2013 - the yummy bits. The best albums and EPs of the year

The very best and truly most edifyingly scrumptious bits of 2013.

Top 10 Albums
So, it seems it's de rigeur for the world, his wife, significant other, lodger and gimp under the floorboards to thumb through the hamper of mouthwatering musical morsels and give everyone their opinion on what constitutes the very best. Not that anyone really gives a flying coffee bean-laden civet shit about what anyone really thinks. But here goes.

Now, I'm sure I've left some out. And forgotten some. But here's my tastebud tingling top ten. Rock tastic.

10. One Of Us Is The Killer - Dillinger Escape Plan

First in the hamper this year is DEP's latest firecracker pot of curious Gentleman's Relish. A whole heap of complex flavours, textures and piquant burning sensations. A terrific progression for New Jersey's mathmess magicians. There's familiar fare with feverish, febrile metallically-tinged mayhem but then a freshly tempered experimental lush jazz fusiony butteriness. 

Tasting notes: Not for the basic palate. Sophisticated but enormously spicy, challenging and fiery. Will cause indigestion on an unsuspecting and empty stomach. 

9. The Blackest Beautiful - Letlive
On opening the latest can of Letlive bisque, you kind of expect a rough and ready, heavy, huge but often indistinct flavoured melange. But this time there's a million different challenging and often bewildering reference points. Swinging wildly between high voltage metalcore/hardcore to hi-nrg dance-infused-auto-tuned, multi-layered-popcorny-pop-schlock. And even rappy/dubby bits. 

It really shouldn't work. But it does. There are huge swathes of Fall Out Boy-esque harmonic complexity, infused with Glassjaw and Minor Threat then put into the blender with Enter Shikari and Whitechapel. But the most lingering aftertaste is honesty. Bollocks-out, peeled back transparency. A truly wonderful if not wholly unexpected experience.

Tasting notes: Like one of those crazy and wanky restaurants serving ragoux and ballotines of animals that you'd normally find in a zoo, on the face of it, potentially unpalatable and downright weird. But the result is an enormously raw, powerful and, at times, strangely beautiful dish.

8. Mother's Ruin - Max Raptor

Right, poncey bisques and relishes to one side, time to pop open a can of foaming punky pilsner. And what a kick. Intelligently brewed with the initial wife-beater headiness and numbing punky strength hiding a brooding and cynical sharpness and sophistication, this is world class brain damage.

Politically and satirically as impossibly sharp as those bastard carpet grippers, any superficial froth or head is soon blown off a deep and curious but heart-warming brew. Heavy in parts but fused with wonderfully familiar anthemic and chest-beating abandon. This Midlands ale gets you all Glaswegian and stripping down to the waist and yelling out of windows pointing fingers like bag ladies and grimacing like you've got yer nob caught in your zip. 

Tasting notes: Powerful, lively, fun, surprisingly sophisticated with a real punch. The strongest, overproof rum-soused in yer face fuck off party punch. You looking at me pal?

7. Wild Light- 65DaysofStatic

After the heady brutal brew, it's time to mix grain with grape. Time to ease the cork out of the latest vintage offering from these most consumate of twiddlers, fiddlers, tweakers and soundscape seducers. 

This is new world zinginess and cleverness mixed with a mind-expanding depth and beauty. Real beauty. There are so many swirling flavours, top notes, base notes and every hemi-demi-semi quaver in between. At times beyond description, smoothness mixed with erratic and jaggedy acidity and full-bodied, hairy-testicled grunt. 

Tasting notes: Seriously heady and mind-altering potency underpinned with a delicious smooth, sophisticated but never clinical or synthetic sterility. Lose your head. Lose your inhibitions. But, whatever you do, don't lose your king sized rolling papers. Man.

6. Muscle Memory - Jamie Lenman
Where do you start? Where do you finish? Superficiality first; this is  the most sumptuous and beautifully crafted packaging in this year's hamper by a mile. But once the packaging is peeled open, what a thing. What a two things. 

The first layer of this delicious and dizzying cake is jam-packed with grenades, evil incendiary devices, trip wires, polonium, 7" stiletto blades, Bazooka shells, shit-tipped sharpened sticks and, well, tears. The emotionally saturated ingredients are blitzed with gravel, double-coil pick ups, drain cleaner and red fire ants and the results are outstanding. Challenging? Yes. Easy on the ear? Not always. Outré? You bet. But outstanding? Thoroughly.

Then we move onto the second layer of this Lewis Carol-like Hadean gateau. And it's buttery. Creamy. Delicious. Sumptuous. Clever. Heartfelt. Honest. Bizarre. But like the top layer, equally outstanding. Swing, bluegrass, George Formby, big band, Burlesque. All in the magimix with the accent on magi.

The former Reuben chef has outdone himself. Such brave and challenging cuisine deserves to be at the top table and Muscle Memory is without a doubt one of the bravest, cleverest and intriguing offerings of the year. 

Tasting notes: A seemingly vile and incompatible marriage of nob-melting chilli and tongue mollifying buttery Victoria sponge. A brave and challenging triumph. 

5. Letters Home - Defeater

Next in the hamper are an overseas delicacy from the Americas. And it's certainly not in an aerosol, a blister pack or smothered in syrup. A jagged rusty can filled to the brim with raw hardcore punk flavoured pork and beans with an haute cuisine twist.

Massachussetts may have given the world chocolate chip cookies and cranberries, but this is far more rarified and sophisticated fare. Ok, you can't dip it in your tea and it won't help with cystitis, but Letters Home should be in everyone's food and medicine cupboards. An unholy union of hardcore and concept album sounds like ship's biscuits smothered in finest caviar. But, it produces a wholly original and stunning sensation.

Moving stories from the Civil War are told through family letters and the effect is jaw-dropping. Whereas most lyrical ingredients in hardcore are sublimated to the effect of the overall visceral output, this masterpiece captivates from the first delicious mouthful to the last. And takes you on an historical, eye-opening journey on the way.

Tasting notes: savage and uncompromising delivery, mercifully short on foam and froth, a surprisingly deep and beautiful delicious heart wrapped in searing and acidic heat, meat and gristle. Bloody delicious. And thought-provoking.

4. You're Listening To The Hell - The Hell

Fried cunt. Cooked by cunts. For cunts. Shit. But addictive shit.

Tasting notes: Cunt.

3. Sempiternal - Bring Me The Horizon
After opening with care and, to be honest not much expectation, this assortment box of metal(core?) biscuits has to be the surprise taste sensation of the year. 

To be honest, BMTH are a bit like sprouts to me. I've never been that keen. They don't taste great, make the living room stink and give you unpleasant grumblings in the gut. But loads of people swear by them and have seen something in them that, like sprouts, fail to get my tastebuds dripping.

Until Sempiternal, that is. What a pleasant and unexpected taste sensation. Brutal in parts. Obnoxious in others. But so skilfully blended into an almost perfect example the dream selection tin with sweetness, spice, crunch, layers and surprises. Metal may not be my personal thang, but this is as good as the dark art gets. A true masterpiece of its genre.

Tasting notes: Salty as a sailor's dick, as sweet as Rachel Riley's peachy butt cheeks, as heavy as a lead box full of weapon's grade uranium or Chris Moyle's lunch box and as hot as Dave Lee Travis's brow every time the doorbell rings. 

2. 13.0.0.0.0 - TTNG
As we get to the very best stuff in this year's groaning hamper, it's time to get all truly sophisticated and reach for a seriously vintage, premier cru glass.

So, they changed their name as a sensitive fuck you to gun nuts, weirdos, NRA ignoramuses and AK47 toting survivalist rednecks, but what else did this most revered and classy producer bring the world this year? 

From the first delicious drop to pass the lips from this wonderful magnum to  the very last fading bubble, 13.0.0.0.0 delivers a sublime and almost orgasmic complexity and beauty. With new vocalist Henry 'Hank' Tremain joining the family, there was a slight nervousness that previous vintages couldn't be matched. We needn't have worried.

The technical wizardry and complexity that underpins this sublime deliciousness never gets in the way of its immediacy and breathtaking gorgeousness. There's light, shade, energy, seduction, pathos, spit and beautiful balance throughout. A truly world class and de luxe bottle of sparkling originality and genius.

Tasting notes: not for lager drinkers, Lambert and Butler smokers or ready meal eaters. This is sophisticated, frail, wonderful and sparkling nectar and should be drunk with absolute reverence and care. Cheers indeed.

1. Blood & Chemistry - Arcane Roots

So, here we are. The biggie. The last box in the hamper. And what a box. Of all the delicious goodies in this year's hamper, Blood & Chemistry is the one for me that stands out for so many reasons.

Not the least, because it has been purposely and meticulously prepares as an entire feast. Not a selection of nibbles, tapas or two or three big numbers surrounded by burger helper or lips and arseholes. This is premium mouth-watering fare throughout. And with all the trimmings.

The very way the album has recurring motifs (lyrically and musically with back references, arcs, repeating chord progressions and themes) sets it apart from so much of the vanilla and pot boilers rammed with prescribed numbers of tracks that so much output laboriously conforms to.

Marry that with the fact that it's been constructed as a single flowing listen with the tracks cleverly and beautifully merged and segued into each other with drones, decaying notes and clever transitions seamlessly leading one from course to course and, hallelujiah, we actually have an album. A complete multi-course considered and lip-smacking banquet. 

In an age of playlist and mixtape dominated listening mores, it's such a beautiful and rare thing to find such a wonderfully conceived and concocted masterpiece. And that's what Blood & Chemistry truly is. 

Veering from sheer power and mind melting riffs to lighter cadenzas and melodic reveries, this, for me is so clearly not only the best album of 2013, but the only true album. Of course the songs all stand alone (and there's not a slack track on it) but the total effect outweighs the individual brilliance and diversity. 

Astonishing. Truly astonishing.

Tasting notes: An 11 (or 12 if you've got the deluxe version) course banquet of astonishing and unrelenting quality. Huge flavours, beautiful, more delicate moments and heady, mesmerising technical skill and flamboyance married with an earthy, raw power and strength that all comes together to produce a perfectly balanced and tantalising mix. Perfection. Bloody perfection.





Honourable mentions.
It's really tough putting together just 10. So, here are a few more world class albums that didn't quite make the hamper:

Siganals - Mallory Knox
A Dan Lancaster-produced slick pop rocky masterpiece with anthems and hooks aplenty. As near to a commercial version of Proceed as we'll ever get. God, I miss them.

Dreamoirs - Dave McPherson
A wonderful, heartfelt, dreamy (funny that) and personal anthology from rock and roll's hardest working and most likeable bloke, InMe front man Dave McPherson. All made possible by his dedication, ridiculous work ethic and dedication to the outstanding Pledge music scheme. 

Asymmetry - Karnivool
The latest chapter in the Tool-inspired Aussie proggers' masterworks collection. All slick, big-boned, grown up serious stuff with the obligatory sing-a-long bits taking more of a back seat in this sophisticated and complex volume.

Great Lakes - John Smith
As good as folk gets. Just wonderful throughout. Plaintive, fragile, beautiful, joyous and uplifting stuff from the bastard living son of Jansch, Martyn and Drake. Spellbinding stuff.

Opposites - Biffy Clyro
A true epic from the Caledonian epic mongers. A lifetime of couch sessions with Mr Neil couldn't get anywhere as near as this window-opening, soul searching, organ and emotion-revealing journey into his oft tortured and unsettled psyche. Brilliant stuff.

Old Souls - Deaf Havana
My, haven't they grown up? A Ferrari-like acceleration into adulthood and all its travails both musically and personally see the erstwhile East Anglians produce a truly grown up and thoroughly well-crafted blue collar collection of angst-ridden emotionally charged splendour. And I didn't mention Springsteen once. Oops.

Nation - TRC
Nasty but brilliant and raw British hardcore (none of that whiney trans Atlantic shit to see here people!) at its very best. Much more sophisticated than initially meets the ear. A truly original and challenging album. One of the year's very best. 

The Top 5 EPs and singles:

Right, time for the smaller stuff that's too tasty not to mention. You know, the widows and orphans of the hamper. The weird little sauces and tins of weirdness that don't fit in with the larger family packs - in short, the wonderful tunes and mini anthology EPs that didn't appear on full length albums.

5. #Spomb (Love Me) - Shockmaster
Skate punk, surf punk, pop punk, #spomb punk. Whatever it is, its lively, fun, aggressive and doesn't take itself too seriously. Well, with Mike Foster driving this bin wagon, what else is it going to be? 

4. Glass Cutter - Polar
Guildford's scene has never been healthier and while bands like Palm Reader and Polar continue to mature and develop without losing even a whiff of their appealing ragged edge, things can only get even better. And if this brilliant and fierce track is a taster of what's to come of the much talked about new album, then we're in for a brilliant 2014.

Adam Woodford's growls and screams have been imbued with melody (you 'eard) and the effect is somewhere between While She Sleeps and TRC but retaining Polar's signature originality and appeal. 

3. Funemployed - Gnarwolves
Brighton's bright young things of the skate punk/pop punk brotherhood produced a box bursting with bangers full of rawness, edge, fun and phlegm (and probably a bit of THC eh lads?). Real street music kept real. Wonderful.

3= Management - Delta Sleep
Three letters: BSM. Big Scary Monsters have helped to unearth yet another slice of complete genius. This was so close to being my no1because of its consistency. Every track on Management is a different colour, a different texture. Yes, its mathy. Yes it's complex and brilliantly, technically played. But it's also catchy, a bit dirty, even a bit punky. Whatever the fuck it is, it's original, brilliant and captivating. If you've not caught these chaps (and chapess) live yet, you have a donut hole in your middle. Fill it immediately. 

2= I Could Be Anyone - Yearbook

Too little output from such an original, classy and wonderful young band. But we've had to make do with this single offering during 2013 (assuming the equally wonderful Art Student was 2012 - brain's a bit rubbish - if it was 2013, then make it joint 2nd with this absolute banger). A heavy chugger, all frenzy, puke and muck but glued together by the ever-tight and impressive rhythm section of Mssrs Dickinson and Martin while Brooker and Halloway do what they always do best: stretch, cajole and caress our organs, senses and squishy bits. Can't wait for the impending long player from these loveable tyros.

2= The Move. Shake. Hide. - Marmozets
Sheer brilliance from the mathy tykes. Guitars, huge choruses, melody, counterpoint, menace, grit, smiles and bowel-massaging power. As good as pop rock math mash ups will ever get. Bloody wonderful.

1. You Wanna Know - Don Broco
Slick, sexy, power pop rock imbued with a simmering sophistication that often goes unnoticed. Loveable ladcore loveliness from the clean-cut quartet who can do no wrong. Unashamedly catchier than Chlamydia and guaranteed to put a smile on even the grizzliest bearded hipster face. With the almost deified Mr Lancaster driving the desk again. Go on, I best you you can listen to it without smiling or joining in with the oo oos.


2013.
Well, that's it. Purely personal choice. And a year in which we've been pretty spoilt by the recorded output. UK rock in particular is certainly alive and kicking and with new music in the pipeline for next year from bands like Spycatcher, Polar, Yearbook, LTA, Don Broco, Trails, Maybeshewill and Hey Vanity among many, many others, then the future's looking seriously bright.

Friends like these. Live review of Funeral For A Friend with Gnarwolves and Polar at The Electric Ballroom

Funeral For A Friend ****1/2*
Gnarwolves *****
Polar *****
Moose Blood **1/2***

Electric Ballroom, Camden, Thursday 3rd October 2013

Once in a while, there's a line up that makes a gig totally unmissable. On the face of it, an unholy cooked up collection of differing and disparate highs, lows, trips and mind blowing oddness: punk, savagery, sophistication, old school, new (pre)school, hardcore, pop punk and post hardcore emo/screamo. Well, tonight ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, it's one of those. A fucked up, mixed up, mashed up knees up.

And first up? 

Moose Blood **1/2***
To kick things off from tonight's Mad Hatter's pharmacy a dose of medium strength pop punk. Mildly mind altering but ultimately a lowish potency and pretty much over-the-counter in terms of danger or side effects.

There's not vast amounts of energy or excitement here. But at this stage of their career, they're probably far more comfortable in smaller, edgier venues than a 1,000 capacity vast hall. More milk of magnesia than meth.

That said, the Canterbury-based quartet put on a decent and honest enough show and get a few heads spinning and Vans tapping.

Side effects: May cause tapping of feet while nursing a lager in a snap back. In rare cases may cause a light mosh or fist pump. Mildly intoxicating. Probably best taken in confined spaces. Will get stronger over time. 

Polar *****

A completely different strength and type of substance next. Guildford's very own mainlined hardcore noisy bastards Polar.

A brilliant and savage assault on the senses. This is highly toxic, head-fucking gear. While they've been honing their output and polishing the heady ingredients for their already much vaunted and highly anticipated new release set for next year, they've been cooking up some serious shit in their mind lab. 

The addition of huge sub drops has added a vast new depth and bowel-loosening strength to their already mind-blowing and brutal cocktail. And they've even thrown in, dare I say it, a milligram or two of melody among the mayhem.

Frontman Adam Woodford is in dynamic and amphetamine-like fizzing dervish form. Cajoling the gathering crowd to get involved: and the slick, powerful and super-strength set is inhaled, snorted and stuck up the bum willingly by the hooked and crazed pit.

On tonight's showing, this lot are maturing into a bigger-boned, butcher and broader band by the minute. Having toured with the likes of the excellent Heights and Bleed From Within, you can feel the heavier influence permeating their output. There are even moments of While She Sleeps in the newer, more complete sound and if the new album lives up to the hype, then this fucked-up, honking, roaring juggernaut will only pick up more and more irresistible speed. 

Side effects: Likely to cause convulsions, fits, serious and uncontrolled flailing of arms, legs and genitals. Many users will report involuntary raising of the middle finger, dizziness, tightening of the anus and an urge to lose one's shit and drink a truck load of Jagermeister. Sub drops may also cause involuntary soiling of undergarments. Powerful stuff.

Gnarwolves *****

In the next vial, we move onto a much more curious and intriguing nostrum. A raggedy baggedy, highly intoxicating, head-buggering, sensorially exploding mind fuck. True, honest stripped back, euphoric and joyous punk. 

There's a real earthiness to Gnarwolves. This is no hydroponically grown lab-tested and refined gear. This is straight from the plant. Dirty, strong, heady and bloody deliciously powerful. And guaranteed to make you smile like a loon.

The raggedyness and roughness increases the allure: the perfect antidote to banal, samey, over-polished and over-produced, over-the-counter blandness. 

And it's not just wider classification that this heady mix puts to shame; within the tight and often self-protecting and self-congratulatory genre of pop punk, this hit is the one. It's a different strain to most of the predictable pop punk: rawer, gnarlier, grimier, filthier, er, funner.

Tonight's performance is as good as I've ever seen this lot. Especially given that they're on a big stage in a big room, when their smoke is usually considered best inhaled in a tight, dingy, packed, sweaty bong-sized room. 

But, by now, there's a really decent crowd on the floor and the smiled-doused mayhem and fervent sing-backs that break out are testament to the highly addictive and mind-elevating strength of this loveable but mildly disarming bag of earthy goodness. Wow.

Side effects: Care should be taken when administering this highly powerful and mind-altering mixture: delirium, uncontrollable face-damaging smiling, raucous yelling, spasms, losing bodily control, diving, whirling, losing self control and self respect while dancing like a cunt are all very common side effects. You have been warned!

Funeral For A Friend ****1/2*

So, on to the final dose of wonder on this most intoxicating and perception-widening of sessions.

Over a decade ago, we inquisitively opened a bottle marked with potentially confusing and conflicting ingredients: screamo/emo, post hardcore, metal, punk and a maybe even a few more mysterious constituents. And many were instantly hooked - whatever was in the mixture hit a spot. And hit it hard.

However, it was considered by many as unclassifiable. To some even unpalatable. Too confusing. Too different. Too adventurous. But by now, most sane-minded folk realise just how ahead of their time they were. A point proven by tonight's opening dose of 10:45, Amsterdam Conversations. Their first song ever written together. And it tastes and feels as fresh and relevant today as it did back then. In fact, even fresher. 

It soon becomes clear that tonight's seemingly mis-matched bill is no accident from the apothecary. All the bands here tonight have their hearts and DNA in broadly the same place. 

As FFAF hammer through a bewitching and beguiling 19 song long set, all the emotional responses are triggered. All the influences touted and outed. The rawness is still there. But it's juxtaposed with brilliant and tight musicianship. 

There are heavy bombs, political rapiers, punky, don't-give-a-fuck-finger-in-the-air anthems and it is truly elevating and mind-expanding. From The Art Of American Football, through Best Friends And Hospital Beds to the set closer Escape Artists Never Die: old ones, new ones, really old ones and ones from in between. All greedily hoovered up by the assembled addicts.

Despite inevitable line-up changes over such a long period in the business, the integrity, freshness and originality still shine through and oozes out of every sweating pore. With the irrepressible (stitch notwithstanding) Matthew Davies-Kreye fizzing like space dust and whipping up the packed house of adoring acolytes into a loved-up frenzy.

The crowd's diversity displays exactly just what a cross-over act FFAF truly are. Hipsters, punks, metallers, goths, pop punks, indie kids, dads, granddads and granddaughters but all united like some serotonin-bathed love puddle in total adoration for this most influential and enduring of remarkable class A acts. And long may the addiction continue.

Side effects: In all cases, racing heart, euphoria, feeling of well-being. Spontaneous singing and clapping. Moments of melancholia but accompanied by lucidity and  seeing of visions. Continued long-term use strongly recommended. 

Ash in The Pan. Burnout Festival live review.

Burnout Festival (The Ashes)
The Anvil
Bournemouth Saturday 27th-Sunday 28th July

Right, let's get the grotty stuff out of the way first. The regrettable cancellation of what was potentially the UK's best small festival line up with around 80 bands over three stages over a couple of days at the seaside. A genuine tragedy for all concerned, the bands, the fans the organising team, and in particular Dom Patience the main man and brainchild behind the event. A more genuine man you couldn't choose to meet. And a genuine music man through and through. 

The reasons for cancellation were candidly and heartbreakingly broken by the team only 5 or so days before the event. Poor ticket sales being the premier spanner in the works. Maybe not totally unsurprising given the clash with relatively local Redfest with many of the bands due to appear here also on the bill in Redhill. Add in the almost uncontrollable heated bacterial growth of the number of festivals up and down the country at this time of year and things were always going to be tough.

That all said, it's to Patience's enormous credit that he rallied around and persuaded half a dozen bands on each night to heroically volunteer their services for free. So further big ups to all the talent who so generously put their shoulders behind Patience to make the weekend become unmissable.

Ok, that's the last time we'll mention all that malarky. So on with the shows.

But first a brief word about the Anvil. This is a small venue. Brilliant. But small. No, really small. Fritzl's dungeon small. It makes the Barfly look like Madison Square Gardens. But armed with a sizeable bugger of a front of house PA, what it lacks in size, it makes up for with balls. Anyway, onwards... 


Saturday

Shockmaster *****
Kicking off proceedings in the dungeon are the brain-wronged skate punk bin men Shockmaster with the ever-loveable and cheeky bastard Mike Foster driving the dysfunctional dustcart. 

A short, fiery, fun-filled bombardment including new fast ones and new slow ones and even a skirmish with death metal (which could have been lifted from The Hell's savage new album download it here) serve as a perfect appetiser for the good-sized sweaty crowd. Foster is in hilarious form. Witty, quick, endearing, ribald and always beguiling. And although I can't work out whether they're just a novelty act, they're really not bad. In a brain-wronged skate punk bin men kind of way. 

Have a listen to their latest Steve Sears Jr-produced  EP here and you'll get the picture.

Tasting notes: They remind me of that rotten pickled cabbage stuff that Koreans eat; Kim Chi. On the face of it, bloody horrible, but somehow irresistible.

Earth Eater *****
A right old interesting melange. Flash, heavy riffs, growly powerful aggressive vocals, big rhythm section. More Parkway Crescent than Parkway Drive, but energetic, tight and even throw in a solo. Had a few sound issues but brave and engaging effort.

Tasting notes: A hot and relatively subtly spiced, fiery bowl of devilled offal. A bit confusing but with enough difference to generate interest. Nothing too startlingly original but pretty tasty all said.

Emily Wilson ***1/2**
Next up on this mainly hardcore/punky/brutal evening is the diminutive but huge-piped Emily Wilson and her band. Anomalous and incongruous as though their blend of frothy pop rock is on a night like tonight, it's actually rather jolly good.

Cleanly sparkling in among the torn flesh, briars, napalm and vicious weaponry of the other acts, her voice is majestic; hitting every note and soaring above the chuggy Bon Jovi/Rainbow MOR dad rock her backing band thump out effortlessly. The songs are hooky, backed with laptop-triggered strings, harmonies and pads and despite a dreadfully out of tune acoustic guitar on a nostalgic pared-down number about being 17, the set is polished and tasty. Out of the same biscuit tin as Portia Conn and even slight hints of Paramore chocolate chips. Cracking voice though.

Tasting notes: Silky but not sickly. One of those enormous cartoon book ice cream sundaes, but spiked with sneaky bits of raw meat and the occasional shard of glass. 

Palm Reader *****
So, after the schmoove pop rock grooves of Emily Wilson, it's time to strip to the waist, don the war paint and get into some brutal hand-to-hand combat in the swampy dungeon. The AC unit is spewing out a stream of water to add to the steamy, brooding Louisianna backwoods Deliverance feeling. I fear for my anus.


Despite ongoing mic problems, front man man Josh Mckeown leads his horrible horde into a savage assault. The crowd move up a gear turning into a seething, boggy murky lake of sweaty humanity baying back the words and swallowing up Mckeown into its guts.

Palm Reader force feed themselves on metal, hardcore, vicious punk, claymores, flick knives and caustic soda then bulimically vomit the malodorous and fiery fois gras gack all back into the swirling swamp; and they slurp up the unholy mixture greedily.

One of the human swamp actually gets stark bollock naked at one point; to win an anorak. Standard. Which sums up the stygian squalor of the set. Dark, fierce, mean and festering.

Tasting notes: a filthy but full-flavoured stew of red meat with bramble thorns, sharp gravel and bile reduced and enriched with chilli seeds and ear wax (and we all know how bitter that tastes don't we kids?). Disgusting, but bizarrely, hugely appetising.

Polar*****
Out of the same section of the illegal arms supermarket as buddies Palm Reader, Polar are the next nuclear fuel tipped into Fritzl's furnace. And they get things even hotter. Just when you think the level has reached its upper limit, the Guildford noseniks perform open heart surgery on the soggy, hyped up rabid crowd with a dirty crowbar, chainsaw and rusty razor blades. This is high energy, raw filth with big refrains and as near to hooks as hardcore can offer. 

The crowd, however do strangely start to wane a little as the relentless barrage continues and the mic, once more joins them in not getting fully involved. But Adam Woodford heroically powers on through, wringing what he can out of both the technology and the crowd. A full-on energetic set from one of the UK's most full-on energetic bunch of blokes.

Tasting notes: powerful and full-on chilli con carne with rusty tacks, rat poison and semtex served on a bed of mescalin infused maggots in a corroded jagged artillery shell casing. Fierce.

Heights****1/2*
Touring with both Palm Reader and Polar, Hertfordshire''s  brutal but quirky Heights are given the task of closing tonight's sweaty sodomy fest. There are obvious similarities to the other two bands, but their fare is more varied. More full of nuance and dare I say, subtlety. 

Their work appears more carefully crafted. There are more melodic moments. More light and shade. Don't get me wrong, they're still fearsome and dripping with ferocity but there are more textures. More depth. More intrigue.

The crowd are bullied back into life. Pyramids, circle pits, walls of death and general mayhem ensue with singer Alex Monty milking the adulation from the now dripping and wrung-out throng.

The classiest act of the night by a distance and set for bigger stages (although compared to here, that's not difficult). By the time the last bowel pummelling power chord and scream fades into the fuggy, humid haze there isn't an unsoaked shirt, an untortured limb or unhoarse throat in the subterranean reactor. Hot, heady and handsome stuff.

Tasting notes: On the face of it a what you'd expect deep brown, volcanic vindaloo-looking bowl of fire. But under the surface there's a huge variety of spices, colours and flavours. Quirky mixtures and brave juxtapositions of seemingly unworkable ingredients. But well fucking tasty.

Now for the after party...

Sunday.

Really glad I baled earlyish from on the after party. 

But still managed to appropriate a vast bin-shaped hangover.

Before I dive into today's bands, in keeping with last year's Burnout review where the mighty Shahi Raj got 5 stars, I thought I should run the rule over a local restaurant.

Dosa World *****
This year, it's the turn of Dosa World.

Clay oven-baked spicy fish. Think Tool. Sophisticated but big on flavour. With background quirky and original taste of Meet Me In St Louis. Mutton curry: deep, rich, delicious. Think Mastodon crossed with early Sabbath with a light sprinkling of Enter Shikari or At The Drive in. Devil potatoes: Definitely the Reuben of the meal. Like nothing else. Fiery but sweet in places. Merlot: think Chet Baker and Maybeshewill. Mellow with edge. Right that's quite enough of that, back to the real food...

Mike Foster*****
He's back. Flat cap 'n' all. But just with his acoustic this time and no fellow bin men. And funny as fuck. Skewy sidewipes at Nike dunk wearing hardcore kids, fun, wit, bant, sweat. Bin. Great start to the night.

Tasting notes: A zinger burger (remember them?) and a jumbo bucket of chicken wings. Served with spicy relish spiked with African Black Bush Giggle Grass or a Thai stick (ask your dad kids) oh, and some more of that Korean Kim Chi shit. Tasty fun.

Pump Action Radio *****
Next up we're treated to Fall Out Boy. Well, it might as well be. With perhaps a dash of Funeral For a Friend. Ok, maybe a bit unfair, but despite the apparent lack of total originality, these local lads bravely steam through a tight, drop tuned rocky punky set that showcases the singer's good, strong voice. Nowt too new but a good effort.

Tasting notes: Sugar coated vanilla with a comforting familiarity. No real bite or spice, but ultimately reasonably satisfying. More McDonalds than Michelin star.

Yearbook****1/2*
One of the absolute highlights of last year's Burnout, there's a real anticipation in the bunker as the kings of librarycore take to the stage.

Unlike the similarly young Pump Action Radio, Yearbook truly are original. Totally impossible to categorise, they bestride bundles of influences but usually only fleetingly. For a nanosecond you're being Weezered. Then, there's a sharp veering towards the choppy math rock of Brontide. But the very next moment there's the powerful aroma of Sikth or Flood Of Red. And the resultant melange is wonderful, heady and spellbinding.

They're so tight and full of chops and groove. Bolstered by big sphincter-loosening bass drops and illuminated by what looks like wartime searchlights. This is a sensory overload. 

However, Andy Halloway's normally über-impressive vocals, which famously effortlessly switch between crystal clear almost soprano to spine-shuddering screams and even rock diva are unfortunately a little off kilter tonight as even the emergency vocal spray fails to fully oil his mojo. Nevertheless, the enthusiastic crowd sing just about every word of the older tunes and Louis Martin the bass player, backing vox, head groundsman, bottle washer and lighting controller manfully steps in when it's just too challenging for Halloway's howls.

Saying that, there's well enough of the crooner's range that remains unaffected so the overall output is only minutely interfered with. Hamish Dickinson's drumming is razor sharp throughout and with Brooker and Halloway's duelling guitars being so umbilically linked, the overall effect is as mesmerising as it is delicious.

A couple of new tunes are thrown in among the crowd-pleasing favourites Visionary, Art Student, the raw and brilliant All Squares and Circles culminating with the not too regularly aired 3s and 6s. And it's brilliant. Simply, well, not really simply at all, brilliant.

Tasting notes: more of a surprising and complex cocktail than something to eat. Sharp, multi-layered, sophisticated yet playful and laced with mind-altering elixirs, unctions and magical potions. Impossible to accurately describe but astonishingly intoxicating. Cheers. Hic.

Idiom ***1/2**
Hairy pop/alt metal next. There are moments of generic fare, but they're fully outweighed by the overall variety in the offering. Ranging from dubby/rappy interludes to Robert Plantesque vocal gymnastics from singer Matt Sharland, Idiom have bags of energy and aren't afraid to mix old with new, optimistic daylight with doom laden dominatrix dungeon gloom and even unsavoury fisting with passionate caressing. And all delivered with genuine and honest passion.

Think Terrovision and Bullet For My Valentine's bastard lovechild brought up by Korn and forced to listen to A and REO Speedwagon but with Dimebag on guitar. A fucked up kid maybe, but genuinely interesting and refreshing. 

Tasting notes: Beer. Cold, pilsner beer. But mixed with  a foaming hoppy old farty Scruttock's ale. Then topped up with spiced rum. And washed down with after shave. A bit weird but ultimately powerful and distinctive. 

The Smoking Hearts *****
Smoking hearts on sleeve more like. You always know what you're going to get from Ben Mills and his noisy bastard sidekicks. And honest, frenzied, genuine and full-on passion fest. Certainly not dimmed lights, nibbles on the neck and chocolates passion; more like a clothes ripping salivating, screaming, chandelier-swinging brutalisation jiz explosion kind of passion. With a ski mask and a butt plug. And, ladies and gents, that's what we get tonight. No respite, no tenderness, no time to catch breath or sip from the flute of love. A sound fucking. Even with a brutal Rolling Stones cover thrown in as lube. Ow.

Tasting notes: Impossible to equate with food. More like a Lemmy-esque menu of bags of speed, handfuls of amphetamines, gallons of Jack Daniels, lashings of poppers and a cherry Bakewell. Without the cherry Bakewell. 

Arcane Roots *****
For these boys to agree to do this show speaks volumes about their support, not just for Mr Patience, but for music itself. After recently supporting Muse in European Stadia, having produced what's already clearly the album of the year and rapidly becoming the musicians' favourite musicians and careering headlong for what looks like well-deserved superstardom, the chance to see them perform in something the size of your nan's under stair cupboard is to much of a mind fuck to contemplate. But here they bloody well are.

The hum that kicks off Energy Is Never Lost just Redirected has become a staple of an AR set starter now and fuels the heightened anticipation of a now packed under stair cupboard.

Then it kicks off. The best part of an hour of total, unmitigated genius. The big numbers from Blood and Chemistry are given airings including the searing Sacred Shapes, the mega-chuggy half time infused Resolve and the delicious single Slow (sadly no Triptych as yet, but Mr Groves did promise to unveil its live glory at the fabulous Arc Tan Gent festival later this month). Old favourite You Are brings the house down as tapped riff as it lurches its head from the dreamy loch of Andrew Groves' improvised noodlings.  

Groves' incredible voice has never sounded better. The highs almost dog-whistle range and the control and soul is peerless. As always it's wonderfully counterpointed by Adam Burton's canine barks and growls. The hypnotised crowd lose their collective shit pretty much constantly throughout the set generating a superheated sweat box with cider and Sailor Jerry infused condensation dripping from the ceiling. And just about every word is sung back  passionately. What an end to a phenomenal and breathless weekend.

Arcane Roots are, without a doubt one of the very finest bands in the UK, no, fuck it, the world. After decades of going to literally hundreds, if not thousands of shows, I find it hard to recall anyone better. And on the strength of tonight's amazing performance, they're managing somehow to perfect perfection. Astonishing. Simply Astonishing.

Tasting notes: the finest hand-massaged fillet steak sizzled in the finest vintage Grand Cru Pauillac prepared by the finest chefs and served with the most piquant and eye-watering reduction imaginable. All class. But this is no languid, indulgent and gluttonous bacchanalian or sybaritic vulgar orgy; nah, it's psychopathically fucked up with meth, fire, brimstone, weapons grade uranium and so much scotch bonnet spice it makes your nob throb even without  touching it. Masterful.

So, that wraps up what was left of Burnout. I can't stress enough how amazing it was of all the bands to put their hands up to play over the weekend. Their selfless, ego-less support truly marks them out as genuine and remarkable human beings. The same obviously goes for Dom Patience and his small but dedicated team. 

Let's hope that he doesn't lose the faith that so many brilliant (and some shit) bands have benefitted from over the years. I know he has plans and dreams for next year. Let's hope they come true. For all our sakes.

In the meantime, here's a pissed up iPhone video thingy of the weekend.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!