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!

Our Time Has Come - An evening of pop punk reviewed

Our Time Down Here *****

Real Adventures *****

British Teeth *****

The Fighting Cocks Kingston 4^th October 2012

Anyone who’s regularly digests my word farts or anyone who’s stumbled on them before will know that generally I don’t do the whole ‘genre’ thing. Ok, it can be useful when trying to describe bands, but the spuddy obsession with taxonomy and post this, melodic that and protopseudohardcoresoftbollocks crapola ultimately descends into Top Trumps, Pokemon-collecting geeky nerdiness at best but indulgent, unnecessary, ridiculous and walled garden Trekkie wank at worst.

Tonight, the broadest of churches that is ‘Pop Punk’ is proof positive that we need to get over the whole classification thing. The three bands I caught all supposedly purport to dwell in the pop punk back streets but offer such a wide range of noise, techniques and delivery, it clearly renders the ‘genrification’ pointless.

Before we kick off, got to say that I missed a couple of bands on Melody Pop’s well crafted bill, so apologies to Royal Fisticuffs and Home Advantage, the lure of faux Nando’s and booze proved just a little too much.

British Teeth *****

Clegg..let's open this shit up...

So, on walks an angry looking shaven dude. Covered in some fine ink. Head, neck, all sporting a fine array of craftsmanship. Looks aggressively punkily promising. 

We’re off…well, sort of. Don’t get me wrong the playing, the melodies were all there or there abouts; but despite Chris Graham’s serial murderer lifer looks, it all was a bit, well, nice.

I have to declare my hand at this point, I’m not a punk. And not really a ‘punk’ fan. I like loads of it. But have always struggled with the paradoxical anti-music, nihilism thing. That’s not to say that there hasn’t been some absolutely astonishing punk to light up our world. But in a genre built on attitude, you’ve either got it; or you ain’t. And while British Teeth go through the motions, they’re about as far from punk as could be.

The poor sods also experienced a tech nightmare when a bass string broke and had to gauchely ‘pad’ for two or three minutes while it was remedied. But the chat was all terribly polite. It was like having five Nick Cleggs on stage reminiscing about terribly amusing dorm underpant disasters.

Even a brave attempt to use a harmonica as a firelighter failed to get the heart racing and the flames burning. Hopefully, they’ll develop. Get an edge. Find more attitude and confidence. But at the moment, it feels like they’re an underdeveloped young wine. A nice wine. But in no way a punky bottle of fiery, lip-blistering unholy moonshine.

Real Adventures *****

Talking of developing; Guildford’s newest noisy bastards (file, if you must, alongside Polar and Palm Reader) are gathering a real momentum. They get sharper, tighter, sparkier and just better every time I see them. 

Tonight may slightly lack the overall boom of their tour-de-force at Burnout Festival back in July (largely due to a smaller, if not more dedicated crowd this evening), but they set controls to kill and, as an actual performance, it’s probably even better.

Despite struggling with man flu, Lewis Reynolds, the heavily inked Heroin-chic Big Issue salesman livewire frontman, leads by example, characteristically delivering his fierce growls and dervish hardcore moves from the room’s floor among the snap-back wearing acolytes.

This lot bristle with energy, talent and excitement. There is truly no way on God’s earth they should be described as pop punk. But if they feel comfortable with it, then so be it; suffice to say they truly bring a fresh and original twist to a rapidly tiring and fading derivative genre. Brilliant, original and spellbinding stuff.

Our Time Down Here *****

Now this lot really are pop punk. Standard. Good. But standard. All the boxes are ticked. Chuggy Green Day bits. Tick. Double time, chaotic drumming. Tick. Catchy melodies. Tick. Jangly bits. Tick. Riffs. Tick. Whiny downtown Brooklyn vox (albeit with Will Gould’s southern British twist which, at times, is strangely reminiscent of Carl Barat). Tick.

There’s nothing wrong with OTDH. But nothing startlingly right either. Juxtaposed with the originality and clever schtick of Real Adventures, they suffer by comparison. There’s nothing that new here. Nothing that truly marks them out or makes them genuinely memorable.

In fairness, not really my sort of thing, but they produce an energetic set that’s enthusiastically lapped up by the rucksack-sporting throng.  But I suppose my lingering feeling of mild disappointment stems from the tightness of the genre. So many bands strangely stick to the tried and tested. The expected. For a genre surely meant to be based on restlessness, change, challenge and sticking it to the man, there seems to be too much sticking to the plan.  Real Adventures don’t do it. Others need to learn. Don’t just break rules. Ignore them. Or even deny their existence.

Amen.

Lower Than Atlantis, Gnarwolves and Don Broco next. Can’t wait.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!