their time now, and if it hasn't quite happened just yet it's surely only a matter of time.
The new material is explosive, the crowd lap up the real metal behind Truant's grinding hardcore and the band are loving it too. Singer Olly collapses and tenses like he's got mains current for blood and his voice may be frightening but there are smiles all round.
'I Love You Even Though You're A Zombie Now' and 'The Bloodening' sound massive and through all the lyrics of drugs and sex and death the band laugh and joke and put on a real show. 'Realist Surrealist' and 'Throne Vertigo' are quick-fire mosh rockets spinning the crowd into a frenzy and an extra guitarist thickens up the abrasive sound until it rumbles like a bee behind your eyes and when the band click into a groove or ride a riff until it dies they look triumphant.
Tonight felt like metal shows used to, when it didn't matter how tight your jeans were and you didn't have to be po-faced to be heavy. Tonight was a lesson in how to make music that sounds like 1000 dying screams, fun.
Also appears at New-Noise
2.13.2006
ROCKY VOTOLATO-Makers
Maybe the past is the best place to start. Rocky Votolato used to be in the too short-lived Lying On Loot. When they broke up he played guitar and sung in eternally unsung indie rockers Waxwing. Rocky’s younger brother, Cody, used to play guitar there too but The Blood Brothers stole him away.
Maybe not. Forget all that. Skip to the present. ‘Makers’ is Votolato’s fourth solo album, a point he has reached with no money behind him, little critical mention and few album sales. Now, you don’t get so far, off so little, without doing it for all the right reasons and being entirely comfortable with your sound.
The sound here is the easy part. ‘Makers’ is mostly-acoustic folk rock with a genuine soul and aching heartbeat that’s refreshingly emo-free and expands so much further than man-with-guitar melancholy. These are stories, tracks utterly untouched by the noise of your new favourite band but imbued with the spirit of cigarettes, whiskey, Mark Lanegan and The Beatles.
The hard bit is understanding why Votolato has remained so ‘underground’ (read ‘unheard’) because there’s plenty here to get wrapped up in. ‘White Daisy Passing’ is a quiet, weary, travelling tale built on beautiful harmonies that sets the tone for the entire album and ‘Wait Out The Days’ is somehow dark and uplifting at the same time.
Elsewhere, swathes of simple harmonica and piano, rippling electric guitar and light percussion make their own tender marks but all these songs are gentle peeks into Votolato’s personality. On highlights ‘Goldfield’, ‘Portland Is Leaving’ and ‘Tinfoil Hats’ you can almost hear the road dust stuck in his throat. It’s not quaint or rootsy, it’s chilling and moving and fucking great.
So to the future. It might be that Votolato is a little too grown-up to be down with the kids and too honest, too raw to appeal to fans of Dashboard Confessional and the like but he is certainly not expecting to get rich and famous off these 12 songs. If you’re listening that’s great, but he’s singing to get the demons and tales out of his head for two more years or whenever he decides to bless those in the know with another dose of bittersweet reality.
Also appears at New-Noise
Maybe not. Forget all that. Skip to the present. ‘Makers’ is Votolato’s fourth solo album, a point he has reached with no money behind him, little critical mention and few album sales. Now, you don’t get so far, off so little, without doing it for all the right reasons and being entirely comfortable with your sound.
The sound here is the easy part. ‘Makers’ is mostly-acoustic folk rock with a genuine soul and aching heartbeat that’s refreshingly emo-free and expands so much further than man-with-guitar melancholy. These are stories, tracks utterly untouched by the noise of your new favourite band but imbued with the spirit of cigarettes, whiskey, Mark Lanegan and The Beatles.
The hard bit is understanding why Votolato has remained so ‘underground’ (read ‘unheard’) because there’s plenty here to get wrapped up in. ‘White Daisy Passing’ is a quiet, weary, travelling tale built on beautiful harmonies that sets the tone for the entire album and ‘Wait Out The Days’ is somehow dark and uplifting at the same time.
Elsewhere, swathes of simple harmonica and piano, rippling electric guitar and light percussion make their own tender marks but all these songs are gentle peeks into Votolato’s personality. On highlights ‘Goldfield’, ‘Portland Is Leaving’ and ‘Tinfoil Hats’ you can almost hear the road dust stuck in his throat. It’s not quaint or rootsy, it’s chilling and moving and fucking great.
So to the future. It might be that Votolato is a little too grown-up to be down with the kids and too honest, too raw to appeal to fans of Dashboard Confessional and the like but he is certainly not expecting to get rich and famous off these 12 songs. If you’re listening that’s great, but he’s singing to get the demons and tales out of his head for two more years or whenever he decides to bless those in the know with another dose of bittersweet reality.
Also appears at New-Noise
2.06.2006
PANIC! AT THE DISCO-A Fever You Can't Sweat Out + THE ACADEMY IS...-Almost Here
There's no way this is over anytime soon. Emo may already be a dirty word in alternative circles but it's only just begun to divert into the mainstream. For the people who watch CD:UK, My Chemical Romance are a new vogue, the edgiest rock sound since Limp Bizkit, and although Fred Durst is a joke now remember exactly how long nu-metal lasted. Try to forget how bad it got though and say hello to the new (nu?) kids on the block, two groups of pretty boys with guitar-powered pop songs, emo's great white hopes.
Both building huge buzz and collecting fans through the Internet, both signed to Fall Out Boy Pete Wentz's Decaydence label and both just finished a quickly sold out UK tour without an official release between them the grammatically difficult Panic! At The Disco and The Academy Is.. are bands that, if not already on your radar, are about to crash straight into your musical eye view.
The similarities between the groups' early good fortunes are outweighed by musical differences. Sure they both deal in dead catchy rock-lite that is stuffed with quirky hooks and heart-on-sleeve cleverness but where The Academy drive their tunes straight and hard with a classic rock punch, Panic! meld their skipping guitars with stuttering synth thuds, dance beats, lilting strings or classical piano.
It's Panic!'s mix that works best. A game of two halves, their debut is divided; by an 'Intermission' no less, between the computer-enhanced digital-dance of the first part and the dark orchestral restraint of the last. So where 'Time To Dance' comes fully loaded with its own call-and-response hooks and 'Nails For Breakfast...' is peppered with the kind of effects Cher made famous, 'Build God...' sounds like a warped years-old Disney soundtrack. The whole thing is tied together by the driest of humour and the wildest of imagination.
The Academy Is... aren't short a song or two designed with screaming crowds in mind either. 'Attention' is a simple but killer opener that went down well on tour and 'Down And Out' is a moment of genuine emotion that just about balances out the exaggerated breathlessness elsewhere but it's the gorgeously made 'Checkmarks' that comes closest to making a real impact.
There's no more cool points to be had from owning these, it's too late. Soon everyone will have them. But that doesn't stop them sounding really rather good.
However, despite this and all the other sycophantic press both bands have received their albums share one more similarity, a fuck-you tune dedicated to Mr. Magazine; those critical website writers and prying journalists, so they probably couldn't care less what moderaterock thinks anyway.
At least the zeitgeist has its martyrs now.
Both building huge buzz and collecting fans through the Internet, both signed to Fall Out Boy Pete Wentz's Decaydence label and both just finished a quickly sold out UK tour without an official release between them the grammatically difficult Panic! At The Disco and The Academy Is.. are bands that, if not already on your radar, are about to crash straight into your musical eye view.
The similarities between the groups' early good fortunes are outweighed by musical differences. Sure they both deal in dead catchy rock-lite that is stuffed with quirky hooks and heart-on-sleeve cleverness but where The Academy drive their tunes straight and hard with a classic rock punch, Panic! meld their skipping guitars with stuttering synth thuds, dance beats, lilting strings or classical piano.
It's Panic!'s mix that works best. A game of two halves, their debut is divided; by an 'Intermission' no less, between the computer-enhanced digital-dance of the first part and the dark orchestral restraint of the last. So where 'Time To Dance' comes fully loaded with its own call-and-response hooks and 'Nails For Breakfast...' is peppered with the kind of effects Cher made famous, 'Build God...' sounds like a warped years-old Disney soundtrack. The whole thing is tied together by the driest of humour and the wildest of imagination.
The Academy Is... aren't short a song or two designed with screaming crowds in mind either. 'Attention' is a simple but killer opener that went down well on tour and 'Down And Out' is a moment of genuine emotion that just about balances out the exaggerated breathlessness elsewhere but it's the gorgeously made 'Checkmarks' that comes closest to making a real impact.
There's no more cool points to be had from owning these, it's too late. Soon everyone will have them. But that doesn't stop them sounding really rather good.
However, despite this and all the other sycophantic press both bands have received their albums share one more similarity, a fuck-you tune dedicated to Mr. Magazine; those critical website writers and prying journalists, so they probably couldn't care less what moderaterock thinks anyway.
At least the zeitgeist has its martyrs now.
2.02.2006
I've got the bruise...
...of the year.
LISTEN TO Deftones
Who somehow have been trying to write a new album without worrying about the fact that they've never put a foot wrong before.
The Internet thinks the album, supposed to emerge in the Spring, is going to be called 'Saturday Night Wrist' and the heaviest thing the band have ever released. As long as it has the same stunning meldodies, twisting riffs, simple but hugely effective guitars and the voice of god on it everything's going to be OK.
Cross your fingers.
LISTEN TO Deftones
Who somehow have been trying to write a new album without worrying about the fact that they've never put a foot wrong before.
The Internet thinks the album, supposed to emerge in the Spring, is going to be called 'Saturday Night Wrist' and the heaviest thing the band have ever released. As long as it has the same stunning meldodies, twisting riffs, simple but hugely effective guitars and the voice of god on it everything's going to be OK.
Cross your fingers.
1.16.2006
STRETCH ARMSTRONG +With Honor. Furnace, Swindon. 13.01.06
There’s a big metal barrier at the front of the stage inside the Furnace. Seriously, bands have to stand on their amps to see over it. The front rows of the crowd can reach the top and hang from it but otherwise they spend every show peering through the bars.
Now, Stretch Arm Strong, 15 years into their career, have probably played weirder stages, but not many.
The fact that the band has been doing this so long means a few things. First off, they know how to perform. Theirs is a melodic hardcore punk mix played breakneck by a band famed for being able to turn any crowd their way. Other bands hate playing after them. Secondly, they have the pride and determination that arrives with coming to terms with what a bitch the music industry can be. Despite their powerful sound they’ve never tasted the same success that bands ripping them off have enjoyed.
Even with all that on their side, tonight there’s an air of resentment, not bitterness but weariness, in some of the steps they make. Sure, as they bound onstage the energy levels are, as always, ridiculously high and the band certainly throw themselves around but they soon seem disappointed at the crowd reaction. Frontman Chris McLane is heart and soul embodied, clapping hard, leaping around and climbing speaker stacks to reach his people but apart from a dedicated few down the front and some random mosh pit violence everybody is mid-pint, mid-conversation or simply staring into space. Now that’s gotta hurt.
Before all that With Honor play their taut, driving anthems like their lives depend on it, and they probably do. Cuts from their new Victory Records album ‘This Is Our Revenge’ are amazing and even when the sound system threatens to swallow everything, the songs are played with the sort of emphatic dedication that will see them last as long as the headliners.
In the end, those headliners have simply been going too long to let some of Swindon’s lack of participation knock them all the way down and they shift into an extra gear from nowhere. Ending with a brilliant ‘For The Record’ and a version of ‘Melt With You’ that’s so good even those propping up the bar start to pay attention, they finally annihilate the cobwebs and reveal why they have such a Lazarus-like staying power.
Both of these bands make life-affirming positive anthems, songs you wish you knew the words too. It’s just a shame more people don’t. There may have been a cage on stage but most blocks tonight were, eventually, removed.
Also appears at New-Noise
Now, Stretch Arm Strong, 15 years into their career, have probably played weirder stages, but not many.
The fact that the band has been doing this so long means a few things. First off, they know how to perform. Theirs is a melodic hardcore punk mix played breakneck by a band famed for being able to turn any crowd their way. Other bands hate playing after them. Secondly, they have the pride and determination that arrives with coming to terms with what a bitch the music industry can be. Despite their powerful sound they’ve never tasted the same success that bands ripping them off have enjoyed.
Even with all that on their side, tonight there’s an air of resentment, not bitterness but weariness, in some of the steps they make. Sure, as they bound onstage the energy levels are, as always, ridiculously high and the band certainly throw themselves around but they soon seem disappointed at the crowd reaction. Frontman Chris McLane is heart and soul embodied, clapping hard, leaping around and climbing speaker stacks to reach his people but apart from a dedicated few down the front and some random mosh pit violence everybody is mid-pint, mid-conversation or simply staring into space. Now that’s gotta hurt.
Before all that With Honor play their taut, driving anthems like their lives depend on it, and they probably do. Cuts from their new Victory Records album ‘This Is Our Revenge’ are amazing and even when the sound system threatens to swallow everything, the songs are played with the sort of emphatic dedication that will see them last as long as the headliners.
In the end, those headliners have simply been going too long to let some of Swindon’s lack of participation knock them all the way down and they shift into an extra gear from nowhere. Ending with a brilliant ‘For The Record’ and a version of ‘Melt With You’ that’s so good even those propping up the bar start to pay attention, they finally annihilate the cobwebs and reveal why they have such a Lazarus-like staying power.
Both of these bands make life-affirming positive anthems, songs you wish you knew the words too. It’s just a shame more people don’t. There may have been a cage on stage but most blocks tonight were, eventually, removed.
Also appears at New-Noise
12.20.2005
FOO FIGHTERS. Earls Court, London. 17.12.05
There's no such thing as a bad Foo Fighters show anymore, the band are too well-oiled, Dave Grohl too good a frontman to let anything slip, they are just too good. The real though test is something like this, booking a band based around delicate emotion and huge melodies to play in the biggest shed in the world, where most of your audience are pinpricks in the distance and the best of your sound can be wishy-washed into the air.
Except at 8pm sharp Earls Court gets turned into the biggest and best party. Ever.
As giant screens lift to reveal a solitary spolit Grohl, the sound is perfect, even from a mile away. The screens look awesome, running live film of the band under special effects, synchronised video clips and art attacks while lasers streak across the room and what with the multi-amped stage set from the 'Best Of You' video and the official nicest man in rock sprinting from one side to side, there's always something to see.
It's worth listening in too, 'Stacked Actors' and 'The One' are perfect top-of-the-voice sing-a-longs and only sound better when the choir is tens-of-thousands strong. A big cheer goes up for Taylor Hawkins as he takes to the front of stage, swapping positions with Grohl for the best rendition of 'A Cold Day In The Sun' yet. 'My Hero' and 'Breakout' draw even more volume before 'Up In Arms' and a mostly acoustic version of 'Everlong' see Grohl take the spotlight again, abusing his uncanny ability to seem like the biggest of rock gods and infinitely likeable at the same time. He is surely the only man in the world that can ask for a round of applause for himself and get away with it.
A fantastic light show and the sight of Dave Grohl behind a drum kit again are glorious but it's when Grohl leaves the stage altogether, runs the length of the venue, turns through the sparse crowd at the back of the arena floor and plays a guitar battle with an onstage Chris Shiflett from inside the sound booth that jaws really hit the floor.
Finishing with an amazing 'All My LIfe' and the most sincere sounding American 'thanks' ever the Foo Fighters leave the stage. When they're on this kind of world-straddling form it's difficult to remember exactly what the band do. They played loads of songs, great ones, but they play their simple, effective, catchy rock music so expertly but so entertainingly, so fun, that it seems to pass in mere minutes. Flawless.
Talk about passing with flying colours.
Also appears at the-dish
Except at 8pm sharp Earls Court gets turned into the biggest and best party. Ever.
As giant screens lift to reveal a solitary spolit Grohl, the sound is perfect, even from a mile away. The screens look awesome, running live film of the band under special effects, synchronised video clips and art attacks while lasers streak across the room and what with the multi-amped stage set from the 'Best Of You' video and the official nicest man in rock sprinting from one side to side, there's always something to see.
It's worth listening in too, 'Stacked Actors' and 'The One' are perfect top-of-the-voice sing-a-longs and only sound better when the choir is tens-of-thousands strong. A big cheer goes up for Taylor Hawkins as he takes to the front of stage, swapping positions with Grohl for the best rendition of 'A Cold Day In The Sun' yet. 'My Hero' and 'Breakout' draw even more volume before 'Up In Arms' and a mostly acoustic version of 'Everlong' see Grohl take the spotlight again, abusing his uncanny ability to seem like the biggest of rock gods and infinitely likeable at the same time. He is surely the only man in the world that can ask for a round of applause for himself and get away with it.
A fantastic light show and the sight of Dave Grohl behind a drum kit again are glorious but it's when Grohl leaves the stage altogether, runs the length of the venue, turns through the sparse crowd at the back of the arena floor and plays a guitar battle with an onstage Chris Shiflett from inside the sound booth that jaws really hit the floor.
Finishing with an amazing 'All My LIfe' and the most sincere sounding American 'thanks' ever the Foo Fighters leave the stage. When they're on this kind of world-straddling form it's difficult to remember exactly what the band do. They played loads of songs, great ones, but they play their simple, effective, catchy rock music so expertly but so entertainingly, so fun, that it seems to pass in mere minutes. Flawless.
Talk about passing with flying colours.
Also appears at the-dish
COHEED AND CAMBRIA+ Saosin. Astoria, London. 16.12.05
It takes a fine band on amazing form to make the room they play in feel half the size and the set they play feel especially written for each member of those in attendance, but tonight Coheed And Cambria defy their patchy live reputation and become that band.
Since this lone English date (until the band return with Thrice in January) was announced there has been magic in the air. The show sold out in three days, driven by the feeling that this would be the last time to see the whites of Claudio and Co's eyes. They also have new material to play, the arrival of their ridiculously titled and some believe, breakthrough album, should mean the set list won't be quite so predictable.
Before the headliners claim the stage theirs, cult champions Saosin make their debut on British soil. Probably hoping to make some new fans on the trip, theirs is a whirling, screaming, impressive display, but it seems more than a few people have already picked up on the buzz.
People are singing loud down the front, girls are screaming and the bands smooth melodic hardcore has heads bobbing all the way to the back. If they can convert the energy of their live performance into next years album things are looking bright.
Coheed don't so much bob heads as blow them clean off shoulders, and they don't look bright, they blind. Arriving on a stage bathed in lasers and lights and decked with props based on the new albums artwork they soak up the cheers for a second before opening with an absolutely massive rendition of 'Welcome Home'.
The sound is perfect, Sanchez's voice high and clear and the crowd are locked in, singing along with even the most ridiculous lyrics. The music sounds so impressive, so big it sucks the space out of the room, bringing band and fans closer. Changes between venomous heaviness and gorgeous melody are as flawless as on record and the force is neck-snapping.
There's no denying Coheed can get excrutiantingly boring but tonight they shave most of the wanky excursions from the set list and slam through tracks like 'Ten Speed' and 'A Favor House Atlantic' with an almost unbelievable vigour.
They play 'Everything Evil' like they do everytime, even when no one wants them to. There is no 'Time Consumer' or 'Heartshot Kid Disaster' and most of the personality onstage is coming from a pile of hair but after the completion of a ropey new album appeared to signal the end of the Coheed story, it now seems, in the live arena at least, it could run and run.
Since this lone English date (until the band return with Thrice in January) was announced there has been magic in the air. The show sold out in three days, driven by the feeling that this would be the last time to see the whites of Claudio and Co's eyes. They also have new material to play, the arrival of their ridiculously titled and some believe, breakthrough album, should mean the set list won't be quite so predictable.
Before the headliners claim the stage theirs, cult champions Saosin make their debut on British soil. Probably hoping to make some new fans on the trip, theirs is a whirling, screaming, impressive display, but it seems more than a few people have already picked up on the buzz.
People are singing loud down the front, girls are screaming and the bands smooth melodic hardcore has heads bobbing all the way to the back. If they can convert the energy of their live performance into next years album things are looking bright.
Coheed don't so much bob heads as blow them clean off shoulders, and they don't look bright, they blind. Arriving on a stage bathed in lasers and lights and decked with props based on the new albums artwork they soak up the cheers for a second before opening with an absolutely massive rendition of 'Welcome Home'.
The sound is perfect, Sanchez's voice high and clear and the crowd are locked in, singing along with even the most ridiculous lyrics. The music sounds so impressive, so big it sucks the space out of the room, bringing band and fans closer. Changes between venomous heaviness and gorgeous melody are as flawless as on record and the force is neck-snapping.
There's no denying Coheed can get excrutiantingly boring but tonight they shave most of the wanky excursions from the set list and slam through tracks like 'Ten Speed' and 'A Favor House Atlantic' with an almost unbelievable vigour.
They play 'Everything Evil' like they do everytime, even when no one wants them to. There is no 'Time Consumer' or 'Heartshot Kid Disaster' and most of the personality onstage is coming from a pile of hair but after the completion of a ropey new album appeared to signal the end of the Coheed story, it now seems, in the live arena at least, it could run and run.
12.13.2005
THE BLED+ Fear Before The March Of Flames+ The Fall Of Troy. Zodiac, Oxford. 26.11.05
This is like a line up of the least fashionable fashion-core bands ever. Sure, members of The Fall Of Troy are wearing jeans so tight you can almost see through them and there are plenty of foot-long black fringes milling about the place but none of the music tonight is easy, predictable, or wedged with crowd-pleasing, sing-a-long choruses.
Despite their trouser choices The Fall Of Troy are awesome. They embellish their arty, messy rock with metallic jams, heavy breakdowns and a confidence verging on arrogance, all the while flailing around so hard they look like they’re going to pass out. In fact, singer/guitarist Thomas Erak, obviously believes he’s some sort of gift to the stage; break-dancing, improvising solos and diving into the crowd.
Those who got here early to hear warped versions of already mad tracks like ‘I Just Got This Symphony Goin’’, ‘Mouths Like Sidewinder Missiles’ and ‘Part One’, excitedly lap up all his efforts and just about duck his swinging instrument.
Compared to the devoted if diminutive reception the ‘Troy trio receive, Fear Before The March Of Flames face a massive lack of interest. For all the throwing about of gangly bodies, playing of fitful, intense metal and even a preview of new material they can only muster a cripplingly ordinary set.
The band do fight hard to make a connection for a few tracks but just don’t look as if they are having any fun; and this is only the second night of the tour. Their bad mood is catching and the bar is the busiest it will be all night.
The Bled arrive on stage without explosions or fire but moving with the assurance of headliners, quickly dragging people away from their pints with an overpowering mix of raw emotion and steely precision.
Far tighter than at their last visit downstairs here, the band are now not afraid to really kick out the jams and are able to do it sounding better than ever.
More measured wares, like first single ‘My Assassin’ from their new ‘Found In The Flood’ album, sit well with heavier, older material and James Munoz’s cracked voice is clear, powerful and just as impressive live as on record. His rattling strain remains the perfect compliment to The Bled’s layers of feedback, ferocity and bludgeoning melody.
Sometimes the aggression is lost in a mish-mash of clattering drums and grungey guitar (‘Hotel Coral Essex’), elsewhere it seems like it’s supposed to sound that way (‘Red Wedding’), but it’s all engaging stuff.
Ok, so the music tonight is intricate and demanding at times but isn’t it great when frontmen have more to do than mention their MySpace accounts.
also appears at new-noise
Despite their trouser choices The Fall Of Troy are awesome. They embellish their arty, messy rock with metallic jams, heavy breakdowns and a confidence verging on arrogance, all the while flailing around so hard they look like they’re going to pass out. In fact, singer/guitarist Thomas Erak, obviously believes he’s some sort of gift to the stage; break-dancing, improvising solos and diving into the crowd.
Those who got here early to hear warped versions of already mad tracks like ‘I Just Got This Symphony Goin’’, ‘Mouths Like Sidewinder Missiles’ and ‘Part One’, excitedly lap up all his efforts and just about duck his swinging instrument.
Compared to the devoted if diminutive reception the ‘Troy trio receive, Fear Before The March Of Flames face a massive lack of interest. For all the throwing about of gangly bodies, playing of fitful, intense metal and even a preview of new material they can only muster a cripplingly ordinary set.
The band do fight hard to make a connection for a few tracks but just don’t look as if they are having any fun; and this is only the second night of the tour. Their bad mood is catching and the bar is the busiest it will be all night.
The Bled arrive on stage without explosions or fire but moving with the assurance of headliners, quickly dragging people away from their pints with an overpowering mix of raw emotion and steely precision.
Far tighter than at their last visit downstairs here, the band are now not afraid to really kick out the jams and are able to do it sounding better than ever.
More measured wares, like first single ‘My Assassin’ from their new ‘Found In The Flood’ album, sit well with heavier, older material and James Munoz’s cracked voice is clear, powerful and just as impressive live as on record. His rattling strain remains the perfect compliment to The Bled’s layers of feedback, ferocity and bludgeoning melody.
Sometimes the aggression is lost in a mish-mash of clattering drums and grungey guitar (‘Hotel Coral Essex’), elsewhere it seems like it’s supposed to sound that way (‘Red Wedding’), but it’s all engaging stuff.
Ok, so the music tonight is intricate and demanding at times but isn’t it great when frontmen have more to do than mention their MySpace accounts.
also appears at new-noise
SKIN+ Make Good Your Escape. Zodiac, Oxford. 05.12.05
Hold on a second this was supposed to be a quiet show. The story goes that after Skunk Anansie quit being fucking political Skin’s solo career consisted of quietly anthemic, weakly industrial pop pap, built to show off her admittedly amazing voice but little else.
So it’s a shock when handpicked support band Make Good Your Escape are really loud. Not aggressive or confrontational with their volume but huge-sounding like Aereogramme or Muse.
Songs like ‘Real’ drip with atmosphere and feeling before growing out of control and vibrating eyeballs around the room, most of the people here should be running for the door, or the bar at least, but the masochists lap it up. Everybody is converted by the second song, cheering and applauding MGYE’s every move.
So when they leave, you can’t help feeling sorry for Skin, the girl who used to deal in nothing but confrontation before she lost her way. But then she arrives, looking like the punkest punk chick ever, jumping to touch the ceiling, hurling mic stands around and goading the front rows, daring people to pity her.
And then she sings ‘Hedonism’ and ‘Charlie Pig Potato’ and ‘Weak’ and then Skin; the name of the famous lady and her anonymous band, play some new material and unbelievably it’s just as good. And everybody is singing along except the people that are crying and the goosebumps get huge. And this was supposed to be a quiet show.
Playing the Skunk songs that everybody here obviously loves so much would be incredibly dangerous if the new stuff didn’t rock.
It is those old songs that are most instantly recognised and receive the biggest reaction but elsewhere, apart from a couple of perfectly measured semi-acoustic tunes, there’s a funky bounce and a hard bite throughout.
It seems Skin has rediscovered some of the bile and spite that made her previous band so essential but has lost none of the haunting, angelic perfection from her voice. Even songs that used to splutter and misfire like ‘Trashed’ have been converted into stirring, emotional rock tracks.
The best bit is the look on the lady’s face though, converted from unbridled aggressor through mock shyness to the confident and happy performer taking the Zodiac stage tonight. Never without a cheeky smile or mile wide grin and looking like she’s having the time of her life. A feeling reflected to the bar and back.
And no pop pap in sight.
also appears at new-noise
So it’s a shock when handpicked support band Make Good Your Escape are really loud. Not aggressive or confrontational with their volume but huge-sounding like Aereogramme or Muse.
Songs like ‘Real’ drip with atmosphere and feeling before growing out of control and vibrating eyeballs around the room, most of the people here should be running for the door, or the bar at least, but the masochists lap it up. Everybody is converted by the second song, cheering and applauding MGYE’s every move.
So when they leave, you can’t help feeling sorry for Skin, the girl who used to deal in nothing but confrontation before she lost her way. But then she arrives, looking like the punkest punk chick ever, jumping to touch the ceiling, hurling mic stands around and goading the front rows, daring people to pity her.
And then she sings ‘Hedonism’ and ‘Charlie Pig Potato’ and ‘Weak’ and then Skin; the name of the famous lady and her anonymous band, play some new material and unbelievably it’s just as good. And everybody is singing along except the people that are crying and the goosebumps get huge. And this was supposed to be a quiet show.
Playing the Skunk songs that everybody here obviously loves so much would be incredibly dangerous if the new stuff didn’t rock.
It is those old songs that are most instantly recognised and receive the biggest reaction but elsewhere, apart from a couple of perfectly measured semi-acoustic tunes, there’s a funky bounce and a hard bite throughout.
It seems Skin has rediscovered some of the bile and spite that made her previous band so essential but has lost none of the haunting, angelic perfection from her voice. Even songs that used to splutter and misfire like ‘Trashed’ have been converted into stirring, emotional rock tracks.
The best bit is the look on the lady’s face though, converted from unbridled aggressor through mock shyness to the confident and happy performer taking the Zodiac stage tonight. Never without a cheeky smile or mile wide grin and looking like she’s having the time of her life. A feeling reflected to the bar and back.
And no pop pap in sight.
also appears at new-noise
MY AWESOME COMPILATION+ Twice Upon A Time. Fez Club, Reading. 07.12.05
Inside The Fez Club it's freezing. It's a decent sized place but there are maybe 50 people here, there's frost forming outside but the air-conditioning inside is still on overdrive and there's certainly nobody dancing enough to warm things up.
The upbeat tunes of Twice Upon A Time and the neat, catchy rock of My Awesome Compilation could be packing out arenas with thousands of kids given the right backing but tonight those kids have homework to do. There's not a lot you can do to fill even a place like the Fez up when your greatest audience isn't allowed out on a school night.
Not that there's any dejection coming off the stage. TUAT (an unfortuante acronym) battle the cold by playing their emo like Brand New do or Northstar did, tight and tunefully with a touch of indie. There's a crunch and bite to their older songs and measured finesse in the newer ones. All good stuff, all failing to inspire any movement, even when they hurl themselves around like they're headling Brixton.
MAC's music warms things up a little, if only because it's impossible to stand still while they play punchy, insistent numbers like 'Put Up A Fight' or 'Longshot'.
They thankfully mix the old with the new too. Captivating, heartfelt early tracks, 'As Always' and 'Butterflies' mixing well with songs from their new 'Actions' album.
They play without mention of the low turnout, unfazed, unjaded, and very much with their own style. They leave without saying much except ,"thankyou so much for coming out and supporting Britsh rock," preferring to let the music do the talking.
Warms the heart, even if the fingers and toes are turning black and falling off.
The upbeat tunes of Twice Upon A Time and the neat, catchy rock of My Awesome Compilation could be packing out arenas with thousands of kids given the right backing but tonight those kids have homework to do. There's not a lot you can do to fill even a place like the Fez up when your greatest audience isn't allowed out on a school night.
Not that there's any dejection coming off the stage. TUAT (an unfortuante acronym) battle the cold by playing their emo like Brand New do or Northstar did, tight and tunefully with a touch of indie. There's a crunch and bite to their older songs and measured finesse in the newer ones. All good stuff, all failing to inspire any movement, even when they hurl themselves around like they're headling Brixton.
MAC's music warms things up a little, if only because it's impossible to stand still while they play punchy, insistent numbers like 'Put Up A Fight' or 'Longshot'.
They thankfully mix the old with the new too. Captivating, heartfelt early tracks, 'As Always' and 'Butterflies' mixing well with songs from their new 'Actions' album.
They play without mention of the low turnout, unfazed, unjaded, and very much with their own style. They leave without saying much except ,"thankyou so much for coming out and supporting Britsh rock," preferring to let the music do the talking.
Warms the heart, even if the fingers and toes are turning black and falling off.
12.07.2005
TRENCHER/ESQUILAX Peel session split 10"
It’s a disgusting world out there. Some pretty messed up shit goes on daily and this might just be the soundtrack to the whole goddamn mess.
After a few years of low-sound-quality releases, London 3 piece Trencher use a side of vinyl and a session recorded for John Peel to further prove how much damage can be done with a sore throat, a perverted sense of fun and a tiny keyboard. They drag Birmingham noisy bastards Esquilax along to make their debut on the other side.
Although recorded live, Trencher sound better than they ever have before. Fast and loud, ambitious but awkward, frantic stop-start-stops and frightening noise spasms that make Converge look formulaic, their ugly grinding everything-core genuinely pushes for the boundaries of extremity and even the borders of listenability.
They describe their live shows as “violent, therapeutic catharsis”, a feeling translated into the high-speed drums, droning, relentless bass and ringing Casio squawk of tracks like ‘Blondes Of Meth’ and ‘Attack Of The SXE Attackers’ here. And whoever the hell is screaming must be getting some huge personal demons out. Or a killer headache.
Esquilax sound like that headache, or like an alien being pulled backwards through a tiny hole in a spaceship window by the vacuum beyond. Branded ‘terror pop’, they fire through 15 tracks of their piercing digital hardcore in just over nine minutes.
Like disco music played backwards too fast and mixed with the theme from some obscure 80’s cartoon, there are bubbling circus effects, a shattering drum-machine stomp and desperate, clawing vocals. Bouts of apparent randomness, some near-silent lows followed by shrill, scathing highs…this is probably what murderers hear when they close their eyes.
This is definitely all challenging stuff, but not a challenge like staying awake at a prog-rock concert; a challenge like escaping from a Terminator. Trying to kill you with a power drill.
Much closer to the dictionary definition of noise than that of music; for some, this will be genius at work, the captured sound of two twisted bands on fine form. For everybody else it could be enough to make them never listen to music again, in case something like this ever slips through the speakers for a second time.
Also appears at new-noise
After a few years of low-sound-quality releases, London 3 piece Trencher use a side of vinyl and a session recorded for John Peel to further prove how much damage can be done with a sore throat, a perverted sense of fun and a tiny keyboard. They drag Birmingham noisy bastards Esquilax along to make their debut on the other side.
Although recorded live, Trencher sound better than they ever have before. Fast and loud, ambitious but awkward, frantic stop-start-stops and frightening noise spasms that make Converge look formulaic, their ugly grinding everything-core genuinely pushes for the boundaries of extremity and even the borders of listenability.
They describe their live shows as “violent, therapeutic catharsis”, a feeling translated into the high-speed drums, droning, relentless bass and ringing Casio squawk of tracks like ‘Blondes Of Meth’ and ‘Attack Of The SXE Attackers’ here. And whoever the hell is screaming must be getting some huge personal demons out. Or a killer headache.
Esquilax sound like that headache, or like an alien being pulled backwards through a tiny hole in a spaceship window by the vacuum beyond. Branded ‘terror pop’, they fire through 15 tracks of their piercing digital hardcore in just over nine minutes.
Like disco music played backwards too fast and mixed with the theme from some obscure 80’s cartoon, there are bubbling circus effects, a shattering drum-machine stomp and desperate, clawing vocals. Bouts of apparent randomness, some near-silent lows followed by shrill, scathing highs…this is probably what murderers hear when they close their eyes.
This is definitely all challenging stuff, but not a challenge like staying awake at a prog-rock concert; a challenge like escaping from a Terminator. Trying to kill you with a power drill.
Much closer to the dictionary definition of noise than that of music; for some, this will be genius at work, the captured sound of two twisted bands on fine form. For everybody else it could be enough to make them never listen to music again, in case something like this ever slips through the speakers for a second time.
Also appears at new-noise
11.23.2005
The gloves are off...
...It's time to kill.
LISTEN TO Remembering Never.
Floridian hardcore kings making everyone mad about shit they shouldn't be get set to deliver another venomous bite of songs against the scene in the shape of 'God Save Us' due February 2006. If they can combine the song skills and huge hooks of their 'She Looked So Good in Red' debut with the sheer power and soul from second effort 'Women and Children First' there will be no stopping them.
You remember when people sung the messages from their heads and hearts instead of just posting them as bulletins on MySpace right? Never! Wrong.
LISTEN TO Remembering Never.
Floridian hardcore kings making everyone mad about shit they shouldn't be get set to deliver another venomous bite of songs against the scene in the shape of 'God Save Us' due February 2006. If they can combine the song skills and huge hooks of their 'She Looked So Good in Red' debut with the sheer power and soul from second effort 'Women and Children First' there will be no stopping them.
You remember when people sung the messages from their heads and hearts instead of just posting them as bulletins on MySpace right? Never! Wrong.
11.18.2005
ATTAKU+ Sylosis+ Ionica. Bullingdon, Oxford. 16.11.05
There must be a fear in the minds of all British metal bands that they'll never escape the toilet touring circuit. That their destiny is to become a 'remember them?', or even worse a 'who?' playing the same venues year after year after year before splitting up because nobody cares.
Depressing huh?
But it might explain the sweaty desire, desperate glint and practised fervour with which most of the bands here tonight play.After Ionica bore everybody shitless with their fast if vapid metal, Reading metalcore kids Sylosis can't help but seem tight, proficient and fun. Having finally cemented a line-up the band fire out dark breakdowns and death growls and guitarist Josh is next-generation-inspiration in the making.
Headliners Attaku though are the most professional outfit on show, and it's by a mile. Opening ferocious and loud theirs is bullet-fast technical metal, all attitude and jazzy breaks; it's like listening to a decent British version of The Dillinger Escape Plan.
This shouldn't be a gig in a toilet. There are no reasons left why these bands aren't huge. It's down to you to make that problem go away.
Depressing huh?
But it might explain the sweaty desire, desperate glint and practised fervour with which most of the bands here tonight play.After Ionica bore everybody shitless with their fast if vapid metal, Reading metalcore kids Sylosis can't help but seem tight, proficient and fun. Having finally cemented a line-up the band fire out dark breakdowns and death growls and guitarist Josh is next-generation-inspiration in the making.
Headliners Attaku though are the most professional outfit on show, and it's by a mile. Opening ferocious and loud theirs is bullet-fast technical metal, all attitude and jazzy breaks; it's like listening to a decent British version of The Dillinger Escape Plan.
This shouldn't be a gig in a toilet. There are no reasons left why these bands aren't huge. It's down to you to make that problem go away.
11.16.2005
CAVE IN- Perfect Pitch Black
Living well is the best revenge. And if that really is true RCA records are pissed. After the major label dropped Cave In back in 2003 the boys in black bowed their heads and contemplated giving up but eventually thought better of it and have regrouped to compile their best album yet. Wise choice.
Despite that one major label album there has never been anything predictable about the way Cave In write songs. Even at their most delicate and dramatic they can be ridiculously heavy, and at their most aggressive can play one-note desert rock and be genuine and convinving. On 'Perfect Pitch Black'; essentially material collected from the last three years of wilderness existence, songs stop on a dime and speed off in entirely unexpected directions. Faultless pop spirals into indie serenity and heads-down metal, all steered by Stephen Brodsky's amazingly warm and wide voice, only interrupted by the welcome return of bassist Caleb Scofield's demon-voiced tourette's. Brodsky's lonesome tone is marvellous throughout, scaling walls of hardcore guitars and droning punk riffs without ever sounding desperate or spluttering, seperating these songs from the mush of any contemporary 'core and making them absolutely essential.
Cave In have always made music that sounds fucking great played loud and 'Perfect Pitch Black' is no exception. From the numbing rumble of 'Off to Ruin' to the Mastodon sound of 'Trepanning' to the beautiful simplicity of 'Down the Drain' these are gigantic riff-fuelled tunes allowing the band to run rings around most of todays (and gladly now tomorrows) young heavy pretenders.
Get 'Perfect...' now and shake the walls down.
Despite that one major label album there has never been anything predictable about the way Cave In write songs. Even at their most delicate and dramatic they can be ridiculously heavy, and at their most aggressive can play one-note desert rock and be genuine and convinving. On 'Perfect Pitch Black'; essentially material collected from the last three years of wilderness existence, songs stop on a dime and speed off in entirely unexpected directions. Faultless pop spirals into indie serenity and heads-down metal, all steered by Stephen Brodsky's amazingly warm and wide voice, only interrupted by the welcome return of bassist Caleb Scofield's demon-voiced tourette's. Brodsky's lonesome tone is marvellous throughout, scaling walls of hardcore guitars and droning punk riffs without ever sounding desperate or spluttering, seperating these songs from the mush of any contemporary 'core and making them absolutely essential.
Cave In have always made music that sounds fucking great played loud and 'Perfect Pitch Black' is no exception. From the numbing rumble of 'Off to Ruin' to the Mastodon sound of 'Trepanning' to the beautiful simplicity of 'Down the Drain' these are gigantic riff-fuelled tunes allowing the band to run rings around most of todays (and gladly now tomorrows) young heavy pretenders.
Get 'Perfect...' now and shake the walls down.
11.09.2005
THRICE- Vheissu
The first track on 'Vheissu', Thrice's fourth album proper, sets to demolish the rumour mill that's been in fifth gear in the run up to this release. The stories read that Thrice had discarded every element of the music that made their name, fled any scene tags that were still stuck, even abanoned rock and roll altogether. But 'Image of the Invisible' is a blistering and dynamic call and response rock song- the stuff lesser bands can't even dream of. And, if any were needed, instant comfort for fans of 'The Illusion of Safety''s quick-fingered mild thrash attack and 'The Artist in the Ambulance''s powerful heaviness that some of the Thrice of old remains. But it's all a front.
There are few other examples of the same kind of immediacy or aggression. 'The Earth Will Shake' is heavy but slow, 'For Miles' goes through four minutes of swaying rock before Dustin Kensrue gets to unleash his growl and 'Hold Fast Hope' feigns at hardcore punk before revealing a wilting, pleading melody.What there are, are songs that build from delicate but engrossing piano melodies, adding layers of keys, percussion, synths and strings until they become massive walls of sound. These can be heavy as on 'Music Box' or 'Like Moths to Flame' but always hide fragile indie strum behind them. And there are clicking, calm Radiohead-infused passages that make sure tracks like 'Stand and Feel Your Worth' and 'Atlantic' make their mark.The end result means the album has a massive ebb and flow, even within songs the mood rises to oppressive confrontation and falls to creepy effects and barely audible lyrical gems.
One of the bands goals for 'Vheissu' was to make their already kinetic and emotional music more cinematic, and that effort has definitely made this an 'album' in the old-fashioned sense of the word. This is Thrice's least catchy, or even, easy, release but this is isn't some token singles or studio stodge. This is a story from beginning to end where tracks don't stop they segue into each other.
But this isn't a Hollywood blockbuster; it's an obscure but interesting foreign film. It looks great, all moody and stormy but moves slowly, with purpose. It's in a language you can't quite understand perhaps, but one that reaches your ears smooth and clean, one that you'd love to learn and if you just try, it will be easy.
A personal triumph for a band that never wanted to be where they were put if nothing else
There are few other examples of the same kind of immediacy or aggression. 'The Earth Will Shake' is heavy but slow, 'For Miles' goes through four minutes of swaying rock before Dustin Kensrue gets to unleash his growl and 'Hold Fast Hope' feigns at hardcore punk before revealing a wilting, pleading melody.What there are, are songs that build from delicate but engrossing piano melodies, adding layers of keys, percussion, synths and strings until they become massive walls of sound. These can be heavy as on 'Music Box' or 'Like Moths to Flame' but always hide fragile indie strum behind them. And there are clicking, calm Radiohead-infused passages that make sure tracks like 'Stand and Feel Your Worth' and 'Atlantic' make their mark.The end result means the album has a massive ebb and flow, even within songs the mood rises to oppressive confrontation and falls to creepy effects and barely audible lyrical gems.
One of the bands goals for 'Vheissu' was to make their already kinetic and emotional music more cinematic, and that effort has definitely made this an 'album' in the old-fashioned sense of the word. This is Thrice's least catchy, or even, easy, release but this is isn't some token singles or studio stodge. This is a story from beginning to end where tracks don't stop they segue into each other.
But this isn't a Hollywood blockbuster; it's an obscure but interesting foreign film. It looks great, all moody and stormy but moves slowly, with purpose. It's in a language you can't quite understand perhaps, but one that reaches your ears smooth and clean, one that you'd love to learn and if you just try, it will be easy.
A personal triumph for a band that never wanted to be where they were put if nothing else
10.31.2005
BRING ME THE HORIZON+ Architects+ Clone the Fragile+ Dead Summer Rising. Furnace, Swindon. 29.10.05
What's this then? Metalcore, hardcore, haircore? The 3rd wave, the 4th?
The reason people get annoyed with genres that come from out of nowhere to outstay their welcome is that the amount of copycats triple, overall quality drops like a stone, it gets harder to tell genuine heart from eyes filled with dollar signs and saturation point comes all too quickly. Like they say, there's only so much shit you can take.
But let's reserve that kind of judgement for at least an hour.
Dead Summer Rising are really young and play that way. They are brilliantly talented but the whiff of fandom is overwhelming. There's Black Dahlia Murder, As i Lay Dying and Norma Jean in their lively hardcore but not one original note. Yet.
Clone the Fragile are better within a mic check and when they get down to it are writing the kind of familiar but exciting riffs capable of grabbing the attention of rooms twice this size. Theirs is still predictable stuff but at least gives the impression it will carry on after the spotlight drops.
And things only get better. Architects are awesome. They bring the Johnny Truant smash and grab approach from their shared Brighton hometown. Their dance moves and discordant mania may be fashion faux pa on such a black clad bill as this but they play genuine shredding metal, fierce and professional.
Already granted underground celebrity and much taunted for major stardom Bring me the Horizon may have won the audience over before playing a note but the adoration isn't entirely unfounded. The band are all decent players, with a live presense already pegged, and out of their stick thin frontman comes the voice of the devil. When the crowd know the words they sing along, when they don't they kick the shit out of each other. Not exactly good clean fun but at least they mean it.
It's debatable how many people are here for the music and how many got in free to wave at their friends but everyone caught proof that the UK underground is alive and kicking, sometimes in the wrong direction and, as always, some way behind the Americans, but kicking fast and hard.
Reassuring stuff
The reason people get annoyed with genres that come from out of nowhere to outstay their welcome is that the amount of copycats triple, overall quality drops like a stone, it gets harder to tell genuine heart from eyes filled with dollar signs and saturation point comes all too quickly. Like they say, there's only so much shit you can take.
But let's reserve that kind of judgement for at least an hour.
Dead Summer Rising are really young and play that way. They are brilliantly talented but the whiff of fandom is overwhelming. There's Black Dahlia Murder, As i Lay Dying and Norma Jean in their lively hardcore but not one original note. Yet.
Clone the Fragile are better within a mic check and when they get down to it are writing the kind of familiar but exciting riffs capable of grabbing the attention of rooms twice this size. Theirs is still predictable stuff but at least gives the impression it will carry on after the spotlight drops.
And things only get better. Architects are awesome. They bring the Johnny Truant smash and grab approach from their shared Brighton hometown. Their dance moves and discordant mania may be fashion faux pa on such a black clad bill as this but they play genuine shredding metal, fierce and professional.
Already granted underground celebrity and much taunted for major stardom Bring me the Horizon may have won the audience over before playing a note but the adoration isn't entirely unfounded. The band are all decent players, with a live presense already pegged, and out of their stick thin frontman comes the voice of the devil. When the crowd know the words they sing along, when they don't they kick the shit out of each other. Not exactly good clean fun but at least they mean it.
It's debatable how many people are here for the music and how many got in free to wave at their friends but everyone caught proof that the UK underground is alive and kicking, sometimes in the wrong direction and, as always, some way behind the Americans, but kicking fast and hard.
Reassuring stuff
10.30.2005
HAWTHORNE HEIGHTS+ Silverstein. Zodiac, Oxford. 21.10.05
Oxford smells like crap. Upstairs the Zodiac is thick with the funk of pubescent teens dancing badly to their new favourite bands.
As it is Silverstein could be one of too many bands dishing out similar screamy emo and the crowd would go just as wild. Songs like 'Giving Up' and 'Discovering the Waterfront' are neat adrenaline spikes but pimpled by bum notes and feedback, luckily the kids are screaming loud enough for no one to notice.
It is surely a huge joy for Hawthorne Heights to play some new songs tonight; they've been playing tracks from their 'The Silence...' debut for three years, and a real treat for the crowd to hear them. But it doesn't really seem to matter. The new tracks which are more of the same heavy melodic rock but darker and more frantic, recieve the same reaction as fan favourites like 'Niki FM' and 'Speeding up the Octaves', but the band look a little bored at playing any of them.
The screaming is ceaseless while HH go through the motions and this is the best gig these fans have ever seen- until next week.
An average night celebrated like the second coming.
As it is Silverstein could be one of too many bands dishing out similar screamy emo and the crowd would go just as wild. Songs like 'Giving Up' and 'Discovering the Waterfront' are neat adrenaline spikes but pimpled by bum notes and feedback, luckily the kids are screaming loud enough for no one to notice.
It is surely a huge joy for Hawthorne Heights to play some new songs tonight; they've been playing tracks from their 'The Silence...' debut for three years, and a real treat for the crowd to hear them. But it doesn't really seem to matter. The new tracks which are more of the same heavy melodic rock but darker and more frantic, recieve the same reaction as fan favourites like 'Niki FM' and 'Speeding up the Octaves', but the band look a little bored at playing any of them.
The screaming is ceaseless while HH go through the motions and this is the best gig these fans have ever seen- until next week.
An average night celebrated like the second coming.
10.20.2005
Slowly we peel away the layers...
...and light slips through the cracks.
LISTEN TO The Bled
This is desert hardcore- dusty throated vocals over pounding drums and screeching guitars that scream love songs for sandstorms. And like they say 'if it ain't broke...', so there were no concessions to fashion for album number two 'Found in the Flood', released earlier this year.
Go see them make a giant racket and dance like idiots but not care when they tour the UK with The Fall of Troy and Fear Before the March of Flames next month.
LISTEN TO The Bled
This is desert hardcore- dusty throated vocals over pounding drums and screeching guitars that scream love songs for sandstorms. And like they say 'if it ain't broke...', so there were no concessions to fashion for album number two 'Found in the Flood', released earlier this year.
Go see them make a giant racket and dance like idiots but not care when they tour the UK with The Fall of Troy and Fear Before the March of Flames next month.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)