Def n Dumb

Deftones *****
Coheed and Cambria *****
Brixton Academy 17th November 2010

Chinooooooooooo. 

For once no travel troubles. No rain. No strikes. Got to Brixton in very good time to actually catch the support act. Wish I hadn't.

Sorry, you're not a winner. Chugaluggalug.

I just don't get Coheed and Cambria. At all. I've heard interviews with the band's very own comic book guy Claudio Sanchez and he comes over terribly nicely. If not a little bit nerdily scarily. Not that you could discern any of the high pitched warblings made even worse by the legendarily shite sound down in Brixtaan.


The musicianship is pretty much top drawer, the themes, er, all a bit sci-fi and concepty and the vocals; think Jimmy Krankie with a weird East coast burr. WIth a mahoosive 'fro. Nope, definitley don't get them.


A lot of people do though. And last night, a lot of people did. Ok, they weren't your usual hopefuls or fodder for the soundman to make the main band sound better that often accompanies the big boys, as they're biggish boys themselves; but there were a lot of terribly enthusiastic screaming acolytes hanging from the rafters. Sad. Very sad.


The real problem is; they're no good. All the songs go on too long. They are all pretty much in the same key and dynamic range (the PA must've been weeping as it got baggier and baggier) and they offer no light and shade. Just a train screaming at the same pace for the whole of the set. Exhausting and, to be honest, boring.

Comic genius. I'll go fetch the keg of beer.

The only relief for me came from the fact that Sanchez is the spit of Phineas Freak from The Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers, which overlaid a jaunty comic book based irony over proceedings.




So, they came. And thankfully went. But,what would Chino and the boys bring us?

Gifts from the fucking heavens that's what. 23 songs of power, aggression, beauty, 
spine-tingling melodies, raw, shit-scary screams and growls and brilliant musicianship.


This really was a treat. And a privilege to behold. Chino's voice is a rare and unique weapon. Capable of driving even the stoniest of hearted oxen to shed a tear and to goosebump up like the last sad chicken in Sainsbury's. He then counterpoints the plaintive beauty with such venom and power it leaves one bowlderised, bedazzled and bleeding.

Chino pulls out the trusty old SG. 

The baritone guitar work of Stephen Carpenter welds the whole thing together and pulls the heavy load like a massive chugging locomotive, but unlike Coheed and Cambria, there's subtlety, nuance, melancholy, space as well as testicle-tightening power. 


The set was so perfectly constructed. Songs from the very first album sit so happily alongside brand new material. The balance is so deliciously concocted like a complex, multi-layered but ultimately irresistible intoxicating brain damaging cocktail. There are too many highlights to mention, but the sublime You've Seen The Butcher, Change and 7 words were just about as good as anyone could ever get live.

I really have been blown away by these guys. Jaw-dropping, masterful, beautiful, beastly and utterly, utterly brilliant. I am a very lucky man to have been there. Oh yes.


Here's a vid of the three encores ending with the mighty 7 words. Ears are still ringing. Enjoy...





More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

The Greatest Escape

Unbloodybelievable.

The Dillinger Escape Plan *****
Rolo Tomassi *****
The Ocean (Missed them. Oops!)
The Electric Ballroom, Camden 5th November 2010


Not getting used to this early start gig thing. Completely missed The Ocean (sorry guys) - they must've been doing a matinée. 


Anyway, onwards and upwards. Rolo Tomassi. Wow! A tiny (and very hot - even though I'm not allowed to say that as she's way too young!) Eva Spence belts out huuuge noise. A bit like a cute little sports car but with the engine of a Eurofighter - then chucked through Ted Nugent's world record beating 65K rig from many years ago. Surprising. Frightening. Bewildering. But, well, kind of good.

Rolo Tomassi defy categorisation. And I'm not going to try. There's no shortage of tunes, technical and musical ability, but loads of big sounds. Very big sounds. Thery're energetic, bouncy, fun but scary as fuck. And by the end of their massively well-received set, a packed crowd were certainly enraptured and appreciative. 
The Ballroom was pretty much rammed to the rafters and the air of anticipation was almost tangible as the last vapours of Eva and the boys drifted off into the ether.


Talking of the crowd; what a bizarre collection. Yes a few trad metal heads, camo shorts 'n' all, many grizzly beards and checked shirts, loads of caps like the bloke from the X-Factor, a smattering of IT guys, scene kids, inquisitive Shoreditch types, loads of muso 'biz' looking coolites, more girls than you could have predicted, certainly a herd of out-of towners (pointed out by my mate Matt!) and a few hold hacks like me. Whatever and whoever, everyone was certainly up for it.





Then it happened. Jeez! A brutal but mesmerising, spine-tingling and testicle-wrenching launch into Goodbye Mona Lisa from the spellbinding Option Paralysis. There are few, in fact, fuck it, NO bands on this earth who come close to DEP. The breath was kicked and beaten out of every onlooker. Ben Weinman threw his plank around like I've never seen before. Billy Rymer's drumming was like having the All Blacks' Pack speed tapdancing on your cranium. Greg's voice like a hot fire poker up the jacksie all tied together with Jeff Tuttle's frenetic and ridiculously contolled but eplileptic guitar work and Liam Wilson's liver-splitting bass. Truly awesome. An over-used word, but truly needed here. 

The 'tunes' kept coming, new, old, really old. All amazing, astonishing, astounding and uncompromisingly aggressive. Even the mellow bits and jazzy piano excursions from a stripped to the waist Weinman, had a brooding malevolence and you knew it was just a bit of foreplay befor the full-on violation continued.


The crowd looked like a writhing scene from Hieronymus Bosch or Danté. All hell was opening up and legs, arms, arses, sweat, blood, shit, beer and piss filled this most sulphurous, noxious dark stygian cavern. And it was amazing. Stage diving? Nah! For pussies, These guys run into the crowd. Jump upright. Swing on dirty bastard gangland wharehouse torturer's lamps.

They crack on through 'singalongs' like Black Bubblegum, the ever infectious Milk Lizard, and the higlight of the show for me - Gold Teeth on a Bum. They pepper the set with classics; Fix your face, Panasonic Youth, the genius of Sugar Coated Sour, the frightening and seldom heard Mullet Burden all coming to a vinegar stroke crescendo with the classic 43% Burnt. This is surgonlike precision in eviscerating the crowd. Perfectly constructed and designed for maximum collateral damage and precision targetting. They rule. Totally.

I truly can't articulate the reasons for my love for this lot. They're nihilistic, inaccessible, loud, ugly, annoying, disgusting, brutal and undoubtedly brilliant musicians (not many circle pits open up to a song in 13/8 with massive accidentals and compound time breakdowns). But I do love them. Irrationally,perhaps worryingly.


The whole evening is back lit by a state-of the art but industrial rig which lends to the overall marauding and uncomfortable menace of this Hadean tableau. And it works brilliantly. But the weirdest thing is that I smiled throughout it all. Massive circle pits and havoc notwithstanding. In fact my face, as well as my arse, chest and head hurt more than anything. Because of the smiling.


I've seen this lot 5 times now. This was by far their best show so far. Saying that, the other four were bloody brilliant too (especially the remarkable concert in a coffin session at The Barfly earlier this year). You know those middle class lists and books of things to do before you die - bungee jumping, swimming with dolphins, climbing Everest, sleeping with Angelina Jolie. Sod all that. See this lot live. They will change your life.


Astonishing. Fucking astonishing.


Deftones up next.


More tunes soon. Bwoooar!