F*ck me Djently. Hacktivist Live At The Borderline - Review

Hacktivist *****

Neck Deep *****

Eager Teeth ***1/2**

The Borderline, Tuesday 12th February 2013

A lot of buzz about tonight’s main act. And deservedly so. 

Only just having had my gonads glued back on after they’d been savagely ripped off by Hacktivist on their recent Basick Records support slot for The Algorithm, I’m looking forward to  some more brutalisation.

But, before the genital removal could start in earnest, the pre-med and preparation needs to be administered. And, tonight pre-surgery is in the hands of a couple of lively young bunches of scamps and scallies, Neck deep and, first up, Eager Teeth.

Eager Teeth ***1/2**

On with the surgical gloves for a buoyant and vibrant scrub down at the hands of Brighton’s latest young noiseniks Eager Teeth. Despite some tech gremlins (blamed on lizards that plague the crust of the earth - couple of sherberts before the set lads?) they produce an energetic melange of post hardcore, punky, alt jaunt, flame, farts and fun. There’s a Billy Talent vibe just beneath the surface but fused with a punkier, more shambling edge stuck together by some strong harmonic superglue. 

There’s humour, wit, harmony, energy and a beguiling front man who even mentions Herpetologists in his banter plus a hearty, noisy paean to Hall And Oates. Don’t ask. But all good.

All-in-all a fine attempt to get the early arrivals fully prepared for the impending onslaught. 

Neck Deep *****

Next in the ante-room to further shave the patients down are North Walian pop punk peddlars Neck Deep. Not straying too far from the well-worn pop punk formulae path, they fizz through a brusque and breathless set with de rigeur double time, gang vox, gruff, nihilism and rebounding, frantic guitar spanking. 

Nothing really new to see here, a tad predictable, but in a crowded scene, they seem to have got enough to put a green king sized Rizzla between themselves and the rest of the busy gnarly UK pack. File alongside Our Time Down Here, Real Adventures and maybe clinging onto the coat tails of the mighty Gnarwolves. Feisty, furious and with a firm fanbase who get the pyramids, hardcore moves and moshing going to warm things up in the theatre nicely.

Hacktivist *****

Finally, time for the back street abortionists, sawbones and murky sewer surgeons to come and play, torture, rip and eviscerate. This most unholy of mash up of heavy as Uranium Djent and full-on grime just shouldn’t work. Tech and lyrics. Bombs and spit. Maths and poetry. Arse-widening ten string tune-downs and ridiculously tight proggy rhythmic uppercuts melded with street preaching, anti-social, socially aware dissenting right hooks. Mad. But brilliant.

To be fair to the boys, they haven’t garnered enough schtick yet for a full headline set, but tonight they put together a short but brilliant, bewildering and surgically spot-on display which at times is so filthy you can almost smell the festering infection.

This is brave music. And supremely calculated. There’s no accidental fusion here. The constituent elements and ingredients are carefully measured and scientifically centrifugued to create a mind-altering, organ-rearranging compound of dizzying strength.

Tonight, they flaunt all of their publicly-facing oeuvre from the clever sing-along infectiousness of the eponymous Hacktivist, thru the brutal majesty of New Age, the amazing cover of Niggas In Paris and culminating with the mighty Cold Shoulders. All met with pits of frenzy and fingers in the air from a totally assaulted and defiled pit.

Hacktivist’s vision, braveness, bile and brilliance truly sets them apart from, well, just about everyone and anyone else at the moment. And with a support tour coming for the ever-brilliant and original Enter Shikari (whose very own deck fumbler Rob finishes off the twitching bodies with a brutal DJ set tonight), they’ll be able to show off their savage sorcery and surgery to more and more willing patients leaving guts spilled, heads split and ball sacks torn off all over our green and pleasant land. What treats.

Here's a brief clip of some of that filthy sewer surgery in action. Lignocaine at the ready:

Deftones, Don Broco, Mallory Knox and Hey Vanity next.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

X rated. The Xcerts at The Borderline

The Xcerts*****

Flood Of Red*****

Drawings*****

The Borderline 18^th January 2012

Tote bags. Beards. Plaid. More beards. Fucking tote bags! Yup, tote bags. Sported by blokes. With beards. Bellends. Bearded bellends. With bags.What is going on? If any of the hipsters in tonight’s assembly decided to commit a murder, there’s no way a conviction would stick. Any identity parade would be declared erroneous because the line up would look identical. Even the women.

Sorry, I digress. tonight’s show promises the world. A buffet of slacker grunge alt bastards from all ends of this sceptred isle. 

Drawings*****

First up are a trio from Southampton. Why that’s relevant is beyond me. Saying that, the old ship city is doing something right; Burn The Fleet and, er, Craig David among the marine diesel infused conurbation's issue.

So what was on offer? A jaunty enough start with a U2 ish delay fest followed by some tapping and guitar whizziness all backed by a big-arsed bass and, well, to be honest, an average drummer.

Nonetheless, the assembled bearded, be-bagged bellends seemed to quite enjoy what was being served up. Matthew Reynolds’ vocals were chocolately and mellow and hovered around rather than soared over the interesting soundscapes.

All together now, Oom Pa Pa Xanadoooooo

There was definitely an indie vibe, but in a good way rather than the joyless predictable shit of The Vaccines et al. Throw in a smattering an art school proggy, techy rocky sensibility and top it off with a touch of Chas and Dave oom pa pa and you’ve mixed up an interesting Martini. There were elements of Rush (probably unwantedly and unintentionally) and even moments of a Ceilidh ish flavour, all culminating in a rousing finale with descending thirds lending an Elgaresque grandeur to wrap proceedings up.

All-in-all, not bad. Not brilliant. But definitely not bad. In a world of stunning trios, Drawings are going to have to dig a bit deeper if they’re going to rub shoulders with the likes of Arcane Roots and tonight’s main honey pot, The Xcerts.

Flood of Red*****

I don’t know how I’ve missed Flood of Red until now. They seem to have been around since God was a nipper, but tonight was my first live exposure to this ramshackle bunch of mainly Caledonian malcontents.

Guitars? Yes. Tote bags? Get off.

Less than 30 seconds into their energetic and vibrant set opener, I hated myself for not having dined at their table until now. I loved it. The vocals were spectacularly dynamic, flitting effortlessly between penetrating, hair-raisng yowls and controlled melodic power: all played out in front of a frenetic, ever-shifting, engaging and crazed band. Who were enjoying their arses off.

Their songs were original, catchy, complex and high wattage throughout.

The swollen crowd lapped them up and the energy seemed to fuel fun and frenzy on stage. Thoroughly entertaining, impressive and enjoyable. I will definitely seek these bad boys out again. (I think they’re supporting the mighty Bled on their swansong tour!).

The only possible negative, was that on their merch table, they were knocking out branded fucking tote bags!

The Xcerts*****

This must be about the dozenth time I’ve had the privilege of being in the presence of The Xcerts. And the joy, anticipation and excitement gets only stronger with every performance.

Despite his new mane, Murray still looked 14

The sell-out crowd was equally collectively  expectant, wedged in and drooling at what was about to be delivered. The lights dimmed, the roar went up and on strolled our diminutive, intrepid trio. Still looking like teenagers.

And, then, boom; straight for the money shot. Do You Feel Safe opened the sermon and every one of the congregation in this church of hipsterville began their collective worship joining in with reverend MacCleod’s enchanting homily.

These guys must be one of the hardest working bands on the circuit and all the hard work has certainly paid off.

There’s an innate telepathy between all the individuals, Jordan Smith’s precision bass playing is neurally linked with Tom Heron’s economic and sympathetic skin walloping. They are so tight, so slick, so conjoined yet never clinical, sterile or predictable. Thankfully, there’s no Steely Dan faultlessly true to the recorded original note-for-note rendition slavishness here; far from it, a loosesness and delicious spontanaeity keeps the cauldron bubbling with the three individual parts reacting and interreacting with like one of those enormous shoals of herrings from a David Attenborough under the sea special.

All the favourites are given an airing tonight. Slackerpop, Young (Belane), the anthemic Crisis in The Slow Lane, Scatterbrain, Just Go Home with it’s oo oos, a couple of new ones and the spine tingling Aberdeen 1987 with Murray dispensing with his buddies for a truly goosebump-inducing fragile and fantastic solo rendition. The crowd sang every word and there can’t have been a dry eye in the house.

Judging by the masses of industry types here tonight, along with the cream of some of the very best young UK bands – Damiani, Pennels, Doyle, Duce, Delaney among others propping up the bar – the importance of this band is gathering a well deserved momentum and it feels they’re on the very brink of bigger things.

I’ve waxed lyrical so often about the genius of these lads and on the strength of tonight’s brilliant performance, I can’t add much more praise. They truly are one of the very best live acts in the country and long may they continue spreading the gospel of slackery grungy rocky beautifulness. A class of their own. Truly.

No 1. Bloody well No 1. 

On another note, I just wanted to share my absolute joy and pride at the fact (as of posting this) that we have an independent, original and fucking brilliant rock record at No1 in the album charts. Anyone who’s ever read any of my ramblings, can’t failed to have noticed how I’ve been a constant supporter and ridiculous fanboy of the St Albans anarchists Enter Shikari. Well done you tinkers, a truly brilliant moment giving hope that the world is waking up.

The often miserable but wonderful Mike Duce and his LTA boys next. Can’t wait.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

Definitely Maybe. Maybeshewill and Lite. Live

Lite*****

Maybeshewill****1/2

Mojo Fury*****

The Borderline. Monday 24^th October 2011

Love the Borderline. Great pubs nearby. Heart of Soho. Low ceiling. Good bar. Good vibe.

Oh, and there’s a Nando's nearby.

Enough already, let’s kick things off.

Mojo Fury*****
This was a gig needed to revive the spirits after The X Factor ‘rock’ debacle. The world is a sorry place. So thank whatever superior being there is for live rock and roll. First up were Mojo Fury. Third or fourth time I’ve seen these fellas. And been pleasantly impressed each time. Tonight was no exception.

They happily straddle genres. There’s an indie artery running through them. Some shouty moments. Good hooks. Interesting soundscapes. No shortage of classy musicianship. Maybe a bit aloof at times but worthy and energetic all the same. There are hints of the late lamented Oceansize, NIN and even Talk Talk. Interesting stuff. Not sensational or terribly groundbreaking, but all-in-all enjoyable and obviously talented. Sadly though, one feels they’re destined to be perennial support material rather than ball-squeezing and heart-captivating headliners. Nevertheless, the crowd seemed to like them all the same. As did I.

Maybeshewill****7/8
Right, next up were the reason I hauled my arse out on a Monday night. Leicester’s magnificent, melodic and moody post, post rock' (simply post rock doesn't cut it for these legends) darlings, Maybeshewill in a rare night out in London co-headlining with Japanese bad boys Lite.

For the record, they’re now a five piece with the addition of Matthew Daly, a real  keyboardist: rather than the virtual veil of electronic secrecy that accompanied previous multi-layered and textured performances.

Maybeshewill...instruments of sheer pleasure.

The new expanded line up totally filled the wee stage. And from the very first note of the tight and beautifully conceived and delivered set, their massive, emotional sound filled the sweaty, entranced, head-filled venue.

Yup, the heads were out in force. Which is wonderfully comforting for an old head like myself. It was like a 70s recording of The Old Grey Whistle Test. Without whispering Bob Harris or a quarter of Red Leb. Splendid. Well, apart from the absence of the red.

Tracks from their latest astonishing long player (I Was Here For a Moment, Then I Was Gone) like the haunting Critical Distance and entrancingly hypnotic Red Paper Lanterns are embroidered effortlessly into the vibrant sampler which showcases older favourites like The Paris Hilton Sex Tape and the mesmerizing To The Skies From A Hillside.

They are wonderfully tight. Seem to have ridiculous verve and energy (even more impressive, given their punishing tour itinerary – including a massive schlep form Ireland last night). And interact almost telepathically throughout their often complex and always soulful set.

It's all beautifully put together and is a deliciously blended smoothie of light, shade, beauty, solemnity, pathos, emotion and sexy naughtiness. It’s wonderful that such emotion can be delivered in an instrumental métier. Gorgeousness. Smiles. Shivers. And no small dollop of vibe and funkiness. Love it.

Lite*****

Lite. Heavy. Lite. Dark. New Lite of my life.

By the end of Maybeshewill’s set I was concerned that Lite, tonight’s joint headliners, were going to suffer by comparison. Difficult to track down, I really didn’t know too much about or had heard too much of Lite's stuff. So was almost ready to head off for an after show cocktail or two having given them a courteous if not cursory listening.

But Holy fuck, was I in for a treat or what?

Four geeky looking Japanese lads who looked liked they’d wandered out of an Oxford Street Language School or crammer fake university sidled onto the stage. And fucked my life up.

This was something special. Something very special. Amazing playing, a tightness that I’ve seldom experienced (without being at all clinical or soulless). Such vibrancy. So many grooves. Such amazing technicality – without being indulgent or effete. Such obvious enjoyment and passion.


This evening's proceedings were controlled by an energetic wee bassist who milked the most incredible lines out of his proportionally enormous plank and a vaguely embarrassed looking fella sporting a Hank Marvin Strat perched behind a Mac Book Pro. Spellbinding. 

I have not one clue what any of the tunes were called. There were wonderfully understated and humble mumblings between tracks delivered in quaint broken English, which further warmed the heart and generated a genuine relationship with the fervent and delirious grooving hordes of heads - but it didn’t matter a jot what the masterpieces were called. And that’s what they were. Masterpieces.

There were genuine classical moments, jazzy interludes, dancy breakdowns. Syncopated deconstructions. Funky backbeats. Amazing drumming. Oh bollocks, I really can’t ably describe how absolutely bloody amazing this lot were. I was rendered genuinely speechless.

If any of you ever get the chance to see Lite, sell the family jewels, divorce the missus, cancel audiences with Popes, Gods and gurus, miss world cup finals and turn down ‘no strings’ blow jobs from the fit one from The Saturdays. It doesn’t get much better than this lot. They are truly astounding.

Going to have to give up the guitar though. They’ve changed my tiny world. Fuckers.


Obviously, Maybeshewill would have got 5 stars, but because I can't give Lite a 6, 5 7/8 will have to do.


Here's their vid for the wonderful Critical Distance:

And while I'm at it, here's a Lite tour de force:

Retro cock rockers Rival Sons next.

More tunes soon. Bwoooar!