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.

Arcaning It. Live review of Arcane Roots at XOYO

Arcane Roots *****
Verses **1/2***
Empire ***1/2**

XOYO, Shoreditch, 26th November 2012

In the land of fixed gear bikes, sockless brogues, George Bernard Shoreditch beards and all manner of street food, it seems wholly reasonable to compare tonight's offerings to the outputs of chicken shops, kebab houses and pho emporia. 

Empire ***1/2**
First up are Empire. A mixed kebab with lip smacking but indeterminable meat from a variety of sources. There's a heavy but lively and upbeat meatiness topped with searing and blistering vocals from a hyperactive dreadlocked ghost chilli in the shape of frontman Joe Green. 

The songs are tidily prepared and served with fire, soul and enough citric acidity to lift them away from total middle of the road pop rock vanilla. There's more than a sprinkle of complex Mars Volta sauce mixed up with a Freeze The Atlantic alt rock strength. And a definite whiff of chopped up originality.

Notwithstanding the amazing range, delivery and strength of Green's vocals, the only slight grumble would be that many of the songs lack a discernable or killer hook. As a relatively new outfit, I'm sure this will come with time as their song craft develops, but choruses, refrains and sing-a-long chunks were not too evident this evening.

The Empire Doner: Spicy, meaty, with a fresh zingy complex topping laden with face-melting vocal chilli sauce. Probably needs a bit longer to mature into the full monty. Powerful and tasty stuff though.

Verses **1/2***

After a decent and spicy kebab it's time for one of those spring roll type of affairs. You know the sort, tasty enough, but you're really not sure what you're eating. And Verses are more of the Iceland frozen family spring roll than anything more challenging.

Yes it's palatable and quite flavoursome; but it's never really fulfilling and substantial. Having seen Verses develop over the last couple of years, there's no denying that they've upped their game considerably. The ingredients and preparation have been streamlined and refined, but you can't help but feel the need for some extra clout, spice and bite.

There are and have been so many bands in this Morrisson's middle ground, many of whom have been sadly and forlornly confined to the wheely bin at the back of the caff - from Natives and Futures to Francesqa and Coastline - it's bloody hard work and being different is as much of a battle and a challenge as being good.

And good is what Verses are. But that's about it at the moment. While Canterbury, Don Broco, Deaf Havana and LTA stride on in their rampage for chart domination and seducing the nose-ringed, dip dyed sorority, bands like Verses have got their work cut out to keep up.

The Verses savoury spring roll: Tasty enough but all a bit safe. Too many bland but pleasant vegetables with not quite enough meat or gristle. Fills a hole. But leaves you wanting more quite quickly. Nice with a lager though.

Arcane Roots *****
As Shoreditch wipes the last crumbs and grease spots from the amuse-bouches out of its collective strong beard, it's time for the main course. And an absolutely rammed XOYO with it's weird topography and useless bars is salivating and drooling at what's next.

Tonight one of the hottest names in the broader rock genre in the UK are here to stuff our faces with rich riffs, fuck off scotch bonnet bangers and spicy sophistication. And man, do they deliver.

Despite some early stodgy and slightly gloopy sound problems, this is cuisine from the highest of high tables. Adventurous, fulfilling, challenging, spicy, heavenly and sumptuous. This is not fast food, but 3 Michelin-starred deliciousness, suffused with skilfully prepared, curated and cleverly mixed ingredients.

After Energy is Never Lost, Just Redirected, and the magnificent Slow, a hugely clever medley of some of the heavier and hearty bits of the excellent Left Fire (mini) album including Million Dollar Que$tion and In This Town of Such Weather serve as a warm and delicious reminder of where this chef's collective cut its Sabatier-sharp sabre teeth. 

There's power aplenty in every dish served up. The sound sorts itself out and songs from the album of the year Blood & Chemistry including the sublime Hell And High Water are sung back with joy, vigour an emotion by just about every mouth on every hipster's head. Spine tingling interraction that gives a true glimpse of an inevitable stadium-filling future.

The highlight of the evening though, for me, is the remarkable 'song prepared three ways', Triptych. It's the first time I've ever seen it live and it is without a doubt the dazzling centrepiece of what is rapidly turning into the best show of the year. Quite how frontman and beardy guitar wizard Andrew Groves effortlessly flambés such a complex riff while not missing a note with his searing and sizzling voice is beyond the ken of most mere mortals - truly astonishing.

And it keeps coming like a bacchanalian feast or 23 course renaissance banquet: old favourite You Are brings the house down and the testes torturing and bowel bullying riff of Resolve savagely cajoles the boisterous crowd into writhing, half-time infused ecstasy.

By the time You Keep Me here melts into the haunting and choral soufflé for which assorted members of the undercard join messrs Burton, Atkins and Groves on stage, the crowd is stuffed to the gills. Replete. Emotional. Sated. Dribbling. Spent. 

There is no more wafer thin mint of an encore, but no one minds. What we've witnessed here is surely Britain's greatest new rock band playing live rock music of truly world class quality. 

They're just about to be reunited with Biffy Clyro in mainland Europe for more stadium work. It truly won't be that long before this lot of Blumenthalesque magicians are serving up their own delicious and challenging cuisine to stadiums full of their own hungry, adoring customers. A brilliant band. A brilliant night. A brilliant performance. Yum.

The Arcane Roots fusion melange: Delicious. Meaty. Powerful. Sophisticated. Joyous. Gorgeous. Oh, fuck it, just fucking amazing.

Now for a kebab...

Karnage in Camden - Live review of Karnivool and TesseracT at KOKO

Karnivool *****
TesseracT *****

Koko, Camden, Thursday 21st November

It's time to dive into the winter wardrobe as the season of mists and mellow fruitfulness meanders into the chilly heart of winter. So, what's in the cupboard to keep us warmed?

TesseracT *****

First up are a curious outfit with, on the face of it, well-worn leather and denim but underneath, a challenging and tight PVC thong spiked with shards of steel and doused in deep heat or bleach. Then, like some retro sci-fi B-Movie costume, topped with some sort of cod futuristic shiny space helmet. All a bit weird.

TesseracT are a definitely strange mix. Progressive metal (if that's what it is) is a genre that's kind of got away from me. Add in the obligatory djent bombast and downtuned, hi-gain chugs and punches and the obfuscation only gets more bewildering.



A pretty much full Koko doesn't seem to mind the mismatched eccentricity however and a boisterous and eager early crowd rubberneck and gawp at the explosive couture like the alikadoos and liggers at the catwalk in fashion week. Without the Bolly dahlink. Obviously.


The playing is tighter than a deep sea squid's ringpiece with all manner of polyrhythmic reveries glued together with thunderous bass and precision skin thumping. And there's lots of hair. But now that Ashe O'Hara has imbued the whole output with high quality, clean and melodic crooning, the whole costume has become super-slick; maybe, arguably a little too slick.

It's undeniably brilliantly played and performed throughout - these guys are technically top drawer, it just seems to lack a little edge. The shards of glass and rusty steel need to be rubbed in to the genitals a bit more. It comes over more Jermyn Street silk boxers than tight PVC with a fuck off codpiece.

Still, a great kick off to this evening's parade. If not a little bewildering.

Karnivool *****

It's been a while since we've seen the Aussie proggers on our shores. And marking the launch of their recent tour de force Asymmetry, 'the Vool' finally bring their antipodean dress code out for a catwalk unveiling.

The new album gets a decent airing this evening with 7 or 8 of its tunes welded into the set alongside many old favourites (but no bloody Roquefort, sadly!). And from the off, it's easy to see that they've worked bloody hard on the tailoring and finish.

It's all exquisitely presented, but with enough added 'liveness' to avoid it being a soulless or slavishly flawless run-through of the factory-made prototypes. 

The sound is perfect but not clinical; there's enough of a ragged edge to proceedings to get the heart pounding and not just the head nodding and beard stroking. Saying that, because of the dominance of the new material which obviously hasn't had much time to seep into even the most ardent fan's soft tissue, it takes a while to get going and it's not really until we're treated to the magnificent Themata that things kick off.

It's always a difficult balance; do you open wearing a big old favourite jumper or try something with the label still in the back that you're obviously fiercely proud of and want to show it off? Tonight, the new pair of knickers are the opening choice and, I'm not overly sure it was quite the right choice. 

While the songs on the magnificent album are all of the highest quality you'd come to expect from these WA wizards, they're generally more in the 'grower not a shower' camp -  and until openers The Last Few and AM War have become established favourites and generate the sing backs that Goliath and Simple Boy do, then maybe they should be tantalisingly revealed after the comfy jumper is provocatively peeled off.

That said, tonight's show is fervently and enthusiastically devoured by a lively and loved-up crowd. The best and most accessible new shoes are already becoming new favourites and We Are and The Refusal fit seamlessly among the tried and tested.

The main set does finish rather anticlimatically though with Aeons and it's only when the crowd notice the band aren't actually on stage any more that they realise they ought to politely ask for more. Which is delivered with an amuse bouche in the atmospheric but hardly toe-tapping Alpha Omega followed by the song of the night, the mighty set closer New Day which finally sets fire to this particular Camden hive and turns the packed faux-rococo room into a massive dopamine-drenched karaoke box.

All-in-all a beautifully produced and performed show which dutifully aired the latest creations but was maybe a tad light on the staples and trusted favourites. Or maybe just needed the order tweaking. Gorgeous stuff though. And I didn't mention Tool once. Er...

Escape to Victory. Live review of The Dillinger Escape Plan at Koko

The Dillinger Escape Plan *****
Three Trapped Tigers *****
Maybeshewill *****

Koko, Camden, 8th November 2013

On the face of it, tonight's bill is a little like a menu from one of those utterly pretentious 1980s wanky restaurants. You know the kind of thing; a foetal marmoset on a bed of pan fried Albanian grandmother's pubes in a bile and kumquat coulis. It just shouldn't work. Or even be there.

But that's being far too simplistic. And narrow-minded. All three acts are all bound together by a host of DNA similarities. Passion. Energy. Musicianship. The desire to bloody mindedly challenge  the status quo and fart in the face of the average or bland. All mixed up with  a unified and innate 'don't give a fuck' attitude, we're going to do it our way cojones. 

And tonight, even though it's a ridiculously early start for a metropolitan Friday night rock show, London's inquisitive, converted, obsessed and musical libertarian masses are out in force to tuck into this most startling buffet.

Maybeshewill *****

First on the tasting plate are Leicester's post rock maestros Maybeshewill. To a surprisingly big early crowd, they weave a magical delirium and hypnotic mist that old Merlin himself would have been proud of. 

The sound is crystal cear, the lightshow captivating (big up to DEP for letting/insisting that their supports get the full bag of toys to play with - most headliners give the undercard the equivalent of two or three 60w domestic bulbs, a glow stick and hang thick army blankets in front of the front of house) and mesmerising as the quintet take the bearded and plaid-draped throng on an emotional and organ-adjusting half an hour journey that seduces, tantalises and engages from the first perfectly played hemi-demi-semi quaver to the last.

This is far from indulgent muso wank though. It's huge, cinematic, spine tingling and satisfying splendour. Yes, it's clever, but never knowing or self-regarding. The fact that post rock (if it is indeed a genre at all) largely remains vocal-free exposes the music itself, but like a blind man develops better hearing, the absence of a crooner only serves to heighten the musicality and makes it work harder to captivate and beguile.

Thundering  rhythms, stunning stick work, lyrical and melodic reveries and modular arpeggios come together to provide a delicious and truly unique (and surprisingly emotionally-drenched ) taste sensation. Delicious. Bloody delicious.

Three Trapped Tigers *****

After the soundscapes and seduction of Maybeshewill, it's time to turn things up a little on the sensation-ometer. As the next course on this most challenging, exciting and outré meal, Three Trapped Tigers saunter onto the stage and deliver a meaty, jagged, brutal and massive portion of kick-arse. 

This is beautiful, multi layered cuisine, but infused with face melting chili that, at times is off the scoville scale. It's wholly unfair to lay most of the blame for the blistering mind-blowing intensity on the plate of Mr Adam Betts, the drummer. But I'm going to. 

More than just aided by Matt Calvert and Tom Rogerson on banks of keys and guitar, Betts drives this Hadean-bound, fucked up pantechnicon like some meta amphetamine powered demented dervish. No one on the earth surely hits the skins with greater power or precision. It's almost impossible to take your eyes off Betts, despite Rogerson and Calvert's best efforts, he's like Kaa the snake from Jungle book; beguiling, entrancing, mesmeric, stunning.

The barrage continues apace. But it's far from relentless; apart from going through just about every time signature on the planet (and some previously undiscovered) there's genuine contrast, nuance and dynamic to their offering.

Betts' driving is flawless and breathtaking throughout. Even the great Billy Rymer must have the odd twinge of nerves backstage as he waits in the wings. Like Maybeshewill before them, they benefit from the full-on eye-melting lightshow and, again, like their Leicestershire commrades have never sounded better.

This is top drawer music. Combining funk, classical, jazz, metal, fusion - what the fuck ever. Genuinely dazzling. You can call them math rock, noise rock, post modern up your arse on a hook rock. In the end, it's just brilliant. Truly brilliant.



The Dillinger Escape Plan *****

Always a bit difficult contemplating a main course after such perfect starters, hors d'oeuvres and canapés, but the inter-course wait means the by now totally rammed Koko is salivating, drooling and ravenous.

The house lights finally dim and a stygian landscape of screens carrying fucked-up, acid suffused weirdness, words, images and footage that would have happily graced Un Chien Andalou flicker and tantalise.

Then it kicks off. The razor sharp jump lead bulldog clamps are viciously attached to every fold of genitalia in the room and the wattage, ampage and voltage are all ramped to the max. Bodies squirm, dive, surf, ride, fit, spasm, gyrate, ejaculate and circulate. 

Dillinger are like no other band on the planet. They're as raw as a freshly peeled penis rubbed with drain cleaner, as aggressive as a starved tasmanian devil with hornets up its arse, but as calculated and clever as a sack of Harvard-educated weasels. There's no accident here.

The playing, as always is unbelievable technical and skilful maintained incredibly while jumping, diving, crowd walking, climbing, leaping and running. Billy Rymer's drumming, is crisp, polyrhythmic, mind-melting and super-human, the demonic Rasputin Liam Wilson is the heartbeat of the whole cardiac arrest fisting the baying crowd with his deep penetrating bass dildo, while Ben Weinman's and James Love's über-tight pyrotechnic fret work is relentlessly flawless but never predictable or tiring.

And the whole shit circus is lead with vim, vitriol and vigour by the impossibly hench Monsieur Greg Puciato. His eyes bulging almost as much as his ridiculous, thigh sized guns as he preens, snarls, screams and spellbinds the sweating, writhing hordes. The sing backs have never sounded louder or more passionate. The more memorable and melodic refrains in Black Bubblegum, Milk Lizard, the amazing One of Us Is The Killer and Gold Teeth On A Bum almost drown out the huge barrage of noise coming from the stage. 

There's genuine love in the room. But man love. Punching hard on the shoulder and bear hug love. No kissing, fondling or fingering here. And it's impossible not to be caught up in the testosterone-soused love-in.

Dillinger always eschew the norm. Fly in the face of convention. They're never afraid to appal as well as enthral. They are the very spirit of rock and roll. The flag wavers of the middle finger-in-the air generation. Never contrived or ever just going though the motions, they are a fluid, fearless and frightening force of nature and knock just about every other so called heavy, punk, metal, math or rap band into the most cocked of cocked hats.

I can honestly say, I'm not sure whether I actually love their music, hate it, am inexorably and chemically addicted to it or am just intrigued, bewildered and stunned by it. But tonight I fell in love again. In a manly way of course.

Tonight's weird and wonderful bill has been one of the cleverest, most uplifting and refreshing menus I've ever had the pleasure of dining from. For the first time ever, I felt it necessary to give all the acts on the bill of fare five stars. I have been left drained, breathless, hypnotised, sodomised and seduced. And that, my friends is what powerful, engaging, don't give a fuck music should all be about. A bloody men.