Live Review: UK Tech-Fest, Newark Showground, Saturday 8th July 2017

UK Tech-Fest is always an event to look forward to with its interesting variety of international bands, a great atmosphere and organisers who think of everything, including a fine selection of real ales. AveNoctum’s John Skibeat (JS) and Andrew Doherty (AD) were there on the Saturday of this four day event to drink in and review the experience.

Johnski’s mission should he choose to accept it? Absorbing 7 hours of instrumental technicality; music sans vocals.

So what did he learn? Well, it imbued him with a new found appreciation of the drummer’s art. From the maniacally complex blur of sticks and feet on skin to the vast swathes of silence, deftness of touch and light glances of cymbal. The variety of percussion required when creating music devoid of the human voice was vast. And whilst there appeared to be a decreasing use of bass guitar there was conversely the increasing use of ambient recordings in this art form. It was also noticeable just how often certain instruments have risen to the fore in technical music over the years – see reviews for examples.

So… back to the present tense and the first band on the bill for the day. Altostratus, a quartet named after a high cloud formation, play a groovy, light, yet complex, form of technical rock with a soft, elegiac flow. Their bassist looms large in everything they do, setting a strong rhythm, striding wildly from step to step across the stage. The twin guitarists create some beautiful finger shapes, and aren’t afraid of palm-muting or riffing. They switch guitars regularly and at one point a small black box Strandberg guitar, no bigger than a banjo, is produced. Ultimately, they do thrash out one too many bar chords for my liking and just don’t work over their cute riffs for long enough to fully immerse yourself in their songs. Having said that, there are some wonderful flurries of colour to be found in key track “Hidden In A Cloud”. (JS)

Crushing bass lines, a growly vocalist, who looked as if he wanted to cause harm, and all-round heaviness were the meat and veg from Harbinger. Actually, not so much veg. The vocalist made the common mistake of mumbling song titles but I gathered beforehand from the guy on the merch stand that most of this set came from the recently released EP “Human Dust”. I loved the hard-hitting riffs, the heavy bass line and the technical hardcore energy. One vocalist briefly became two – that’s one way of getting over the noise. This was aggressive layered technical metal without ever being too clever about it. Structures held together well even in the onslaught of such brutal chaos. Harbinger had great presence too. The vocalist had grace and humour. Heads banged, faces twisted and the bassist in the multi-coloured shirt, which made me think that a blackcurrant-consuming bird had deposited its stuff, joyously lived and breathed every moment. The band rose to the occasion. This was everything you would hope for from a live performance. (AD)

A thin and pale-looking man in a green hooded wind cheater growled and screamed like a cat, as the instrumentalists around him pumped out irregular, djenty dirt. It stopped. “We are Nycosia”, he announced politely in a refined accent. Thanks. Now back to screams and dissonance of a highly disturbing and entertaining nature. Green Man’s face turned redder as he rapped venom into his mic for our benefit. Oodles and oodles of energy and aggression poured out of every crevice. Chunk – clunk – chunk, they’re angry. Everyone’s angry but happy. Sampled distorted crawliness led to a further mentally deranged breakneck fury fest, breaking down somewhere along the line into mind-altering doom. Oompah-oompah. The experimentation knew no bounds. It was brutal. It turned punishingly dark out there. Somehow we finished up in a cosmic void. This was fine fare for 2 o’clock on a Saturday afternoon. Immaculately presented, this was warped music for creative minds. Well done. Does Nycosia come on prescription? Luckily Green Man didn’t burst a blood vessel. The man needs a nice cup of tea after all that. (AD)

With more Strandberg’s on display for Wisconsin duo (a trio for the tour) The Fine Constant, it certainly becomes apparent that it is this year’s instrument de rigeur. Adored by axe technicians for its lightness and adaptability, the guitarists here show just how adaptable they can be. Lead guitarist, Sarah Longfield, drives the twinkling top-end whereas the tour backing guitarist adds bassier textures with bar chords and riffs. Sarah’s finger shapes, speed and lightness of touch is astonishing and mesmeric in equal measure. She rarely visits the base of the guitar neck to strum, employing the finger-tapping method to great effect. Their music brings a strong arpeggio game, but sadly the performance and finished product feel vacant, like it’s missing something. Perhaps it’s the size of the stage, the loss of momentum between songs or the lack of engagement with the crowd, but for some reason the absence of vocal seems particular noticeable. (JS)

With less ambiguous arpeggios and a groovier soul, The Parallax Method, are three guys who obviously love what they do. Throughout the set, they’re exchanging smiles, teasing each other with new tricks and change-ups. Ben Edis on bass spends the whole set bobbing his head in time with his own rhythm, rocking gently forwards and backwards, and sandal-wearing guitarist Danny Beardsley isn’t far behind him. The drummer plays intense, rapid rhythms and displays huge technical skills. This band know their way around their instruments but they still fall short on variety. There is much similarity between the songs but what is there is solid. Pulling out of the groove to develop the layers would help lift what good foundations they have laid. (JS)

My immediate impression of seeing Exist Immortal on stage was that they are a well-drilled band. Co-ordinated head-banging, movement and horns gave a slick appearance. Musically, deep waves flowed through a heavily progressive sound. The singer mixed growls and clean vocals very well. Normally I pick up bands for having insufficient presence, but at the start I felt there was too much. All the gesturing and posturing were those of self-appointed, posing rock gods. The music itself had power and energy. There was plenty of energy in fact and moreover plenty of hair on stage to swing. And it flowed – the songs were strong, the riffs were solid and dark, and the clean vocals added impact to this melodic heaviness. The singer looked like Damian Wilson and when he spoke sounded like him. The vocal delivery was more akin to Scar Symmetry. Inciting the crowd to chant “we are non believers” was a bit daft, I thought, and the bassist became unhooked in his enthusiasm, but the stage performance settled down after initially being distracting. The crowd bounced, even the guy with the bandaged foot. I’d quite like to listen to the recorded version of these songs without the distraction of seeing these guys prancing about and without the wall of sound. I suspect they would be rather good. Well, on a hunch I bought Exist Immortal’s album “Breathe” (2016) so I guess I’ll find that out soon. (AD)

Maxi Curnow, producer, composer, fire-fighter and Tech-Fest favourite, always goes down well with the crowd and here it is no surprise to see just how well his unique brand of jazzy, progressive, groove-laden tech metal is received – he takes the adoration with a series of appreciative nods, thank yous and humble blushes. Further comment would be somewhat unfair seeing as, due to rumbling bellies, neither our intrepid reviewers got to witness his full set. (JS)

Dutch quartet, Exivious, featuring current and ex-members of Dodecahedron and Cynic, greeted us with the news that they were (like a couple of others) on their farewell tour. They certainly gave us a big echoing sound to absorb. Imagine yourself being in the belly of a whale, hearing the groaning of the ocean beyond its ribcage. Such was the impact of combining a multitude of effects pedals with an impressive and aggressive drummer. Some songs breathed fire, some froze in our veins. They certainly maintained a steely resolve throughout, their respective members smiling with each twist of the story conjured. Indeed, our lead guitarist seemed lost in his own little world; eyes covered by shades, ears covered by headphones, rocking and rolling his way to oblivion. With so little crowd interaction, the “all-male futuristic instrumental hit machine” left us a little bemused but certainly with something to mull over. (JS)

“Platfarm faave” was the sole contribution to humanity that I ever heard from the man on the gate at Hull Paragon station. It didn’t matter where you were going. It was always platfarm faave. The man was a legend. Not yet legends but also from Hull are The Colour Line. They certainly took the dull out of Hull. The band looked excited. Soon they were up and at us. Mayhem followed. The vocalist, guitarist and bassist ran around and jumped on things amid punk hardcore energy and noise. They wouldn’t stand still for Johnski’s photo, the buggers. The vocalist was in the moshpit and we were on the first song. I found myself confronted by the burly bassist. No time for chit-chat. It was carnage but let’s not forget they can play. Here was technical hardcore with extra ferocity but as a guaranteed bonus the rhythms were infectious and providing fuel. “I am extremely unfit”, announced the vocalist who set about disproving the point. Smash-bang-wallop: the noise was total, there was much kicking and screaming and hammering, and the songs were great. The vocalist reflected: “In our wildest dreams did we not imagine that so many people …. would be leaving the room at once”. The tension built up as “R.E.D” started with a tribal technical rhythm. The angry joy was abundant. Did I hear a little jazz insertion? Where to look? The singer was on the amp and in the crowd again. The guitarist jumped on the security guy’s shoulders. Leads got tied up. The guitarist stood on the drum kit. Heavy, heavy, thunder and chaos. The set was cut off at 4.30 but with a bit of persuasion all round, The Colour Line were back to play “Colonel Sanders Flying Machine” to delight us with more technical anarchy. And inevitably, orchestrated by the vocalist, it finished up with a mass pile-up of bodies in the middle of the floor. The guitarist confirmed to me later that the band is breaking up and they have just one more gig to play in their home city. That’ll be a riot. Newark 0, Hull 4. (AD)

It’s hard to believe that The Algorithm are a duo, albeit one with a neat symbiotic relationship, considering the level of noise that emerges from their respective tools. Whereas Jean Ferry batters various drums and cymbals with sticks, Rémi Gallego sends loop after loop skittering into the ether before backing it up all up with a chaotic set of tones and rhythmic patterns powered by synth and guitar. The effect is to place their music somewhere between dance and metal. It’s a destructive sound, bordering on drum and bass, prog and at times breakbeat. Occasionally, you’ll seriously wonder which instrument is playing percussion. Was that backbeat from the synth, the double-kick, or the guitar? The crowd are lapping it up and between songs shout “Oui! Oui!”, baying for the Gallic master-class to play on. With the drum-kit up near the front of the stage, it’s a pretty destructive sound. The force of the double-kick and the way it mashes with the guitar chugs (with the whole meshing to form what sounds like dog barks) bully your chest and lift you off your feet. They hammer through crowd favourites like “Brute Force” and “Deadlock” before letting their collective imaginations fly for “Floating Point” and “Machine”. Then, just for shits and giggles they attempt to scramble your psyche by tripping the light fantastic with “Access Granted” and that subversive section of ragga/dubstep. The circle pit slows from a mad-dash to a slow-motion jive and the party and, indeed, the day ramps up a level. (JS)

Compared to previous acts, the Gigantic stage hall was fairly empty, maybe on account of the fact that people wanted their dinner. Around 50 spectators gathered to watch Red Seas Fire. This band hadn’t set the world ablaze on the last occasion I saw them. Here again there was plenty of honest energy but what I heard seemed uncoordinated. The angry tech rhythm wasn’t especially angry. The clean vocals weren’t strong and were a bit whiny. The strength lay in the drums department. Here and there Red Seas Fire came out of their shell with all guns blazing and showed they were capable of rip-roaring, bouncing metal. Judging by the number of members of other bands in the audience, maybe Red Seas Fire could be seen as a band’s band. (AD)

My expectations were high for Uneven Structure. Other than segments, I hadn’t heard their latest album “Partition” (2017) before today, but their previous works and live performances told me I was going to witness something mesmerising, dark and epic. Normally silky smooth and lofty in spite or even because of the weight from the four instrumentalists, I found this set hard work as it never seemed to get going. Matthieu’s vocals haunt and float when he’s not growling, but here it was difficult for him to generate atmosphere above the wall of djenty noise. “Partition” evidently doesn’t engender fog. It does require immense sounds. Another guitarist appeared. The young drummer looked like was having the time of his life. The other instrumentalists exuded a mixture of gravitas and pleasure. This was too lyric-heavy. More atmosphere please. There was atmosphere and Uneven Structure built it up as is their wont, but this was no pressure cooker with ever increasing tension. “Partition” would seem to be a series of distinct experiences. I get that Uneven Structure would want to expand their sound, but it was as if Matthieu were making his lengthy vocal appeal through thick clouds. At one point the wall of sound accompanied a slow, lingering and emotional ballad. I’d not heard a djent ballad before. The power can be overwhelming. The complexity is haunting. It’s about tones of darkness. There’s little light here. It was impressive in flashes, but the sound mix and the lack of obvious logic in the musical story-telling wasn’t making this easy. Matthieu almost fell off the drum platform as he initiated a series of pungent explosions. This could be very heavy. The fog then appeared. The sad looking guitarist played a melancholic tune. The other two guitarists enigmatically faced the back of the stage as Matthieu sang and the drummer injected sophistication. The song built up and everyone was in the game again. The wall of sound and growls were as ever immense. The guitarist in front of me fell to the floor in exhaustion or emotion, not sure which. Fiery death metal followed. Matthieu incited the crowd. The crowd responded. The band lined up and subjected us to a wall of djent and enormity. Matthieu roared and floated dreamily above the deathly heaven. This was Uneven Structure of old – the start of Februus (2011) in fact. Finally, I felt uplifted. And it built up to a crescendo of power, ferocity and intensity. It was evident that the band felt it too. It was a magnificent ending but to this point I struggled with this set. The depth and complexity are unquestioned. Maybe if I’d known what “Partition” is about, it might have helped, but I felt that there was a lack of continuity coming from these heavy progressive tableaux. Matthieu struggled to rise above the intensity of sounds, and his message was lost for me. Yet in spite of my reservations and to some extent disappointment, this was still an impressive experience. (AD)

As I stood and watched the lads from Andorran death metal outfit Persefone warm up, it became apparent that something wasn’t quite right. Little clue did I have that I and the eventual audience were to witness something truly special. Just before they started playing in earnest, frontman Mark Martins Pia made a solemn announcement to the audience that their band-mate Miguel had been hospitalised before the show. However, they had agreed not to let the fans down and plough on despite no longer having a keyboard player, or backing vocalist, and as they had discovered, no compatible samples or effects (somewhat key to a complete performance). It later transpired, that they were also about to experience the full gamut of technical issues from loose ear monitors to PA system failure. However, true to their word, through shrugged shoulders, bit lips, hung heads and apologetic grimaces they “had fun” with it and put on an absolute stonker of a show. Having been accused previously of weak performances and crowd interaction, they tore into their set and constantly offered feedback, praising the crowd who reacted with nothing but joyous abandon and rapturous applause. Pia basically gave us a lesson in how important the bond between band and audience can be. He leapt from front to back of the stage; prowled from left to right. He climbed risers, speaker stacks, crowd-surfed and balanced precariously on the barriers with multiple arms supporting him. He even conducted the circle pit from inside it! The man was a tour de force. Yes, there were whole sections missing but where possible Pia sung (a surprise to even him) the clean backing vocals whilst the crowd hummed the missing samples. At one point this heroic frontman even ran to the front of the crowd to ram his mic under the lips of an intro-whistling crowd member for the masterful “Living Waves”. They improvised with a jam session to cram in “Spiritual Migration” and they climaxed with the epic “Mind As Universe”. When they laid their instruments down they found a multitude of new fans wanting to meet them to wish them and their missing brother well. This was a total master-class in going above and beyond expectations; of how to win friends and influence people and… to have a blast doing it. (JS)

Having misread the band’s logo beforehand, Obscura was a lucky dip choice for me as I knew nothing about them. That isn’t necessarily a bad thing. At least I was coming into it without pre-conceived ideas. A couple of knowledgeable people did tell me earlier in the day that Obscura are German and play technical death metal, which given this event isn’t so surprising. A potential distraction was the fact that I was bringing myself down after the improvised brilliance of Persefone. What I heard initially from Obscura was very technical, very clinical and very heavy. A sampled symphony did nothing to dispel a cacophonous high octane death metal song. This made way for another growly song marked by more heavily technical and purposeful progression. It moved along like an industrial machine. Progress continued to be mechanical, military even. I gathered that Obscura were from Munich and released albums called “Cosmogenesis” and “Akróasis” but for me it made little difference. Each song, wherever it came from, seemed to be borne of an apparent contractual obligation comprising the establishment of an unwavering technical pattern, growls and a clunking progression. Movements were made to order. The spokesman didn’t help by berating the audience for not being interested in the explanation of a song’s timing. He invited the audience to join in – to the growly parts? Band members smiled but there was no fun. There was no spirit or soul. “Sermon of the Seven Suns” was fast and hard but with the same technical riff it still managed to be colourless. To the band’s credit, they played well and tightly, and the grooves were good, but in spite of the occasional epic moment, this was all built on a classic model and came out flat and stingy for me. So whilst Obscura’s set wasn’t actually bad, there was nothing memorable. Once they were in a pattern, they found themselves stuck in it and it was all very pedestrian. To counter my own negativity Obscura have released four albums, and judging by the healthy crowd at the merch stand and a complimentary comment by a fellow-festival goer, it’s clear that Obscura have something to offer. I just never found out what it was. (AD)

Predictably, considering their decision to call time after 16 years, melodic technical groove merchants Textures announced early on that this was to be their last TechFest. With the crowd immediately desperate to fully engage with their last chance to catch their heroes, frontman Daniel De Jongh picked the masses up in his meaty palm and carried them on a journey through their colossal back catalogue from “Drive”, “Regenesis” and “Storm Warning” to “Stream of Consciousness” and “Laments of Icarus”. The crowd-surfing was immediate; the circle-pit and moshing ensued. The band responded with shit-eating grins, breakdown after breakdown, juddering tech scrambles and a cacophony of battered drum-skins. The atmospheric backwash drifted over proceedings for “New Horizons” and the lightshow ramped up a level with sweeping spots and blazing strobes. The catcalls and whistles emanating from the crowd reached fever pitch between tracks and regular chants of “AY! AY! AY!” drowned out De Jongh’s attempts at banter. No matter, he simply waited then tore them a new arsehole with his barking vocal and skittish whoops. His range is unequalled; his rich quality of tone is to be marvelled at. Those with hair wind-milled, those with fists raised them. Then following the monstrous “Singularity”, the band broke for an unnecessarily long interlude of melodic synth. Blue lights from the stage, lighters from the crowd, but the momentum was lost, the wait monotonous. When they returned De Jongh actually felt the need to say “we’re back”. They did manage to pull it all back eventually but only by demanding a hangar-wide wall of death. The division between the fans and the onlookers immediately became apparent but those more up for the craic, soon pulled the strings of a circle pit together as the rhythm switched to a gallop. The band began pulling stunts like co-ordinated backward walks across the stage, the bassist gave up playing and allowed De Jongh to bang his mic on the strings to set the rhythm, the stage-jockeying began and the show began to descend into farce. Happily, the energetic nature of their songs and their performance pulled them through the roughest of patches and we all retired with buzzing ears and rosy cheeks. (JS)

The final word: as hoped for, this was a day of great bands, but what was particularly striking was the friendliness and natural camaraderie amongst everyone present. Even the security staff had smiles on their faces while doing their job efficiently. UK Tech-Fest world is one where people talk to strangers happily, make space for others and share their bottle of water. Band members are around to chat and everyone’s happy. World leaders please note.

Review: John Skibeat / Andrew Doherty
Photos: John Skibeat

Live Album Reviews: Blues Pills v Zodiac

This week sees blues rock aficionados Zodiac and Blues Pills both release an album of live material. The former have their Road Tapes, Vol. 1 for sale whilst Blues Pills have the simply-named Blues Pills Live for your delectation.

If you fancy a journey into your soul and psyche then the bell-bottomed, warm retro melange of Blues Pills should certainly do the job. Their live recording is the feistier, fresher and stronger of the two. Naturally, it is taken is from their performance at the Freak Valley Festival in Germany, run by their friend Jens Helde, the man responsible for giving them their name.



Bursting with energy it kicks off with a glorious, spine-tingling rendition of “High-Class Woman” before heading on into the heart of the material from their debut self-titled album – the remainder comes from their few EP releases. The production is full and meaty – vocalist Elin Larsen gives your ears a good work-out whilst the great lumbering bottom line tickles your toes. Somewhere in the middle of their set, they settle down and begin to extend tracks like “Black Smoke” and the superb “Dig In” with honeyed, bluesy jams. The focus of the crowd turns here to Larson to help them through and by throwing a few vocal sweeps and crescendos in, she manages to hold their attention as plenty of appaluse, wolf-whistles and howls of joy fly back at her.

Zodiac, rather, take that classic Stateside rock n’ roll template yet give it a contemporary feel by infusing elements of pop, funk and blues. Their Road Tapes release is well-knitted together and comes from parts of their 2014 Fall Tour. With three albums-worth of material to sift through, only 4 of the 10 tracks come from their latest release.

What they do tracklist makes their “set” feel a little sluggish although a quiet crowd don’t help their cause. Sadly, they miss out their pièce de résistance, “Sonic Child”, but they do reach for their trusty Neil Young cover, “Cortez The Killer” and the groove-laden “A Bit Of Devil”. The recording is also a little muddy in places, but the twin guitar attack of Nick van Delft and Stephen Gall stand out nicely. Certainly, the groove of “Diamond Shoes”, the shape-shifting beauty of “A Penny And A Dead Horse” and the 15-minute jammed-out “Coming Home” give this enough variety to warrant your attention.



For those intending to splash the cash, I’d recommend buying Blues Pills Live, leaving Road Tapes by the verge and getting a piece of Zodiac’s mind-blowing third album, 2014’s Sonic Child instead.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2015/04/live-albums-blues-pills-v-zodiac-nuclear-blast-napalm-records/

DVD Review: Redemption – Live From The Pit

Redemption, formed in 2000, are an LA-based progressive metal band who dabble in combining the melodious sounds of the old 70s bands with the contemporary. There’s plenty of moments here that will have you recalling monsters like Rainbow or Rush, but there are some strong Eurorock touches in here too and there’s plenty of groove and grunt for those seeking out the more rounded feel of, say, a Dream Theater or an Iron Maiden.

Now let’s get this out the way. This DVD is fairly unsympathetic when it comes to covering the sound (in 5.1 surround) and visual elements of what Redemption have to offer. Funnily enough, the CD that comes packaged with this seems to be more of a balanced audio representation of the band’s abilities. However, if you do want to grab a snapshot of the band on the road, without actually being in “the pit”, then it certainly covers the basics.

The screen at the back of this particular show in Atlanta, Georgia displays words, pictures, psychedelic patterns, images, messages & videos which all seem designed to spark a reaction. Most, however, receive little more than a smattering of whoops from the fairly unresponsive crowd. My favourite had to be the words “Cancer is my bitch” which flashed up during a track written about cheating death and fighting the great fight.

The band as a live act seem a fairly static, play-straight-through, kind of band. Some gyrate with the music more than others, but mostly stay rooted to the spot. This inactiveness ranges from the rather sullen, stock-still keyboardist, cast almost entirely in shadow, to the vocalist who gently saunters around pausing occasionally to briefly engage with the onlookers. Consequently, Redemption appear every one of their years as they fail to fully engage – hardly an excuse when you consider the lengths that those old dogs Iron Maiden go to.

You’ll also immediately notice the the occasional bass drop-out and booming return here which occurs as the sound-desk tweak the levels. There is also the vocal cut-off as frontman Ray Alder continues to struggle with gauging the distance he can hold the mic from his mouth. The cameras are static, one full-frontal stage shot gets overused, but there are a couple of close-up cameras and one hand-held that roves around. More shots of the crowd might well have reinforced the connection between those on stage and those in front, but the fans are mainly hidden until the encore.

When it comes to the music, some of the riffs and progressions aptly display their love for bands like the afore-mentioned Maiden and Dream Theater, but when they find their feet and begin to thrash you’ll also notice their admiration for the power of Megadeth and Machine Head. They certainly aren’t afraid to use intros and radio rips to build the atmosphere. Conversely, the sparse lighting rig doesn’t help this cause using little more than tri-coloured spots and blackouts between tracks.

Happily the music soon picks up from a fairly feeble start and by the time they are hitting the complex construct that is “Dreams From The Pit”, with its multiple passages, hooks and melodic themes, they begin to really fire. It isn’t soon after that they are broaching more sensitive subjects such as 9/11, addiction and religious extremism which draw approving nods from the crowd.

“Parker’s Eyes”, in particular, sees bassist Sean Andrews with his hearty 6-string Ibanez, grab the spotlight and offers Alder the chance to use his huge vocal to great effect. He sports a sweet, husky tone and displays strength, passion and plenty of emotion in many of the set’s slower moments.

Redemption find their highlights when they are parading the triplet of “Noonday Devil” (grubby and gloriously thrashy), “Nocturnal” (with its teasing riff that falls disappointingly away), and “Stronger Than Death”. This latter hit sports a sweet riff, gutsy underbelly and fiery nature. Other superb little numbers are “The Death Of Faith And Reason” which has menace, bite and plenty of thrash woven into it and their finishing flourish, “Walls”. This final track is clearly their biggest hit as it finally gets the reaction from the crowd that their skilful reproduction of the music has deserved. Here, we do get a shot of the crowd and it reveals some clapping, pogoing and even sparks one or two singalongs.

What seems obvious from this whole package is that Redemption write their best music when they find themselves at their most angriest or sentimental. Strong emotions certainly seem to drive this band. Here’s hoping you catch a show when they’re really pissed off.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2014/10/redemption-live-from-the-pit-sensory/

Live Review: 36 Crazyfists, Armed For Apocalypse, Thera, Man The Machetes @ London Underworld 18/11/13

It’s late on a Monday night and The Underworld in Camden is packed to capacity. When they’re not crowdsurfing, cheering or chanting, this sea of metalheads are bouncing about like lunatics. Who cares that they may well have already seen this same line-up take the same stage just 4 days prior? So what if they have probably got early starts and another day of work waiting for them tomorrow? Who gives a shit about the cold and dreary weather waiting outside for them? None of these things have stopped them, because this community does not have time to rest. Not when their heroes are in town.

Rewind back a few hours and Norway’s Man The Machetes, surrounded by American bands and a British public, must feel a little overwhelmed. There’s probably only 50-odd people watching as they open up but, due to their fervour and lead vocalist Chris Iversen’s increasingly-desperate attempts to make contact with his audience, that number doubles as they progress through their set. Throughout they establish their monstrous driving rhythm and keep it churning away. Like animals they feed the machine with punkish enthusiasm and pistoning rock chops to create what is essentially constant motion in sound. The drum rhythms piston back and forth, the guitar chords kinetically swirl and those bellowed vocals connect like a series of rotating cogs.

From the storming “Hjemkomst”, via the gang-chanted “Slagen” to their powerful lead single “Mageplask”, the bare-chested, bare-footed Iversen is the focal point. The rest of the band throw their instruments and themselves around the stage but he’s bridging the gap, across the tiny photo pit, to reach the crowd, then he’s on the railings at the side of the stage, then he’s in with the fans. “I’m coming in with you for this one” he warns as he vaults the barrier and proceeds to serenade his audience up nice and close. The crowd’s real-time reaction may have been muted, and at times horrified, but these five lads’ superhuman efforts won’t have been forgotten easily.

Ever growing to capacity for the headliners, the swell of fans who caught Thera, Crazyfists’ Alaskan buddies, will have witnessed a surprisingly gentile assault on the senses. Their emotive rockcore theatrics tonight divide the crowd nicely, with the bullying husband and wife vocal team pushing their soaring rhythms to some pretty interesting places. They may be a little rough around the edges tonight, with some of their more melodic touches getting lost in the ether, but for those that are finding it all a little light on substance there is a reward of a big, beefy groove near the end.

Armed For Apocalypse play the role of warm-up act perfectly. Their brand of filthy Californian rock and roll is right up the crowd’s street and the joyous reaction to their material is duly noted. Tonight, they pour on some pretty rocked-up grooves that bitchslap their way through to epic Unearth-esque soloing and down in to reach a triple-guitar, grinding, Crowbar-esque, sludge metal attack. With Kirk, Kyle and Nate all giving it the biggun’ on vocals, the fans begin to pit like demons and there is plenty of hair whips and vocal encouragement to keep them spinning.

By the time 36 Crazyfists take the stage, the place is rammed and the place is buzzing. Somewhere amidst the rabble of a million voices, a chant goes up and the band duly appear to a hero’s welcome. You’d have thought that being formed nigh on 20 years ago, this tight-as-fuck quartet of bruisers would be suffering from some kind of metalcore backlash by now, but their status as underdogs seems to endure and their desire to own the stage has remained. The hulking figure of Brock Lindow marks him out for he truly is one of the best frontmen out there. He wastes no time in telling this audience just what he thinks of them – a pause, a disbelieving stare and a simple “Monday night, eh? This is unbe-liev-able” is enough to have the crowd, his crowd, eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s a blur of motion as he swaggers back and forth across this small stage to reach out, fist-bump and hold out the microphone to his public.

A constant stream of thundersome classics like “Vanish”, “Turns To Ashes” and “Bloodwork” keep the circle pits swirling and the crowdsurfers coming but it’s their forthcoming newbies “Also Am I” and “Time And Trauma” that really get the tastebuds twitching. Driven, addictive and enduring, the songs tick all the boxes and judging by the reception they get here tonight, that forthcoming album is going to fly off the shelves. As the end draws near, Lindow gives it the big wind-up and like clockwork “Destroy The Map” drops and kicks off the biggest circle pit of the night. The reaction to “Installing The Catheter” and “Slit Wrist Theory” are like bombs going off and deftly these canny Alaskan bastards lay waste to an audience. Gasping for air, they exit into the bright lights of Camden Town like newborns, blinking and discombobulated.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2013/11/36-crazyfists-afa-london/

EP Review: Baroness – Live At Maida Vale

Nearly a year has passed since that fateful day when the Baroness tour bus plunged 30ft off a viaduct in Bath, England. Nine folks were transported to hospital that day, all with severe injuries. Some suffered more than others and during the lengthy recovery period that followed Allen Blickle and Matt Maggioni sadly announced their departure from the band. With Pete Adams and John Baizley carrying on, this latest recording sees a changed line-up performing at the famous BBC Studios in Maida Vale.

With the songs all coming from the double-album they were touring that day, there is a special significance placed on each track. It is almost unavoidable that the lyrics are now burdened with different interpretations. Just the title of “Take My Bones Away” is enough to trigger a lump in the throat. It wouldn’t be right if they didn’t come across differently, being a live EP, so I am pleased to report only improvements to songs that felt a little too much like repetitious pop songs the first time around.

There is no doubt that any kind of muddy, under-produced mix brings out the best in Baroness and this one brings them a bit closer to their powerful early work and their true live sound. Their warm, fuzzed tone has been brought to the fore and this has captured the dark emotion-soaked undercurrent (that melancholy they wear like a comforter) so much better than in the studio mixes. The clean harmonies are still there too, but their levels are now more on a par with the guitars. Consequently, they sound more integral and don’t stick out like sore thumbs (excuse the pun).

The portentous intros are excellent additions (the building cymbals on “Take My Bones Away”, the echoing strums on “March To The Sea”), driving the listener into each track. The biggest winner here though is “Cocainium”. With a subtle warping invoked and the sustain dial notched up, the flow is so much gentler and you’ll find yourself really tripping out. It’s true that the songs can still be viewed as a departure for them; their hands stretching out to the revolving, melodic, space rock that Torche have made their own in recent years. Also, there’s a mere four tracks, none of which haven’t been released already in some form, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s just great to see them back recording and playing their music with new impetus, doing the songs justice and producing a record that die-hard fans will truly cherish.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2013/07/baroness-live-at-maida-vale-relapse/

Album Review: High On Fire – Spitting Fire Live, Vols. 1 + 2

As a band that relies on their music might alone, Oakland, CA’s own force of nature, High On Fire, have to be one of the most entertaining live trios out there. There’s no gimmicky crowd interaction, fancy lighting rigs or schmaltzy backdrops with this lot; it’s just a blizzard of hissing, crushing metal; a sonic typhoon that hits with enough force to flatten any and all sizes of crowd. If you haven’t been lucky to feel that cacophonous wall-of-sound yet, then the aptly named Spitting Fire Live is your chance to stand up, grab hold of your vitals and feel its impact.

Recorded over two nights it contains concert performances from their New York City and Brooklyn shows at the end of last year. There are 15 tracks to delve into, a solid mixture with all albums featuring, and it would be petty to lament the omission of stonking fan-favourites like “Silver Back”, the title-track from Death Is This Communion or “Bastard Samurai”. What you do get is four songs from last year’s De Vermis Mysteriis, three of them littering Volume 1, and three consecutive songs from 2007′s Death Is This Communion opening Volume 2. This leaves enough room for the big-hitters, “Frost Hammer” and the title-track, from 2010′s Snakes For The Divine to do the most damage.

One thing to consider, as with many live recordings, is the sound quality. Here, Kurt Ballou and Greg Wilkinson have done their best, but it is still a little too distorted with the vocal hollow and the strings muffled. To some degree, of course, this suits the band’s style and it is consistent, with a nice balance presented across the two sets. Where applicable, the cotton-wool crowd noise has been clipped and kept to a minimum which, considering the shortage of stage interaction, presents a bit of a problem, leaving you struggling at times to feel a part of the show. On the plus side, High On Fire’s notorious full-bodied wallop comes across with enough dynamic range for each part – bass, drums, vocals and Matt Pike’s almighty custom 9-string Lola – to be heard as separate components.

Our frontman, unsurprisingly, utters little beyond the odd song introduction (we do get an incendiary “Let’s whip things up here” and an appreciative but seemingly rhetorical “Alright, New York? It’s good to be out here!”), so instead we just get a barrel of feedback and a whole world of pain. With little distractions, you will simply glory in the pounding throb and vocal squall (perfect mosh material) of “Frost Hammer”, the hammering kick pedal and gritty churn of the punked-up “Devilution” and the glorious tumbling triplet that powers the noise-maker “Fury Whip”. In between these speeding goliaths of sludge metal there’s the stoner comedown; the neck-snapping swagger of “10,000 Nights” and “DII” – both tracks where Jeff Matz’ twanged bass comes to the fore like bubbles of oxygen in the vast lakes of mud-slicked distortion.

The mesmeric duo, “Madness Of An Architect” and “Face Of Oblivion”, played one after the other, present the blitzed-out brain of High On Fire. The howling, cosmic chug that will get your synapses snapping like trapped wasps in a jar. Naturally, in Pike, they have the perfect frontman to drag you back to Earth and his stunning guitar solos (particularly his incredible part-mnemonic, part-vibrato effort that lurks in “Fertile Green”) and his enigmatic riff that powers the band’s finishing flourish, “Snakes For The Divine”, demand your full attention.

All told, the sound quality, though bearable, may put you off. Ardent fans of the band will still lap this up; others may want to tune in first. Either way, the music is as badass as ever – seriously scary, force of nature stuff. Earthquake, volcano, tornado, tsunami, High On Fire, quicksand. I believe that’s the order.

Also online @ Ave Noctum = http://www.avenoctum.com/2013/07/high-on-fire-spitting-fire-live-century-media/

Gig Review: Letlive - Portland Arms, Cambridge 9/9/11

The always alternative, yet surprisingly miniscule Portland venue in the mild-mannered UK city of Cambridge is rammed, front-to-back, side-to-side, with baying punters desperate to get a glimpse of the Letlive scream-machine. The extremely effective, femme fatale foursome of Beverley Kills (3.5 out of 5) do a damned fine job of warming those check-shirted chaps and chicks up with a smouldering pop-punk play memorable for its scowls and smiles (vocalist Georgie Morrill) and blur of thundering sticks and hair (drummer Juliette Jones).

Forthwith, LA’s Letlive (4 out of 5) emerge to yelps of joy and proceed to squeeze themselves into the various nooks and crannies of the stage, leaving the front free for lantern-jawed vocalist Jason Aalon Butler to prowl back and forth like a trapped tiger. The crowd ignore the danger signs and simply launch themselves towards the band, heaving and moshing with arms raised in triumph. A few go ass-over-tit but are soon yanked back to their feet and the small floor space quickly becomes this heaving, boiling mass of bodies. Energy is expended from both band and fans, the temperature rises and clothes are quickly shed.

The noise levels are through the roof as Ryan Jay Johnson’s cacophonic bass thrum collides with Jean Nascimento’s scaling guitars and Anthony Rivera’s imploding drum beats, and still you can hear the masses yelling every word like it’s their last. Above all that it’s very much a case of Butler trying to make himself heard and through all his intense pacing and yelling he very quickly begins to wilt. During “Muther” his knees buckle, he ceases to resist any longer and simply hands the mic over to the baying masses before him. Here, the whole force of the sound becomes a little loose and parts go missing but it’s forgivable when you consider the restricted confines of the venue.

Having whisked up the setlist to add variety to the tour, the constantly billowing mop of hair that is Ryan Jay whips out his bottle-shaker mid-set to accompany the rolling snare for “Le Prologue”. It’s like one long, sucking inhalation, building and building like a pressure-cooker until, finally, the drums crack, the top blows and the crowd becomes another furious blur of swinging arms and shoving bodies. Cue “The Sick, Sick 6.8 Billion” and we have our emotional peak. Nascimento tweaks knobs at his feet to transmogrify the sound, Rivera aggressively rides his heaving crescendo and Jeff Sayhoun tries to eat the backing mic (at least until Butler evicts him from it as the crowd absorb his own). The stage invasion begins and a few of the more confident plant kisses.

The efforts leave Butler, looking pretty out of it by now, introducing “Casino Columbus” almost apologetically as he finds his happy place at the side of the stage, catching his breath. His tattooed chest heaves up and down making the pictures warp as he croons gently into the mic before he suddenly explodes back onto stage, rips down the curtains and rail and begins pawing at the steamy windows in what appears to be one last fruitless bid for freedom. Whipping round he points first at the crowd then himself, making it clear in one simple gesture how much tonight has meant to him and his band.

Also online @ The NewReview = http://thenewreview.net/show-reviews/letlive-cambridge-uk

Gig Review: Twin Atlantic @ The Haymakers, Cambridge 25/01/11

The rise and rise of Glasgow’s Twin Atlantic continues unabated. Taken at face value, you’d say they were happily stomping along in the footsteps of Ayrshire’s Biffy Clyro, but the differences between the two bands are just as marked as the similarities are. Listen carefully and you’ll realise the Weegies are actually the more musically creative ones these days.

Despite this, you’d be a fool not to believe that the fact both bands aren’t afraid of banging out songs in their own Scots brogue, coupled with the “incestuous scene” (as frontman Sam McTrusty refers to the world of Scottish alt-rock), has only helped to boost their fanbase.

After watching their mini-album Vivarium released to rave reviews, Twin Atlantic are on the brink of releasing their first full-length and this European tour of the smaller, barrier-less venues may just be their last chance to truly connect with each individual supporter. At this rate, six months down the line, who knows what size stage they’ll regularly be playing on.

Tonight they’re keen to break out new material, despite the album being several months from release, and open with ‘Edit Me’. It’s a raging torrent of rock attitude with a solitary, yet effective, stop-gap lurking in the middle that fires the crowd into action.

They step off the pedal for the chiming epic ‘What Is Light? Where Is Laughter?’, which allows us time to take a look up and marvel at McTrusty’s chiselled features, newly-cropped hair and stubble. His energy isn’t to be found wanting either and he’s keen to impress upon us how delighted he is to be there. “This is our first time in Cambridge and we’re blown away by how many of you have come out”, he grins before describing the city as having “a nice little community”.

The other band members seem a little squeezed on this tiny Haymakers stage with bassist Ross McNae and classically-trained guitarist Barry McKenna often disappearing behind the cumbersomely large speaker stacks. Lurking at the back, the moustache and striped t-shirt combo of drummer Craig Kneale is almost cartoonish – think Popeye, Animal (The Muppets) and Ron Mael (Sparks) all rolled into one. As the quartet batter out their more well-known songs like ‘Human After All’, ‘Better Weather’ and ‘Caribbean War Syndrome’ those gathered move from a respectable stance of quiet appreciation and head-nodding to mouthing lyrics, whooping and fist-clenching.

McTrusty lifts his game further by evolving a deliberate, vicious twitch before delivering his more potent lines (“Blow these fuckers away!”, for instance, from ‘Caribbean War Syndrome’) and, for ‘Audience And Audio’, sinking to his knees to lash out a solo. “Shhhh!” he playfully admonishes, during a break between songs, before following with “This is the warmest/drunkest day of the tour so far” as if those two perceptions go hand-in-hand. Someone responds by shouting if he wants a drink, to which he appreciatively orders “a JD and coke”. It seems they are connected after all!

Each song feels more vital, more anthemic in a live venue. It’s a joy to witness the multiple nuances like McKenna’s electric cello (and his jumping around while playing it), McTrusty’s basic effect of tapping his guitar lead on the connector (to create the on-off buzz that opens the show-stopping ‘Lightspeed’) or the harrowing emotion that sits on the players’ face as they perform their subtler numbers. This all builds to create an unstoppable force, so when they unleash another newbie, the smoother, less anarchic ‘Apocalyptic Renegade’, the crowd are happy to greet it as one of their own.

As a parting gift, McTrusty dedicates the final song, their trump card ‘You’re Turning Into John Wayne’, to McKenna’s passport offering us the information that they’re heading to Germany now and their are seven of them, but only six passports. “You make up the punchline”, he quips before bringing the house down with the line “Have you lost your latitude and longitude?” I’d like to think those who took a risk and ventured out tonight won’t think so.

Also online @ TLOBF = http://www.thelineofbestfit.com/2011/01/twin-atlantic-the-haymakers-cambridge-250111/

Gig Review: Shrinebuilder + Wolves In The Throne Room - Scala, London 2/12/10

Ducking into the Scala to escape the capital freeze is a pointless exercise tonight as, be it deliberate or not, the band room is chilled to the point where their cloakroom becomes wholly redundant. It’s the perfect temperature for Wolves In The Throne Room though, who proceed to ramp up the emotion with a combination of gloom, jettisoned fog, etched banners and a protracted candle-lighting ceremony. With the stage fully anointed, their crushing gloop of malevolent black metal, crust and doom rings out, regularly dipping into a burbling, Neanderthal-paced melancholy before bursting out into a session of grating barks and power chords. Like creeping death, they wash over us sparking neither disgust, nor true passion. A few nodding heads and the odd round of gentle applause are all they can muster from those attending, although their fastidious lack of eye contact, rather than their music, is most likely the reason for this.

Nothing less than a volcanic eruption (remember those newsreaders trying to pronounce Eyjafjallajoekull?) could stop Shrinebuilder visiting these shores last Spring, so to finally hear the crowd roar as Dale Crover (Melvins’ drummer/vocalist), Al Cisneros (Om’s bassist/vocalist), Scott Kelly (Neurosis’ guitarist/vocalist) and Scott ‘Wino’ Weinrich (The Obsessed vocalist/guitarist), legends all, mount the stage is enough to cause several grown men’s lips to momentarily quiver. The lank-haired Crover and Cisneros, resplendent as the class clown in his woolly hat, immediately fire up the rhythm section; Dale beats the snare into submission with the minimum of effort whilst Al uses his grotty basslines to overwhelm as much of the room as possible. Kelly and Wino try hard to make headway into the deluge with dissonant guitar and a mixture of vocal howl and croon, but they seem to make little impression. Only a trip up to the Glass Room, where a vast pane dissolves the sound, can cure the problem and single their individual efforts out.

They mix the songs up nicely, firing up the mighty ‘Pyramid Of The Moon’ and ‘The Architect’ as an opening salvo and saving ‘Solar Benediction’ for a raging finish. The middle of the set wanders away from the punchier material to slip into a spot of almost mystical noodling – it marks a period where the now fervently headbanging crowd find space for mild introspection. The band also happily fit in a couple of less well-known tracks; ‘We Let The Hell Come’ shining out like a beacon. Kelly, looking like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards and sporting a perma-stoned expression, is constantly impressive, digging out arse-clenching riffs and scowling vocal which Wino latches onto, plugging any gaps in sound with wah, extravagant slide and morphing melody. In fact it’s also Wino who adopts the role of ringmaster, legs spread, urging the audience to greater heights with a combination of vein-popping head jerks and fierce eyeballing.

There is really only one real spoiler to this brutal showing and it comes in the form of this evening’s stringent ‘no flash’ policy. One fan dares to forget to switch his off and suffers the indignity of having a roadie repeatedly pelt him with flying cups until he ceases. When you’ve got four of the world’s finest musicians before you, performing at the top of their game, turning your brain into mush, it seems the perfect excuse for a little lack of self-control.

All photographs by Rich Etteridge

Also online @ TLOBF = http://www.thelineofbestfit.com/2010/12/shrinebuilder-scala-london-021210/

DVD Review: Iron Maiden - Live After Death

It’s taken Iron Maiden a whopping twenty-two years to release visuals to accompany what is regarded by many fans as the finest live metal album of all time. ‘Live After Death’ was recorded over four sold-out nights at Long Beach Arena, California during the middle of their epic World Slavery Tour. The tour itself was to promote the 1984 ‘Powerslave’ album and took in 193 shows and took the best part of a year to complete. Included is the second part of ‘The History Of Iron Maiden’ (the first part is on ‘The Early Years’ DVD release) providing excellent insight into the details of the tour; ‘Behind The Iron Curtain’ charting the remarkable story of how Maiden became the first major Western band to play the Eastern Bloc at the height of the Cold War; ‘Rock In Rio’ where they played a gig to a staggering 300,000 people; and tour programme artwork, photo stills, videos from the album and other tour-related ephemera. It’s quite a package then!

From the very beginning and the opening lines of Churchill’s famous war-speech the hairs on the back of my neck are going haywire. Comparing what the band are doing now with what they were doing back then it’s amazing to see how little has changed. The current line-up is virtually the same with only guitarist Janick Gers missing. It’s lycra and leather, studding and sweatbands - check out drummer Niko McBrain’s garish ‘Flash Gordon’ gym kit - and is all looking a bit glam, with vocalist Bruce Dickinson sporting an 80’s school-girl fringe, but once the band blasts into ‘Aces High’ and he starts belting out that soaring, vibrato vocal this all pales into insignificance.

The lighting rig and rest of the stage set has been superbly designed to fit equally well into a stadium or a small club and comprises richly-coloured hieroglyphics and pyramids to match the album’s Egyptian theme. At one point Dickinson appears on the amp-stack wearing a feathered-mask, which he confesses to having bought from a shop selling homo-erotic paraphernalia! There is flames and fireworks, dry ice and sweeping spotlights and whenever their mascot, Eddie The Head, makes an appearance, wrapped in bandages, it whips the crowd up into a frenzy.

Bassist Steve Harris spends most of the gig in a classic metal pose, one foot up on the amp, determinedly gunning down the crowd with his bass-head. Guitarists Dave Murray and Adrian Smith trade mind-melting solos whilst jumping about the stage, but it’s Dickinson who’s the most active, running tirelessly around like a maniac. Drum-riser to crowd to amp-stack, he introduces each song with a roar, yelling out alternately the name of the city, the state or the venue - “Scream for me Long Beach, screeeeam for me Long Beach!” Compared to the album, there are small additions to Dickinson’s interplay with his audience between songs which only serve to increase the feeling of actually being there. There’s also an extra track, ‘Sanctuary’, to enjoy.

The cameras have total stage access with front and back shots, a drum camera and a sweeping arm that swings back and forth over the fans. Close-ups, long panoramic pans and views from the pit, it’s all there. The epicentre of this awesome show is the 13-minute masterpiece, ‘Rime Of The Ancient Mariner’, adapted from the drug-addled mind of Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Somewhere mid-song the stage is flooded with a swirling mist which rises to waist-height before pouring off the stage-front. The three guitarists stand motionless centre-stage, captured in beams of moonlight, gently picking out the rhythm as a deep spoken voice intones the poem’s lyrics to the sound of creaking timber echoing off the walls of the arena. The bass lifts, Dickinson returns to the stage and the crowd roar their approval at the ultimate combination of theatrics and heavy music.

The only things I can fault the DVD for are the occasional repetition of visuals, due mainly to the sheer volume - four hours worth - of material on offer, and the differences in quality between the main show and the extras which throws the poorer product into a harsh light. Without these extras though you wouldn’t know about the time Dickinson got a face-full of guitar; you wouldn’t know that the band played ‘Smoke On The Water’ at a Polish wedding; and you wouldn’t know about the time when McBrain went swimming mid-song before returning to his kit dripping wet. I could go on about why you should be parting with your hard-earned cash but, to put it in simple terms, you simply won’t find a more compelling chronicling of a band on tour, a band so at ease with themselves, and a band at the ultimate peak of their powers.

Gig Review: As I Lay Dying @ Barfly, Cambridge 24/3/08

Following a long delay and a seemingly endless series of sound-checks the lights dim and the crowd noise doubles in intensity. The opening bars of ‘Separation’ ring out and As I Lay Dying burst on with ‘Nothing Left’. Immediately Tim Lambesis’ vocal blows us all away as he lets rip a gigantic roar - it seems to sweep out into the room as a soundwave knocking us back a few paces. His huge frame appears over the madly devil-horning crowd and we know we’re in for one wild ride.

As has gone with the bands before, it’s abundantly clear that when the venue is full the low ceiling and stage mean that anyone back from the first five rows aren’t going to see much of the band tonight. Maybe the odd glimpse of a guitar or the top of Lambesis’ head as he stretches to see how many are in tonight, but mainly just the backs of heads. I can just about make out that there isn’t much room for them all on stage with Nick Hipa hiding behind bassist Josh Gilbert but still churning out a conveyor belt of incredible shred guitar.

‘An Ocean Between Us’ and ‘The Darkest Night’ blast out and those watching echo the words straight back. The pit opens up and the mosh begins in earnest. Tonight the search-lights are in action sweeping out across the crowd whilst the coloured strobes attempt to reduce our view of the band even further. Lambesis is up on the barrier, awash with tattoos, high-fiving and screaming bloody murder at us. As the blistering pace of ‘Within Destruction’ falls away, and the pit collapses into a sweaty mass, he leans forward and asks “Is everybody still alive?” It’s certainly getting pretty stuffy but the endless supply of water at the bar makes it bearable. As their set comes to a close not a soul leaves and they treat us to an encore kicking off with the anthemic ‘I Never Wanted’ and ending on the pogo-friendly ‘Falling Upon Deaf Ears’. It’s certainly been a treat for our ears if not our eyes.

Also online @ Music-Zine = http://www.music-zine.com/reviews/?id=440

Gig Review: Athlete + Broken Family Band @ CornEx, Cambridge, 5/2/08

The Broken Family Band, hailing from Cambridge (and bits of Foxton and London), are the city’s most successful band of recent years. They’ve been receiving all sorts of plaudits and not just from local press. NME, Rocksound, The Independent, The Guardian (I could go on) all talk highly of their music with Pitchfork claiming them “a triumph of urban wit over rustic convention”. So we’re expecting big things then.

Well, from way back here in the Corn Exchange’s curious V.I.P. area, below the upper balcony, it’s hard to get into such an unenthusiastic band. Those that are here for their brand of shoegaze/alt-country melancholy seem thin on the ground judging from the crowd reaction. Steven Adams, the lead singer, looks like Dec (of Ant + Dec) would look like after a hefty drinking session. He’s sporting a baggy checked shirt and it matches his tired banter with the crowd. “We don’t usually enjoy playing in Cambridge but you’ve been great”, he drones miserably. He follows that up with a resigned “Athlete are nearly on”. To be fair the band barely has time to get the crowd going but they have a go and ‘Don’t Change Your Mind’ and ‘It’s All Over’ are well-received.

From the moment the charisma of Athlete’s Joel Pott hits the stage everything changes. As he sings the first bars of opener ‘Tokyo’, from latest album ‘Beyond The Neighbourhood’, the crowd comes to life. His hard-edged, lilting yet urgent vocal is crystal-clear over the music. It’s pretty unusual to be able to catch every single syllable but that’s what both he and his sound-crew have managed to pull off. Every… single… syllable. ‘Westside’ is a joy with Pott standing alone in the spotlight, all eyes glued to him, as he slowly leads up to where the band provide the back-boost and the crowd join in with that damnable catchy chorus - “Wherever you look you can see that everybody wants to be part of the rock scene”. It’s the leaps in pitch delivery and subtle timing of the words that is so compelling - some are drawn out, others rapid-fire. The band have always managed to produced these perfect pop hits, brimming with clever lyrics and bounding, upbeat melodies, but not always received the acclaim (or airplay) each one deserves. Structured to appear impossibly difficult to perform they are just layer after layer of simplicity and are fiendishly clever.

Athlete have completely hooked the crowd by now and they begin impromptu clapping which the band encourages until it bullets them into hit single ‘Hurricane’ and searchlights swing over the masses searching out the loudest voice. Immediately mobile phones are held aloft, shining out in the darkness, each capturing their own personal memories. Behind the boys on stage four banded strips of neon light change hue and create shapes to each song whilst swathes of beams provide a backwash of colours – it’s quite a lightshow. There’s a brief respite in the songs and a face in the pit shouts out for his favourite song. “24 hours!” he yells. “We’re not playing for that long” retorts Pott with a wry smile. Then he’s suddenly serious informing us of the presence of St. John’s Ambulance and Security and promises that no-one will get hurt. We wonder where he’s going with this before he implores “So, we’ll be very disappointed if there aren’t a few people on shoulders for this next song”. The band strike up ‘Beautiful’ and a bunch of heads obligingly pop up above the crowd.

Throughout the set there are numerous guitar switches from electric to semi-acoustic and back again with a roadie scuttling on and off stage - he’s being kept busy tonight. Steven Roberts’ drums are thundering away under the quieter tracks whilst Tim Wanstall concerns himself with tinkling the ivories as well as flicking switches and turning knobs to create those “organic beats” of his. Bassist Carey Willets spends most of the gig completely absorbed in the music, swinging his head to and fro.

‘Wires’ inspires an impromptu singalong which the crowd take up and repeat back three times – all this without the band making a gesture or uttering a line and without backing. It’s quite a moment and Pott sounds honestly chuffed with the reaction. “Thank you. That’s the first time that’s happened”. ‘You Got The Style’ prompts a round of waving down the front which he returns with a warm smile. It’s tough to find anything wrong when a band is so on form and tight as this. He’s almost apologetic when revealing that they need to leave the stage before the encore - “We need to take a piss”. Such is the response that he retorts “What’s happening? I thought Cambridge was such a reserved town!” They bustle through ‘24 Hours’ take their bows and the fully-engaged crowd enthusiastically chant for more of their blustering piano-driven guitar pop-rock. They return with ‘Shake Those Windows’ and ‘Flying Over Bus Stops’ and as we all decamp to the bar or homewards we discuss nothing but just how heavily under-rated and completely unstoppable Athlete truly are.

Also online @ Music-Zine = http://www.music-zine.com/reviews/?id=420