Sub species - Enter Shikari Live at The Roundhouse -

Enter Shikari ****1/2*
Cancer Bats *****

The Roundhouse Camden 17th December 2012

Like a fine old ruby port and a slab of Stinking Bishop’s Finger, tonight is serving as the perfect way to end what’s been a trouser-stretching fat feast of a year for live music.

Not that anyone will give too much of a rat’s rectum, but I’ve cobbled together a de rigeur review of the last 12 months here. Have a look here if you can be arsed.

Anyway, back to tonight’s groaning table.

Cancer Bats *****
First on the bill of fayre (well, 2nd actually but I found myself unavoidably delayed over a schooner of sherry with the good chaps from InMe rather than face the wobbery of the gents in Engine Earz) are dirty greasy Canuck hosers Cancer Bats.

The massive cathedral of a venue is already fuller than Beyonce’s cami-knickers by the time Monsiuer Cormier and his scuzzy, hairy biker boys take to the boards.

There’s growl, bark, bite and big squealy bastard guitar riffage aplenty to wire up the tickly bits of the massive and very young congregation which hits the spot and gets the pit fizzed - up and sweating like Ian Watkins in a wendy house* (*allegedly). 

However, weird and vaguely unsettling sight of the night is a huge, fairly well behaved circle pit with two 14 year old girls, complete with handbags bopping along merrily in the middle. 

Anyway, the big-arsed riffs keep a coming. And climax loudly and wildly in the always-brilliant Lucifer’s Rocking Chair. ‘That’ Beastie Boys cover sets hearts a thumping and arms a pumping as always and the savage Hail Destroyer gets the pits opening up. But I can’t help feeling Cormier’s screamy range operates in too narrow a spectrum to truly excite or enthrall. It’s all a bit, well, grey. Not enough lows. Or, for that matter, highs. 

There’s no debate that he’s a cracking front man and the punked-up, fucked-up, doomed-up noise that mssrs Peters, Middleton and Schwarzer is even dirtier than Kat off EastEnders gusset; but in a huge upturned bucket like The Roundhouse, I’m not convinced grey is vibrant enough. Still, I’m nit-picking, the crowd go nuts and the scene is set for the St Alban’s noiseniks to come and do their thang.

Enter Shikari ****1/2*
For 10 minutes before the lads appear, the packed out former railway engine shed is treated to a selection of ravey, dubby, wobby and bleepy mixed up dance music interspersed with a wonderful retro recording from a mid-west US drive in, counting down the minutes to the performance. A master stroke in heightening the already pre-orgasmic flushes of the attendant scenesters and sixth formers.

Finally the lights dim and the strains of System... throws a lump of sodium into the already ridiculously efforvecent scene soup. And we’re off...

I’ve lost count of the dozens of times I’ve been lucky enough to have my testes rearranged by this lot. And, remarkably they never fail to disappoint. A fiercely independent and fuck-you attitude oozes from every pore and the constant shifting of interpretations and versions of their oeuvre keeps things fresh every time. 

It’s a hoary old chestnut to bang on about their originality and their cross-genre pollenation that defines their sound and stoically bats off categorisation or pigeonholing. But it’s unavoidable. They truly are one of a kind. And continue to plough lone furrows while all around seem to be regressing to some mealy-arsed mean of predicatbility or conformity.

Tonight’s show has all the Shikari benchmarks, hallmarks and skidmarks, but keeps things spicy and appealing. Tantalising teasers like Stand Your Ground make a subliminal appearance before dissolving into Destabilise, remixes and extended intros, outros, bridges and brutal sub bass beatdowns are sprinkled over every dish adding extra firepower, depth and lustre. Labyrinth even got the dust blown off it. 

The brilliant A Flash Flood Of Colour album is unsurprisingly well represented with Arguing With Thermometers and Gandhi Mate, Gandhi standing out in the main set, but for me, Return To Energiser is the total triumph. Ok, it lacks the sublime acoustic ending that Rou served up at the amazing Hammersmith show back in the spring, but with a tinkered with bridge and a huge bowel-relaxing sub added, it shows that the earlier material from the seminal and brilliant Take To The Skies album is as relevant and citricly sharp as ever.

There was even a beer intermission (complete with waiter) in Labyrinth and time for a bit of crowd tomfoolery while Rou is being filmed for an ad promo for the band’s Sssnakepit beer. Tight and slick as most of the show is, there’s still plenty of room for a bit of fucking about and cheeky chappy japes too. Although Mr Reynolds seems forgivably pretty much out on his feet both literally and occasionally vocally.

As the ever-stunning Motherstep/ship brings the main set to a close, it’s clear we’re in the midst of another pretty special Shikari evening. Further underlined when the lads re-appear to play us out with three more fine tunes.

A chilled and sensational interpretation of Constellations, complete with fuck-loads of  festive snowy confetti stuff sprayed all over the sticky scenies sends shivers down spines, sets hairs standing up and moistens more than the odd eyeball before the anthemic Pack Of Thieves makes a rare appearance and turns the venerable old loco shed into a mass Karaoke. Zzzzzonked is an apt way to finish and send the thousands of beglittered, bewildered and broken sweaty urchins spewing out onto the refreshingly chilled Chalk Farm streets. 

I’ve said it before, but no one comes close. Wonderful, warming and world class. 

More tunes next year. Happy Chrimbo and all that bollocks. Bwoooar!

Here’s another link to my review of the year thingy. HAVE A LOOK.

The best gigs of 2012. Honestly.

A vintage year. Well, sort of.
A review of 2012.

Over 70 gigs attended. Over 300 bands seen. A decent sized lake of cider downed. At least a Renault Scenic full of Jagermeister seen off. 4 sets of very expensive attenuated earplugs lost. Lots of lovely people met. And some bellends. Tears shed. Trousers soiled. Overall, face hurts from smiling. What a year.

Anyway, no public votes. No democracy. No real point. But, bollocks to it, here’s a brief run-down of my favourite top gigs, releases and other stuff of the year. Can’t be arsed to write too much about the shows, but because of the time of year, I've done it as kind of tasting notes for vino. But there are links to the original reviews if you really are that bored.

Gigs of the year.

10: Skindred at Brixton Academy. Mr Webbe and the boys serve up a powerful but playful offering to  a packed Brixton academy. Hints of nettles, brambles, molten titanium, barbed wire with top notes of mary jane. The best showman in the land puts on one of the very best shows. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? REVIEW >

9: This Town Needs Guns at The Borderline - Wow. A smooth but enormously complex blend of headiness, blissful character and almost scientifically created perfection. But with real soul and a gentle aftertaste. Technically unparalleled but the new line-up takes things to new levels. Not to mention their space-aged cuboid magic sound boxes. REVIEW >

8: Hundred Reasons at The Fighting Cocks - Raw, beautiful home-grown genius. Fizzing with vibrancy, energy and power; an old favourite that's aged splendidly and excites the palate like an angel cumming on your tongue. 10 years on. A secret intimate sweatfest in downtown Kingston. Ridiculous. Privileged. REVIEW >

7: The Xcerts and Yearbook at The Borderline - A weird but wonderful blend. All edgy and fierce with an underlying beauty and complexity. At times like a fine premier cru but delivering the wit, verve and impudent kick in the cock of a case of something deliciously nouveau. Or some shit like that. All kooky, edgy, nerdy, sassy, library. You ‘eard. An absolute pleasure to be there. Two of the very, very best around on the same bill. Bonus. REVIEW >

6: Lower Than Atlantis at The Garage - Maturing nicely but not losing that rough, venomous, gall-tinged edge, Chateau LTA is becoming a classic. Big hearted, full bodied but with traces of napalm and brimstone still not far behind the surface. All bound together by Mike Duce's deep burgundy melancholia. Big drinking beauty. With gravel in the glass. And a whisky chaser.The night they celebrated their well-deserved signing to Island. An emotionally charged and fantastic show.The show later in the year at The Electric Ballroom was also right out of the top drawer but, for me, the Garage show just shaded it. REVIEW >

5: Enter Shikari at Hammermith - Incomparable fusion of everything. Impossible to work out every ingredient, taste, top note and big sub-bass infused bottom note. Like a fine zesty young white with Thunderbird and fine dessert wine mixed in. But when you think you've got it nutted, huge power, body, reckless confusion and intoxicating strength of a dark, bastard red. One of a kind. What a show, What a spectacle. What a shit Mexican meal afterwards. Genius stuff with a Hertfordshire accent. The band, not the Mexican meal. REVIEW >

4: Deaf Havana at Shepherds Bush - Bubbly and bright (unusual for JV-G) celebratory, astringent and sharp. But with a beautiful mellowness, soul and hint of sadness. That said, drinkable by the gallon and becoming more and more widely appealing now that the initial battery acid sharpness has (to some, lamentably) waned. Incredible, emotional, joyous and jubilant. Those fenland fellas have certainly come a long way. REVIEW >

3: Don Broco at their album launch show at The Barfly - On the face of it a screw top cheap and very cheerful Lambrini or Cava. But on further tasting, there's a genuine sophistication and ridiculously mature massive brilliance in there. Big flavours, addictive fruit and raw power. Not overly-complex but delicious and fruity. Wonderful with a bit of cheese.  Ok, I didn’t actually review this show, but having seen the Beds boys four or five times this year, this one really took the biscuit (see what I did there). Closely followed by their amazing support slot for LTA at the Electric Ballroom and their absolute sweat-fest at Burnout Festival. Hic.

2: Dillinger Escape Plan at The Garage - Fiery, stupidly impenetrable complexity. But so ridiculously satisfying. Thunderous body with searing acid shards and acrid spikes. Spine-tinglingly perfectly served. Aggressive, outré, challenging, mad. Bewildering. Just fuck. REVIEW >

1: Arcane Roots at The Old Blue Last - Like a new world arriviste that's just so much better than the motherland original. Multi-layered, smooth, spiky, classical but challenging, rough but silky. Full bodied but zingy. Strong and intoxicating. Truly the most wonderful of mixes which will only get better with age. Set to be a world classic. Yum. And indeed, yum. Too good. Seriously. Too good. Britain's best band. By a distance. This lot must be huge next year. A free show at an absolutely rammed OBL was the absolute highlight of an absolutely fabulous year. Darling.
REVIEW >

Disappointments of the year: 
AWOL Nation - pretend, ersatz, frothy, unsatisfactory. >
Dry The River - well-prepared, well-executed but monotonously dull and lifeless. >
Rob Lynch - fiery but relentless. Too much. Needs laying down to mature. >
Marines. - predictable, watery, unfulfilling and unexciting. Needs fizz. >
Deaf Heaven - Beautiful, well-considered body but bitter waspiness ruins the potential. >

Revelations of the year: 
Subsource - crazy, mixed up flavours. Huge body, massively satisfying. Boiii. >
Yearbook - insanely quirky. Dances all round the palate but delivers beautifully. >
Gnarwolves - rough, lusty, fiery, raw, fun and spicy. Party in a bottle. >
Oathbreaker - the heaviest, most massivly robust and doom-infused brew imaginable. >

Top blokes of the year: 
Burn The Fleet.
InMe. 
Real Adventures. 
Gnarwolves. 
Don Broco.
The Xcerts.
Midgar.

Festivals of the year: 
The year of the smaller fest. With highlights being: 
Takedown. REVIEW >
Banquet’s Big Day Out. REVIEW >
Burnout. REVIEW >

Albums of the year.

10: Iron Lungs - Polar
9: Ideas - Hawkeyes 
8: This Is The Six - While She Sleeps
7: Koi No Yokan - Deftones 
6: Astraea - Rolo Tomassi
5: Changing Tune - Lower Than Atlantis
4: Fools and Worthless Liars (De Luxe Edition with the brilliant re-works) - Deaf Havana
3: Daybreaker - Architects
2: Priorities - Don Broco
1: A Flash Flood Of Colour - Enter Shikari

Who’s going to be the big old bollocks next year? 
Don Broco. 
Arcane Roots. 
Yearbook. 
Mallory Knox.

And that's it for the year. Just want to thank all of you who've painfully struggled through my waffly, farty, verbose prose. I've had nearly 20,000 visits to this silly, mid-life crisis, self-indulgent blog in the last year, which, to me is unbelievable. 

Almost as unbelievable as the quality and breadth of amazing live music in the UK. Here's to another year of sticky floors, Jager-fuelled sweaty mosh mania, hangovers, ringing ears and brilliant fun.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

InMe live at The Relentless Garage

InMe *****
Hilda May *****
Midgar *****

Relentless Garage 10th December 2012

As it’s a time of food, booze, goodwill and general overindulgence, I thought I’d attempt to sum tonight’s show up in the style of a restaurant critic. No fucking idea why. Probably a really shit idea. But after a few festive Jagers and with Messrs McPherson and friends still ringing in my lugholes, it seemed like a perfectly sensible concept. 

So, what’s on the menu tonight?

Midgar *****
Well, for starters a rich, meaty and wonderfully sophisticated offering from those epic proggy proto-classical wizards in Midgar. Airing predominantly a full array of new tunes, the über-stylish polymath Andy Wilson-Taylor and the rest of his steam-punked Bullingdon boys resplendent in foppish waistcoats deliver a complex yet melodic and accessible combination of ball crushing breakdowns fused effortlessly with all manner of multi-layered tunefulness. 

The new stuff is deliciously big. No, ridiculously huge. Keys and all manner of triggered backing trickery alongside startling musicianship lift them away from the bland burger-helper guitar-based alt lad bands that seem to be breeding like kitchen cockroaches. There’s definitely an originality, but at the same time a genuine comfort. The overall effect is delicious.



Only one older tune, the pompy and grandiose Karmic Retribution is given the treatment tonight, and fits comfortably onto the plate alongside the new stuff including the new instant classic, All I've Ever Done. (Free download here)

The impressive early crowd seem to be lapping it up and getting involved and hopefully, in the not too distant future, these boys will be headlining shows of this size.

To sum up: a really rich and powerful boeuf bourguignon with the semi-automatic dum-dum bullets used to slaughter the cow still wedged in the flesh accompanied with a huge Claret and washed down with pure illicit grain spirit drunk from a gothic skull. Bloody tasty.

Hilda May *****
For the next course a rustic bugger’s muddle of influences chucked onto the table with no plate. Hilda May are impossible to categorise. There are definite tastes of pop punk and hardcore but with a grungy gravy and a grebo rock sauce.

The crowd look a bit bewildered. After the beautifully presented and massive flavours of Midgar, it’s all a bit spikey and scruffy. Tim Lawrence’s vocals are definitely from the hardcore cupboard. His barks and bravado are reminiscent of Real Adventures’ front man Lewis Reynolds. And he’s ably backed by a complex yet simple sauce with traces of Glassjaw, Minor Threat, Gorilla Biscuits and even old-time home growners Million Dead.

A really provocative and interesting choice for the overall bill tonight and certainly an act that’d be better suited to a more punky and dirty bill of fare alongside bands like TRC, Polar and Palm Reader, or the aforementioned Real Adventures. That said, they’re full of chilli bite and energy and act as a kind of perverse or inverse palate cleanser before tonight’s main course.

To sum up: a hearty but scruffy bean and festering lizard sausage casserole served on an upturned rusty bin lid and eaten with an evil bastard corroded flick knife. Washed down with blinding home-made scrumpy drunk out of a rusty soup can. Wholesome, exciting and interesting but not for the faint-hearted.

InMe *****

The last night of another tour and the end of an exhausting year during which beguiling front man Dave McPherson has chalked up over 200 gigs both with the band and as a brilliant acoustic solo turn. There’s definitely an end of term vibe in the thronged Relentless Garage as the hungry diners take their places.

InMe are true originals. Survivors from the nu-metal age and contemporaries of fellow Brits A, Vex Red, Hundred Reasons, FFAF and, at a push, Lostprophets. And they’ve stuck to their guns and continued to produce mesmerising, complex, huge and memorable music ever since. Culminating in this year’s tour de force - The Pride (made even more notable by the innovative and brilliantly altruistic and heart-warming pledge mechanic),

It really is party time tonight and they pile through a burgeoning menu stuffed with old favourites, older specialist offerings like So You Know for the die-hards all spiced up with big dollops of the more contemporary material like epic set opener Moonlit Seabed. Myths and Photographs is a majestic chateaubriand with all the trimmings, Safe in A Room is a complex and moving triumph, as is Firefly. The crowd are salivating throughout, stuffing their faces, ripping the bones apart and gorging like rabid, slavering dogs. And they’re loving it. 

It does, however feel a bit like a big family meal. For close rellies and friends. Which is no bad thing. But could be a little alienating for any newcomers or distant relations. No matter, totally stuffed, deaf and having had my bowels purged by the most powerful, loud and deep bass brown notes, I wandered off fully satiated and with a smile as wide as Lisa Riley’s waistband. A gastronomic triumph. Even though they didn’t play my favourite All Terrain Vehicle and eschewed their traditional staple Underdose.

To sum up: a groaning buffet stuffed with massive dishes of every imaginable flavour. sharp shards of metal salad with sulphuric dressing, whole massive musk oxen served on the bone with searing scotch bonnet chillies stuffed up its arse, lighter, thought-provoking citric accompaniments served with rich and powerful dark sauce with the heaviest bass notes all washed down with bastard overproof rum drunk out of  a titanium space helmet. Bizarre, beautiful, heavy and intoxicating. But ultimately wonderful comfort food. Yum.

Enter Shikari next.

More tunes soon, Bwooooar!

A Hefty Root up the bum. Arcane Roots Live Review Old Blue Last

Arcane Roots *****
My First Tooth *****
Gunning For Tamar *****

The Old Blue Last, Shoreditch 4th December 2012

An absolutely rammed Old Blue from the moment the doors sprung open. Which bellend suggested that rock was dead? Ok, it’s a free show. And one of the country’s very finest bands are headlining. But it warms the cockles of the old blood pump to see so many out on a chilly December evening for real, live music.

Gunning For Tamar *****
Kicking off proceedings are Oxford quartet Gunning For Tamar. There’s been quite a bit of noise about these lads, so I was keen to see what the fuss was all about.

They pile into a feisty and spiky set full of interesting tempo twists and chops. Hewn from the same alt, mathy, jaunty, quirky, proggy,  indie seam as acts like Tellison, Coastline, Jumping Ships, More Than Conquerors and maybe even the brilliant Yearbook; they conjour up a radio-friendly sound with a rockier edge. Probably not going to change the world just yet as it’s a burgeoning and cluttered scene and there’s so much talent around operating within similar parameters.

Be interested to see how they develop and find a defining difference. But on tonight’s performance and by the crowd reaction, there’s real hope. Good stuff.

My First Tooth *****
I first saw this new-agey artschool collective a couple of years ago supporting the mighty Xcerts and was impressed. And tonight, things don’t seemed to have changed that much. But in a good way. Definitely still impressed. 

Their blend of nu-country (think Arcade Fire without the pretension or a cut down, polished version of Cats, Cats and Cats  with Prefab Sprout or Captain as guests) is a cheery pick-me up full of swagger, chirpiness and optimism enriched with multi-instrumental musicianship, a rocky backbone backed with sweet harmonies. 

They are far less shambolic than I recall and seem to have minimised or at least lubricated the instrument changes. And it helps that the crowd are in party mood and help up the mood of swing and sassiness. Uplifting and entertaining stuff.

Arcane Roots *****
Anyone who’s been subjected to my warblings and rantings will know just how highly I regard mssrs Groves, Burton and Atkins. They truly are one of the very finest bands in the land. So, it is with a ‘slight’ bias that I prop myself up at the bar to be entertained.

But, no matter how good I thought they were going to be, nothing prepared me for what a heaving, sweating, delirious full house was about to receive.

Tonight is a showcase of stuff from the (hopefully soon) forthcoming new album mixed with tunage and riffage culled from their brilliant Left Fire mini album. And from the swirling ambient atmospheric noodlings which herald the blitzkreig opener (Energy?) to the last fading glory of the audience-fuelled Long and Low, this was one of the highlights of the year.

Having been to over 70 individual gigs this year and having seen over 300 bands of every shape, size, flavour, taste, colour and genre, tonight’s show is pretty much at the top of the tree.

The band have never sounded better, crisper, heavier, more face-meltingly, and testicle-grippingly hard. This is music from another level. The complexity. The half-time bludgeons. The wit. The frailty. The melodies. The purity of Groves’s Burgundy balloon shattering vocals. The heart-stopping rhythmic playfulness and sophistication. The tightness. The musicianship. Just everything.

There’s even a gorgeous diversion in the midst of all the fire, brimstone and brutalisation when Emily Denton joins Andrew on stage for a goosebump-inducing stripped back rendition of the ever-beautiful Rouen. 

Old faves get a heavy brush-up. With Million Dollar Que$tion and the jaw-dropping extended Habibty nailing gonads to the floor while administering facial beatings with a 30lb Halibut. The newbies though, are the revelation. Hell Or High Water is an instant classic and the monster riffage in Resolve should have it’s own concrete handprint in the rock hall of fame already.

The packed house also plays its part. The sing-backs hale and hearty, the moshing and lunacy relentless and the love in the room palpable.

The true sign of greatness is when a band defines a category and defies it at the same time. With Arcane Roots, this is philosophically awkward. They are not in a category. So defining or defying is as specious as it is impossible. They are truly out there on there own. A class; no fuck it, a whole species apart. 

Can’t wait for the new album. And the praise, adulation and success it surely will merit. Big things to come from these boys. If there’s any justice in the world.

InMe and Midgar next.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

Rave again the machine - The Algorithm Live Review - London 28/11/12

The Algorithm *****(*****)

Hacktivist *****

Collisions *****

The Black Heart, Camden, 28^th November 2012-12-02

It’s party night. Woo. And indeed hoo. Yup, the good folk at Basick Records are hosting the coolest do in town. So, cherryade in hand, let’s do this.

Collisions *****

To kick things off are tonight’s sausages on sticks Collisions. Not overly familiar with their work I don’t know what to fully expect. But as they launch into a type of Prodigy-infused metal, d&b mash up with sprinklings of Skindredy geetar sounds, they certainly hit the spot.

They mix a full-on rocky groove with a bucket load of influences with Arabic progressions, beat downs wobs and stoner loops thrown in.

They even use autotune in a post modern ironic way which draws more than a smirk from the enlightened muso crowd. Saying that, towards the end of the set, they probably overdo the autotune thang….hide your kids, hide your wife….

All round a decent amuse bouche served with energy and a doom coulis.

Hacktivist *****

Sausages on sticks downed, time for something altogether more substantial. Bring on the ostrich, stuffed with a penguin, stuffed with a turkey, then a chicken, then an evil crow, then a firecrest and finally an angry fucking wasp. Yum.

A beardy bloke with a hi-gain 8-string guitar and probably a heap of Line 6. Check. Fashionable low-rise drum kit. Check. Bass plugged in to what looks like NASA control room. Check. We got djent. But wait a minute. Two urban in da hood looking evil shitbags seem to have put their Camberwell carrots down and wandered erroneously onto the stage. Rappers? Djent? It couldn’t possibly…

Well, fuck me. It only works. And how.

An unholy and unlikely marriage of street, studio, shoe-gaze, tech, d&b, grime and metal shouldn’t ever have left the genetic modification lab. But well done to the evil geniuses who proved the world wrong. There’s real devil and thunder to their work. Full of energy, wit, aggression, musicality and a malevolent cheekiness. They even throw in a brilliant cover of  Kanye West’s Niggas In Paris which makes the original sound lame and lifeless.  The crowd go off their tits and the evil shitbags respond accordingly rebel-rousing and carousing the sweaty mass towards fever pitch. Brilliant, bad-ass and bewildering. Need a bucket and two dozen Alka Seltzer.

The Algorithm *****/*****

After the surreal grimey-djenty buffet, what next?

A diminutive floppy-fringed French nerd with a box of buttons and a kit drummer. Obviously.

The Algorithm’s new album is a modern masterpiece. Fusing 8-bit bleeps, chipped-up wizardry, dancy and ravy sequencer-driven burps and squawks, whirrs, arpeggios and farts with polyrhythmic mathy breakcore explosions, wobs and huge djent-sounding guitar muscles all with moments of Jean Michel Jarre and Tangerine Dream thrown in for good measure.

And tonight Rémi Gallego brought his long player, a bottle of Lambrini, half an ounce of leb, some dry roast peanuts and is in the mood to party. Well, er….to put his long player on and press play.

Yup, that’s pretty much it. Of course, the drummer does stuff. And mesmerizingly so. Just to watch him keep abreast of the wild tempo and rhythm changes while Gallego is twiddling knobs and eating his peanuts is worth the admission money. But I’m on the horns of a foul dilemma.

I don’t get DJs (not that Gallego is just a DJ – but might as well be tonight). And, yes I know, he doesn’t use traditional decks, but a bewildering computer thingies with buttons, pads, accelerometers and screens. But just for the record, decks are for playing music. Other people’s music. They are NOT A FUCKING MUSICAL INSTRUMENT. AND DJs ARE NOT FUCKING MUSICIANS! Even if your’e one of those smug cunts that sits behind anachronistic deities like Limp fucking Biskit or Linkin fucking Pork with big headphones on scratching looking urban and cool. Just f-f-f-f-f-fuck off. Off. Off.

Hence the reason for the two ratings for tonight. There is immeasurable skill, talent and flair in Gallego’s work as a composer, musician and producer – hell, the album’s near enough been on repeat since its release (big up to the brilliant Basick Records for jumping on that one!), but, I’m a simple soul and a rock and roll show, should be exactly that. Not just pressing play and twiddling some knobs.

Don’t get me wrong, the ‘performance’ was amazing. Especially the drumming of the incredible Mike Malyan. The crowd looked like they’d been on poppers and had car batteries constantly wired to their nads. Pits, jumps, frenzied skanking, stepping, spasticking and sweating throughout the whole set.

But, it was a diminutive floppy-fringed French nerd with a box of buttons and a kit drummer. The guitars were digital phantoms. The tightness of the virtual band all programmed, quantized and sequenced. Soulless, surgical, perfect.

Oh, I don’t know. The music is undeniably brilliant. The crowd don’t give a flying fuck whether anyone plays; or just presses play. I’d love to see him expand the live performance. I dunno, get Chimp Spanner man Oritz on the banjo or the bloke from Dirty Loops on the bass. Take it up a level. One of the whole points of technical music is being dumstruck by the technical prowess. Imagine if Animals As Leaders came with a ghetto blaster and no guitars. Pressed play. Stood nodding, tweaked the odd button. Well, that.

Confused.

Arcane Roots next.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!