Pit pics. 2013's live music in pics.

So, it's almost the end of what's been a stunning year for live and (mostly) loud music. 

Here's a book-type thing I've scrambled together of some of my favourite pissed iPhone shots from just some of the shows I've been lucky enough to have been at.

They're shaky, sketchy and shambolic but from the hip and the heart. Have a look through and you may even regurgitate the taste of Jager, Sailor Jerry's or cider from a plastic glass.

Big love to all the bands. The pics are all free to steal, share make into chest piece tats or put on commemorative mugs.

Hacked to pieces - Hacktivist at The Underworld - Live Review

Hacktivist *****
The Algorithm *****
Zoax ***1/2**

Camden Underworld 12th December 2013

Zoax ***1/2**
Adam Carroll and his band of loveable rogues serve up a bouncing, bumping, grinding and thoroughly enjoyable spicy soup starter on tonight's quite varied and eclectic festive menu. 

There are certainly hints of Defeater, Letlive and even dirty traces of charred ADTR (without the whiney pop punk croutons). It's heavy but melodic, engaging, energetic and has a reasonable kick. Having seen this lot support techy progmeisters The Safety Fire a couple of months ago, they've clearly moved up a gear even in such a short time.

The bow-tied Carroll, the goblin bastard offspring of Charles Dickens and Robbie Williams is in fine and beguiling form and the appetite is truly whetted as he whips a decent sized early crowd into a decent foam.

The Algorithm *****

I've said it before, so I won't dwell on it, but I just don't get The Algorithm Live. 

The album is sonically sensational and a floor filler at club nights up and down the land. And I bloody love it. But they're not a live act. Nowehere near. Despite the brilliant stick work (when he's not being drowned out by silicon and circuitry-driven blast beats) of Monuments' tub thumper Mike Malyan, it's NOT real. 

There's absolutely zero energy transference from the tiny frame of Rémi Gallego as he twiddles his nobs and farts about on his box of buttons. Yeah the music is ridiculously clever. All Nintendo 8bit infused djenty dance, but ostensibly he's a producer pressing play on his hi-tech iPod.

Saying that, there's a decent horde of Jager and Sambucca-soused yoofs in the pit throwing themselves around dutifully and don't seem to give a shit whether it's 'real' or not. But it all feels a bit school disco. Only when what looks like Hacktivist's bassman Josh Gurner joins in for an impromptu 3/4 reggae drop does it even feel remotely like a band. Or anything vaguely human.

All in all, an anodyne, disappointing and strangely emotionless half an hour that abjectly fails to engender even a flicker of soul or engagement. The lack of a Dj lightshow doesn't aid things either to be honest. But the genius of Gallego really needs to stick to the studio and DJ sets and not try and make the very clever recorded synthetic rock music a physical thing. Or maybe he should get a guitarist. Or, even better, two.

Hacktivist *****

So it's time for some filth and real, raw emotion and guts to lift our wilted spirits up off the (dance) floor. And it's down to 5 street killers, back street abortionists and mean looking 'orrible bastards with more attitude than a really pissed of Tasmanian devil being stung on the bellend by a swarm of killer hornets. Enter Milton Keynes' dysfunctional bare-knuckled ninja collective to do the job.

Right from the off, the twin-barrelled rap of Ben Marvin and J Hurley backed with razor sharp, precise and heavy as undrained balls djenty bombast hits the spot and wins over the machine gun beating hearts of the baying, writhing, sweating, tumultuous mob.

For a band with so little work to choose from in their cannon (albeit every tune they do have is pretty much of classic status), the quintet put together a perfectly balanced set including one brilliantly aggressive new groove False Idols, the obligatory and always brilliant version of Niggas In Paris, favourites like Blades, Unlike Us, Cold Shoulders, their eponymous 'theme tune' Hacktivist and the middle finger in the air inspiring fuck you to the system anthem, Elevate.

The intensity of the pit during every song is another level. Stage diving, crowd surfing, frenzied and dizzying circle pits and sweat literally raining down from the smeggy, grime-laden ceiling: and it's fucking fantastic. The 'orrible bastards on stage seem to be enjoying it too, although it's always difficult to know whether guitarist Timfy James is ever happy as he wears that permanent I've got my foreskin caught in my zip, Wayne Rooneyesque 'fuck you' scowl.

Another truly breathtaking and brilliant performance from this most unholy Frankenstein/chimera/crossbred/inbred/fucked up monster cementing themselves further as one of the very best must-see live bands in the land. Even though they're fucking 'orrible,  mean-looking sons of bitches. They're probably nice to their mums though.

Safety catch - The Safety Fire Live at The Garage

The Safety Fire ***1/2**
Zoax*****
Upstairs at The Garage, Islington, Wednesday 4th September

A warm night in a tiny, sweaty scout hut. Now all we need is some loud rock and roll.

Zoax*****

As if by magic Zoax appear,

Fronted by the engaging and affable Oirishman Adam Carroll who looks unnervingly like Robbie Williams with a strong, enormous hipster beard, the rag-bag quintet take to the tiny stage and deliver a loud, brash, entertaining bag of bombs that veers somewhere between A Day To Remember, LetLive, Black Flag and is even spiced up with scents and hints of Defeater.

And it works. Despite the weird and wooly rag and bone yard of disparate influences, there's enough originality here to raise an eyebrow or two. An enthusiastic crowd laps up moments of old skool metalcore, New Jersey Hardcore, tech metal and bollocks-out punkiness. There's even a bit of Oirish scat/rap (well talking really) thrown in.

Carroll is a born front man, getting right in the bosom of the crowd, firing off quick witted snaps and quips and looks totally at home. His voice ranges between deep, spitfire engine growls and roars to lighter, more melodic stretches. All backed by some fearsome noise, rhythms and, at times, quite techy playing from his bandmates balanced on the low coffee table-sized rostrum.

All good stuff. Look forward to seeing them again in a proper sized venue.

The Safety Fire ***1/2**
As the splendid new Karnivool album being played on the PA fades down, the crowd raises its own noise and welcomes Sean McWeeney and his tech troubadours onto the McWeeniest stage in Christendom. 

I'm never sure about this venue. It really has the vibe of a church hall or scout hut with its low, oppressive roof and tiny stage, which is almost a floor show. And I've never really experienced good sound here. Anyway, it's rammed tonight as London's techy metally djenty proggy darlings aim to blow its ceiling skywards.

Opening with the brilliant Yellowism from the stunning new album Mouth Of Swords, the party gets well and truly started.

The sound is huge. But there's the rub. It's just too huge for this outhouse bog of a venue. The space, dynamic, breadth and general force of the beautifully played and intricately delivered wares become a bit of a condensed and compressed din. Backed with harmonies, pads and god knows what emanating from a Macbook precariously balanced next to the actual bog, the overall effect is sadly somewhat disappointing. It's like having a Ferrari in the garden shed or a Eurofighter in a broom cupboard.

Nothing to do with the band or the playing. They're right on it. And stunning. And McWeeny, who boasts one of the most flexible, wonderful and brilliant voices in the biz, is on top form too. Not missing a note. Well, at least I don't think he does; because the muddiness and vastness of the sound renders the whole thing awkward to listen to properly.

The breakdowns and beats are searing enough. The lead guitar shredding work is splendid. But it reminds me of trying to listen to a Stravinksky's Rite Of Spring on a distorting transistor radio turned up to 11. You know the talent and the importance are there, but you're kind of filling in gaps.

That all said, the show goes on apace and the crowd don't seem to care about the ill-fitting tight venue on such a magnificent frame. There are pits aplenty, bouncing and even heaps of old skool headbanging. Beware The Leopard (Jagwar) is a particular highlight (despite the screamy lows of BTBAM's Tommy Rogers being delivered by the Macbook and the crowd as, in the words of McWeeney, the fucker couldn't be here) and along with material from the first album, including the massive and squealy Huge Hammers, the set is a perfect mix of bludgeon, beauty and bollock-squeezing power.

Fabulous band. Just can't wait to see them somewhere where their sound fits properly and they haven't had to squeeze it into a muddy size 6 mini dress. Shame.

More tunes soon. Bwoooar!