Right, a bit of a departure this post. Due to being stupidly busy recently, I've bundled together a whole month's worth of words and warbles about some of the gigs I've hauled my arse to during that time. There's loads here, so enjoy. Or don't. You all know the drill. Deep breaths, and away we go...
Get Cape Wear Cape Fly ****1/2*
Ramspocket Radio*****
The Garage
May 16th 2012
How you’ve grown up. Oh my. Just look at
you. Not Sam necessarily; but the crowd. Yup, the assembled throng for Mr
Duckworth and co’s headline show has certainly shifted its demographic over the
years.
Erstwhile hordes of baying teenies
squeaking along to War of The Worlds or firing back retorts about being a face
in the crowd during I-Spy have been replaced by an assortment of middle aged
hipsters, couples, people in what can only be described as slacks and bald
accountants and data developers. They were all out tonight. Even someone in a
Metallica shirt.
Ramspocket Radio*****
First up was The Ben Fold’s One. A bloke.
An Irish bloke. Called Pete. Who used to be in Mojo Fury. Sitting at a
keyboard. Alongside a drum kit.
After a cheery hello, he launched into a
bouncy, tuneful set of pleasant enough tuneage. Alternating between the keys
and the skins. All accompanied by electronic backing padding and stringy stuff.
Not at all bad. There were moments of pure Billy Joel, traces of Paul Brady,
top notes of Walter Schreifels with even a sugary, proggy hint of a young Phil
Collins detectable to the more warped palate. In truth it lost a bit of edge
for me as the Foldsy-like delivery and strident rhythms sadly merged into one
on more than one occasion. Will definitely give a record a listen though.
Get Cape Wear Cape Fly ****1/2*
So, Mr D. What you got for us? By now a
full house of slack wearers had filled up Phil Mitchell’s deluxe Highbury Arches
workshop and needed entertaining. And entertainment we certainly got. Lynyrd
Skynyrd took to the stage. Guitarists. Hundreds of them. Well, three. Including
Sam. But it was a far cry from him and a laptop. And the horns of yore have
gone.
 |
| All together now...Lord Knows I won't change |
As an inter-course palate cleanser, the
band disappeared to allow our wee hero to seduce our ear spaces with a couple
of acoustic favourites complete with sing-a-longs (just not as pre-pubescent as
they used to be). Once the band returned, the fare was fleshed out again and
full rock and roll service was resumed.
Sam looked as though he was thoroughly
enjoying himself. And judging by the boisterous and fervent response from the
slack-wearers, so was everyone in the room.
This must be about the twentieth time I’ve
been lucky enough to see GCWC. From solo shows at Air Studios, laptop powered
evenings in grotty Southend former bordellos, a midnight assignation in a Soho
strip bar, headline stints at the sadly defunct Astoria, festivals, low-key
surprise shows for BSM, recent commuter entertainment at St Pancras (complete
with bing bongs and announcements) and even mosh-pit heavy sell-out at
Shepherds Bush. And I’ve loved just about every single one of them.
He is a truly original, thought-provoking,
caring and wonderfully self-effacing, socially conscious troubadour. But
tonight’s performance, while undoubtedly brilliant has raised a slight worry.
Only a slight one; but a worry all the same.
I really hope not. I can only pray and assume
that this is a latest artistic reinvention. Transient. Fleeting. Inquisitive.
Like all great artists who go through different periods and phases trying to
push things, fiddle, experiment, fine-tune. But keep the core safe. Sacred. Genetically
unmodified.
Not that it’s bad. In any way at all.
Tonight’s show is a wonder to behold. It’s just there are so many bands of a
more standard line up treading the Jager-soaked sticky floors of darkened rooms
up and down the land. Do we need another one?
Obviously Sam can’t stick with the acoustic
and the laptop forever. And thankfully, we haven’t been through a Page and
Plant North African period yet. Or a Beatles Maharishi muddled mind fuck. (give
him time). But I just worry.
Anyway, as the final chords and la-da-da-da-das
of Chronicles of a Bohemian teenager swirled ethereally into the vaults of the
sweat-heavy Garage, my worries evaporated and there was so much love in the
room. And long may it continue. A brilliant show from a truly blessed, talented
and culturally important young man. Here’s to the future. To more experiments.
More soul-searching. And more importantly than anything else more bloody
brilliant music. Just no Maharishi stuff. Please.
Burn The Fleet*****
Apollo’s Arrows***1/2**
The Dead Wretched
Bad Sign
The Black Heart Camden
25th May 2012
Apollo’s Arrows***1/2**
Arrived at the ugly twin sister venue to
The Barfly just too late for the first two bands, so a bit miffed, needed
Apollo’s Arrows to knock my soft organs out of whack.
And they didn’t disappoint. Never seen or
heard of these boys before, but on the evidence of tonight’s emotional and
consummately performed noise fest, I really have missed out.
Not dissimilar to the majestic This Town
Needs Guns, with flavours of ATDI, Rush and Zeppelin. Strong and piercing
melodic vocals cut through intricate rhythms, syncopation, taps, sweeps, drags
and all manner of guitar wizardry. Heavy drops and breakdowns punctuated dreamy
sequences and percussive interludes. Overall, really refreshing to see young guys
delivering such sophistication but without too much shoe-gazing or over-earnest
prog wank.
The only negative is that, apparently,
they’re splitting up. Which is a real shame based on tonight’s efforts.
Burn The Fleet*****
So, to the main event. To celebrate the
launch of their brilliant album The Modern Shape, Southampton’s crow-adopting
bad boys Burn The Fleet are here to kick some metropolitan arse flesh.
And my word they do. Like Johnny Wilkinson.
Skilful, accurate, relentless and brutal. Landing every kick on the sphincter. But with added humour
and bucket loads of personality.
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| Burn The Fleet - Jacomofos |
But in no way does it water down the ferocity,
the bombast, the wholeheartedness of their stunning rock and roll. You can’t
help but smile while willingly being sodomised senseless by big bass lines,
heavy artillery-like drums and intricate, ballsy guitar work. They finish
tonight’s joyful voyage with the wonderful and stirring sing-a-long Handfuls of
Sand and I don’t think I’m alone in failing to hold back a bit of a moist eye.
Emotional and brilliant stuff. Made even more creditable given that the right
hand channel of the PA was half blown.
AWOLNation*****
Arcane Roots*****
Invaders*****
The Garage, Highbury and Islington
28th May 2012
Bit weird this one. Tonight is the
rescheduled HMV Next Big Thing Showcase after AWOLNation had to drop out of the
last one at the last minute, allowing a storming Arcane Roots brilliant
impromptu headline set tear everyone’s faces off. So there was a genuine
déjà-vu as Invaders kicked things off. I was probably a little harsh on them
last time, but tonight they didn’t force me to reappraise things too much.
Invaders*****
To be honest, it was all a bit middling.
Mid range sound dynamic. Middlingly okayish songs. Without much construction.
Not bad, by any means. Just a bit meh. Karnivool-infused moments were crossed
with A Teardrop Explodes pop sensibilities, but, to be honest, their lack of
variation and structure within their songs let them down. There were genuinely
good bits, but they were joined together by the synth equivalent of burger helper
or quorn. Neither satisfying nor exciting. Kind of brown. They ended with their
‘big one’ about satellites and one of my mateys commented wistfully, ‘why don’t they do more songs like this
one?’ Not an earth shattering observation, but true enough.
Arcane Roots*****
So, after Arcane Roots manfully stepped up
to the plate last time, would they be able to get themselves up for it all
again, albeit in the support slot?
Oh yes.
A classy performance by a ridiculously
classy and presently peerless band. Can’t wait for the new album.
AWOLNation*****
So, onto tonight’s headliners. I’ve never
seen AWOLNation before and was intrigued to how they’d bring their recorded quirky,
often camp electronica-imbued crossover ramblings to life in a meaningful and
convincing way. Well, judging by the line up, guitars were going to be their
weapon of choice. They were here to rock. Well, kind of.
A full house of begs, wanabees, acolytes
and inquisitive folk here to see if they had any other songs apart from Sail
enthusiastically welcomed Aaron Bruno and his synthy-oompah band onto the
stage. Encouraging signs.
But, after that it all felt a bit, well,
plastic. Yes they rocked their whole sound up considerably from the midi
noodlings and samples on their records. But it just felt pretend. Like a sound
library collection of’ ‘rock style’ beds. Or the sort of background music that
accompanies Neighbours when things are getting raunchy, rebellious or heated.
Hair metal. Without the hair. Or the metal. Yes there was energy, a bit of
moshing and crowd surfing. Bruno got involved. And the crowd lapped it up. But
it all felt a bit lame. Calculated. Forced. A bit like pressing the demo button
on a Casio synth.
They ended with the mighty Sail, which,
predictably enough, brought the
house down. But I left feeling as though I’d just watched Glee, the musical or
a Styx reunion. Neither of which I’d really want to do ever again.
Hundred Reasons*****
Marmozets*****
The Fighting Cocks, Kingston
3rd June 2012
I get excited. I get excited a lot. I love
music. I love gigs. But once in a while, something so ridiculously exciting
shows up, the excitement just goes off the measurable scale. Well, that’s how I
felt when I heard that Hundred Reasons were going to be playing Banquet’s Big
Day Out Festival. So imagine how fucking excited I was when, at the last
minute, they announced a secret warm up show at Kingston’s legendary Fighting
Cocks the night before. So, almost
shaking with teenage-like expectation I descended the well-trodden, sticky
stairs into the stygian gloom of Kingston’s most notable basement.
Marmozets*****
Having seen the Marmozets support Four Year
Strong a few months back, I was immediately captivated. So, when I found out
the mathy Yorkshire terriers were tonight’s support, the perfect evening got a
further dusting of magic.
To an already packed sweat box, The
Macintyres and Bottomleys (3 of the former, two, the latter) took to the tiny
stage with their maths book to school the assembled bums and ne’erdowells.
And educate they certainly did. The
underground math movement is certainly gathering momentum and along with bands
like Middlesborough’s fine Rosa Valle and Sheffield’s comparative veterans
Rollo Tomassi, Marmozets are leading the revolution.
Heavily influenced by the
mighty math masters The Dillinger Escape Plan, they deconstruct stuff for fun.
And with great skill. The polyrythms are infectious, the Uzi-like guitar
patterns and jaw-droppingly complex percussion provide a head-spinning and
trance-inducing backdrop you fiery young Becca MacIntyre’s screams, yelps,
quacks, chants and vocal gymnastics. The older Hundred Reasons crowd were duly
impressed, acceptant and joyously enthusiastic. A potentially tough room for
such challenging evolutionary music was majestically won over. A stars all
round.
Hundred Reasons*****
So, could they be still as good as we all
remember? We were going to be treated to the complete and seminal album Ideas
Above Our Station.: would it still be as brilliant, as relevant, as bone-shatteringly
fantastic as it had been ten years ago?
I always use too many words. A lifelong
failing. I blather and bleat, whinge and opine about anything and everything.
See? But tonight I am as close to being lost for words as I’ve ever been.
Simply unbelievable.
Banquet’s Big Day Out*****
Imber Court, Surrey
4th June 2012
Right, rather than painstakingly review all
the bands I managed to get in front of, I’d rather give a review of the day as
a whole. Obviously running the rule over the acts, but going a bit broader.
Firstly, finding the festival was not as
easy as I’d hoped - struggling with monster hangover and still buzzing after
the Hundred Reasons’ intimate glory fest the night before. No matter, once I’d actually found
where the entrance was, nestled between Margot and Gerry suburban semis in
leafy Surrey, a good sized queue had already formed a good hour before things
were meant to be kicking off.
A good smattering of scene kids, older
heads and every form of life in between were in cheery spirits, helped by the lack
of the torrential rain that’d saturated the previous couple of days. Slight
gripe was that it took an eternity to clear the entrance procedure. Needs
sorting for next year. How hard can it be, exchanging a ticket for a wristband?
Anyway, thankfully, that was the last mini-whinge about what was to become a
legendary day.
Finally in, I had a good wander around the
really neatly appointed arena. Great food outlets. Excellent bars. Two decent
sized stages in tents. A tiny acoustic stage. A mini fairground. And the main
stage, complete with mini bleachers. It all felt really chilled and there was a
definite warm and smiley vibe hanging over the place like a layer of NO2.
So, first pint of scrumpy in hand to
compensate for missing Tall Ships (thanks to the laborious entry that I’m
obviously not allowed to whinge about.) I slunk over to the main stage where
Scholars***** were doing their alt thang in front of a small but enthusiastic 6th
form crowd.
And pretty good they were too. Fairly
generic, but big tunes, snappy guitar work and an energetic bounce gave them
enough difference to put some room between themselves and the myriad of
guitar-based young bands around. One weird thing though – they seemed to have a
proper fight during their last number. Now, I might be being a bit of a nob,
but it looked real enough. The others with me swore it was all part of the act
– I wasn’t sure. Whatever, it was all a tad rum. But they finished the song and
hadn’t killed each other.
The boys and girls at Banquet have
genuinely curated a brilliant and disparate collection to suit many tastes. And
like everything else they do, have done it with aplomb. Not everyone was going
to like every band. Or even want to see them. But that makes for a far more
interesting festival than a strict genre-specific parade.
So, choosing what and where next is a bit
like being at the pick and mix in Woolies. I plumped for a quarter of MC
Lars***** on the main stage next. But I’d chosen a rhubarb and custard sherbet.
Never keen. Clever? Yup. Entertaining? Definitely. But, apart from his paean to
Poe’s The Raven, Rappin’ at My Chamber door, the crowd failed to ignite and it
all felt a bit awkward.
I wasn’t. I lasted just two songs. The
emperor’s new aaaaaarrrgggghhhh! Yes, their singer/guitarist is a genuinely
charismatic natural, entertaining front man. Yes they still dress like greaser
cricketers. And yes, they’re still an anachronistic garagey hark back to when
it was important not to be able to play instruments properly to be punks. Punk
has moved on. This lot haven’t. The pick and mix equivalent to soggy flying
saucers. Dipped in gravy. Not my cup of Darjeeling.
The festival is now in full swing. Speciality
ciders being quaffed, sweaty mid-afternoon dubstep sessions in tents getting
all and sundry into a right tizz, all manner of meaty goodness being consumed
and the good time vibe growing accordingly.
So, what better time than to haul out
Wheatus *****? The sun broke out. Smiles broke out. Fun broke out. Front man Brendan
Brown really enters into the spirit of the day with wonderful, self-effacing,
entertaining and funny banter gluing a mish mash set together. Obviously no one
really knows any of their schtick apart from Teenage Dirtbag (ok, and maybe the
Erasure cover thing), but no matter, the large crowd is in fine form gyrating
merrily to the good time vibes. Yup, we got Dirtbag (with MC Lars mooching
around on stage as support for Brown) And, yup, everyone joined in dutifully
and went suitably nuts. All great fun.
So, after the previous night’s intimate orgasmic sweat fest at The Fighting Cocks, could Hundred Reasons***** get jiggy with it to the same level and seduce a far bigger crowd with the same passion, energy and performance? They certainly drew the largest crowd of the day to the main stage, so the scene was well set for some serious intercourse. One hour later: cut to post coital trembles. Smiles. Dizziness. Total satisfaction. It was magnificent.. Raw, relevant, joyous, uplifting, beautiful and brilliant.
After teasing us all with the foreplay of three or four of their later works, Larry informs us all that 10 years ago, they recorded this…..goose bumps, lumps in throats and away we went. The whole of Ideas Above Our Station. The crowd went nuts singing along with just about every word. Even joining in with the riff in Silver. The main event to what was rapidly becoming one of the very best festivals. I was left ragged. Spent. Sated. In a mess. Amazing.
To be honest the rest of the afternoon
becomes a bit of a blur from now on in. Not just due to cider and Jagermeister,
but my frenzied attempts to catch as many of the acts as possible,
To reflect the breathlessness, here goes a
rapid fire appraisal: The Skints***** a packed tent merrily skank away to the
indie ska noiseniks. Not really my bag, but I can appreciate what all the
recent hype’s been about. Original and infectious.
Judging by the size of the queue at the
signing tent, Deaf Havana***** are certainly one of the main attractions of the
day. A packed main arena welcomes the East Anglian tyros with knickers fizzing
and hearts a fluttering.
They’re what the naughty side of One
Direction yearn to be. While moving further and further from their heavier
roots (interesting to see how they go down at Hevy Fest later this summer!),
they still pack a punch and Veck Gilodi’s brilliant and heartfelt lyrics and
powerful vocal delivery set them apart from so many of the post hardcore, pop
punk and scene bands traipsing up and down the country in sweaty vans from
toilet venue to toilet venue. The fangirls certainly agree and provide a mini
RockChoir accompaniment to every song. Word for word. Great stuff. If not a
little toothless. The set. Not the fangirls.
Next up, Neville Staple***1/2** and even more
enthusiastic crowd of skankers, steppers and stoners rammed into the New Slang
Tent to join in with a two-tone tinged party. I’m sure most of the assembled
smiling loons were equally as ignorant of much of big Nev’s work outside The
Specials, but A Message To You Rudy was unsurprisingly the number that blew the
roof off.
The good time vibe of the whole day has
been maintained throughout and the boys and girls at Banquet must be delighted.
The rain has pretty much stayed away. The crowds (while not massive) seemed to
be in the finest of spirits even managing to conjour up a mass game of pissed
rugby. Which seemed like a good idea at the time. Ow.
To bring what has been a brilliant day to a
close, I hobble back to the main stage for the baby Lost Prophets, sorry, Kids
in Glass Houses***1/2** Benefiting from the fading light, the pyro and light show
add to the closing spectacle and they steam through a lively, loud and catchy
set. Which like a chocolate mousse at the end of a groaning 22 course meal is
greedily shoveled down the gullets of the writhing, partying crowd. A bit
sickly sweet and frothy for my tastes, but kind of tasty nonetheless.
I really hope this festival becomes a
regular event. Everything about it oozed passion, class, care and commitment.
Which is no more than you’d expect from the good folk at Banquet. The vibe
throughout the day was amazing. The curation beautifully balanced with
something for everybody. A genuine pleasure and a privilege to have been there.
Can’t wait for next year.
Arcane Roots*****
Hawkeyes *****
A Plastic Rose *****
The Barfly, Camden
5th June 2012
As part of the Kerrang! Awards
celebrations, some of Britain’s very best talent is being showcased across
London this week. The mighty Skindred and
amazing Architects among others. But the choice was made easy for me,
any of you who’ve read any of my burblings will know how much I rate Arcane
Roots. So much so, I’ve almost become some sort of simpering stalker. So I’ll
try and keep a lid on my bias.
A Plastic Rose *****
The Barfly is definitely my favourite
London venue and it’s pretty much packed to the brim this evening. First on the
tasting menu, Ulster’s very own A Plastic Rose. A ramshackle band with far from
a ramshackle sound. A tad cruelly maybe,
but I can’t stop thinking of them as a steroidal Snow Patrol. Good tunes. Neat harmonies. A big
sound. Like. Rather a lot.
Hawk Eyes*****
To follow…Hawk Eyes. I wasn’t expecting what
came out of this lot. Jeez. A huge noise. Big arsed riffs. Hints of old school.
Really old school. A definite
underlying hint of New Wave Of British Heavy Metal from the early eighties.
Think Vardis, Angelwitch, Fist but with very much a contemporary lick of paint
complete with dropped tunings, combinations of more screamy, growly and genuine
raw vocal power served on a bed of blast beats.
There were huge atonal rhythmic
reveries stitched to delicious discordant sections and some truly interesting
harmonic and melodic experimentation and even Adam And The Ants drummingI
Poncey stuff aside, it was loud, gutsy, ballsy and, despite obvious nostalgic
influences (there was even what looked like a Gibson Explorer being spanked),
fresh and exciting.
I loved it.
I loved it.
Arcane Roots*****
I said I’d keep my awkward fanboy bias to a
minimum. But tonight, this lot truly tested my ability to be dispassionate. A
blitzkrieg set of mind-frying, spine-tingling, heart-melting intensity served
up with delicious light and shade completely blows the, what sports
commentators would call a ‘knowledgeable’ crowd away. Three or four brilliant
new songs dovetail seamlessly into the already astonishing collection of
original, sophisticated, funky, technical, heavy, and brain-exploding bombast.
Andrew Groves’ amazing vocal range, as always, cuts through the complexity and rhythmically
mind-blowing assault. There are genuine moments of fragile beauty sandwiched in
between the fierceness and ferocity. Beautiful contrasts. Brilliant
constructions. All-in-all, tonight is yet another triumph on their inevitable
passage to the very top.
Polar *****
Palmreader ***1/2**
Real Adventures *****
Deadlights ***1/2**
The Boiler Room Guildford
18th June 2012
Popping my Boiler Room cherry tonight. A
pleasure to be at such a legendary venue. Made even more pleasurable by the
great bill. All locally grown, tonight’s show is a homecoming celebration of
Polar’s jaw-dropping debut long player, Iron Lungs and they’ve brought a load
of buddies with them to celebrate.
First on are relative newcomers Deadlights.
The local four piece serve up a predominantly instrumental post-rock appetizer
spiced up with occasional Mastodonesque growls and proggy flavourings. Very
much in the vein of the magical Maybeshewill, they captivate a fairly hardcore
crowd with genuinely hypnotic and head-nodding pleasantness. Tasty stuff.
There’s an air of genuine panic around the
rapidly filling Boiler Room as rascals of the Pop Hunk scene get close to kick
off. The reason? Their bass player Mitch is breaking Donald Campbell’s land
speed record in a Ford Ka on the A3 trying to get to the gig on time. No
soundcheck, no pre-show relaxing cocktails here. But there are sighs of relief
all round as he arrives with seconds to spare.
Visibly a bit shaken, the 5 piece take to
the stage and light the blue touch paper. They go on to deliver a ritual savage
buggering to Surrey’s great and good.
Real Adventures defy genres. They like pop
punk. But are neither genuinely punky or, thankfully poppy. They deal in
complex riffs, spiraling cadenzas and meaty chuggy bits all fused with a joyous
energy and bounce. Louis Reynolds gruff and aggressive canine barks unsettle
and cajole the audience in equal measure. As usual, he delivers most of his
Rottweileresque sermon from among the crowd, throwing himself around like a
possessed bantamweight with St Vitus dance.
There’s cleary the odd sound problem on
stage and the tightness is a quantizable 1/100 of a beat off in places, but it
doesn’t matter a damn. They’re original, feisty, fun and engaging. They air one
or two new tunes tonight and from first listening, they’re worthy bed fellows
to the infectious Do You Ever Wish You Could Breathe Under Water and the hymn
to pop punk hardcore crowds If This Is Living, You’re Better Off Dead.
My only slight craving is for the odd tempo
change now and again. Not in an indulgent prog or showy-offy math way, but a
breakdown or beatdown here and there would add a little more variety and dynamic.
Just a thought. But all round great stuff. Even when most of them took their shirts off and it bordered on becoming a Chippendales show. #nohomo
Palm Reader*****
Alex Baker over at K! Radio has been banging
on about this lot for a wee while now, so I was intrigued to see if they lived
up to his normally impeccable recommendations. And I wasn’t disappointed.
The theatrical performance elements
certainly moved things up a notch from Real Adventures more traditional heads
down, see you at the end approach. They were running intricate patterns all
over the tiny stage. Reminiscent of the incomparable Dillinger Escape Plan – a
comparison made easier by guitarist Sam Rondeau-Smith’s cut-off sleeve tshirt
in the stylee of DEP’s Mr Tuttle.
The set was rowdy, sweaty, full-on and
relentless. The crowd became more
animated with crowd surfers and hardcore dancers turning the place into what
looked like one of those computer generated animations of the inside of a Philips
Whirlpool washing machine. I must confess, I don’t know their stuff intimately,
so most of their set was falling on my fat old ears for the first time. But I
generally liked what I heard. Not dissimilar to Polar in many ways but with
certainly enough difference to create their own space alongside tonight’s
headliners. All good.
Polar ****1/2*
So, to the main event. The Boiler Room is
by now rammed with 2-300 expectant and well warmed up souls. And, similarly to
the change up between Real Adventures and Palm Reader, more notches were turned
up as the local noisy bastards strode into their explosive set. The lightshow is
turned up. The volume nudged round to 11. The crowd abandoned the garden and
squeezed in to every available spot. This is some homecoming.
Adam Woodford’s trademark bulging eyes and
manic, focused delivery show how much this show means. From the kick off, he’s
on his A game. Surfing the crowd. Walking on the ceiling. Throwing his sweaty
torso around with complete abandon. His bandmates ably support and get
wholeheartedly involved. There is a controlled mayhem. And there’s the kicker.
The control. They produce a right old din alright, but it’s delivered precisely
and scientifically. Not clinically or contrived, just tight and surgically
accurate.
The album is given a working over with old
favourites sprinkled on top.
The energy is infectious. The enjoyment
contagious. A noisy, precise, brutal and passionate display which leaves the
crowd drained and satiated. Magnificent stuff. Expect bigger and better things
from these, the nicest of anti-social noisy bastards.
Don Broco ****1/2*
St Pancras Station
June 14th 2012
June 14th 2012
Before I disappear, here's a little snack. Went to see the rising ladcore stars Don Broco doing their acoustic thang among the commuters. Great fun. Great music. Great vibe. All new songs off the much anticipated new album Priorities. Fancy Dress, Yeah Man and Actors all sound as they're going to be major tunes to sit alongside the enormous title track.
There were even bras chucked at Bobby Damage and he then led the crowd into an impromptu conga around the station. Proof, as if it were needed, that this lot are going to get bigger, bouncier and become guaranteed crowd pleasers whether they're playing acoustically or cranking it up and melting faces. Watch this space. The year of The Broco indeed.
More tunes soon, Bwooooar!
To finish, here are some vids of the above. Mixed quality, but all good.
To finish, here are some vids of the above. Mixed quality, but all good.
