The School of Hard Knox. Mallory Knox and Spycatcher Live review. The Garage.

Mallory Knox *****
Spycatcher *****
Coastline ***1/2**

Upstairs at The Garage Tuesday 15th Jan 2013

Been a while since I've been wedged into the 2nd Highbury Scout hut that is Upstairs at the <insert Sponsor's name> Garage. And every time I come back, I've always forgotten how small it is. I'm not sure even the 2nd Highbury scouts would find enough room to tie a decent reef knot let alone for an uplifiting game of British Bulldog. 

No matter, tonight, it's sold out and is one of London's hottest tickets thanks to the tipped-for-the top band de jour; fenland's finest young tyros Mallory Knox. Which has had the most remarkable effect on the make up of the crowd. 

There's almost a line across the middle of the scout hut with all the kids crammed in at the front but from halfway back, blokes with beards, man bags and feature spectacles. An unholy mix of industry types, press and musos. It really feels like the school play with all the mums and dads at the back watching adoringly and watchfully over the wee ones under the stage lights. Weird.

Coastline ***1/2**

Anyway, opening tonights scout hut jamboree are Kent's tidy tunesters Coastline. They produce a smooth, rich and silky set full of hooks, jangles, spangles, harmonies, refrains and melodies that get the already decent sized crowd tapping toes and nodding bonces rather than dervishly pitting and getting involved. 

Having seen these boys on two or three occasions, I've always worried about them finding a truly defining edge. Undeniably talented, thoroughly enjoyable and impressive, the vexed question still raises its head. 

There are just so many very good bands in this space (Canterbury, Natives, Hey Vanity, the remodelled WATO, Jumping Ships etc etc) Which, by the way, is brilliant and a true indication that rock music is as strong as it ever was and reaching a wider, more 'mainstream' audience. Not that Coastline are me toos or any less good than most of the others; far from it, on tonight's slick and uplifting performance, they're clearly right up there. It's just that final 10% of difference that's needed. Not a gimmick or a forced signature sound, but a sustainable and definable difference that sets them apart.

Saying that, they're still so young and soaking up influences, ideas, inspiration and experiences as they tread the boards up and down the country. And, in short, they do a bloody good job tonight.

 Check out some of their excellent tuneage here>

Spycatcher *****

After the smooth, cultured and slick Kentish Korma of Coastline, it's time to plunge for the hotter, more mental parts of the menu. As a complete contrast punky, poppy, grizzly and spiky noisy bastards Spycatcher are next on the scout hut stage.

The first thing to notice however, is that they appear to be a five piece no longer. Shorn of on guitarist/key tickler, the home counties quartet launch into the ridiculously infectious Remember Where You Were When Michael Jackson Died. And the sound seems to show no ill effect from the loss of a limb. In fact, arguably, it's more raw, tighter and cleaner. But still fiery and full of burning hot piss.

Steve Sears' bluff punk vocals are so far removed from the Coastline boys almost choirboy-like tight harmonising that the feeling of shock is almost tangible down in the kiddy pit. But, the taste buds are re-tuned and dropped jaws hoisted back up as the assault continues.

Spycatcher are one of those bands who genuinely have found a niche. Very difficult to put a finger on where they fit or what, (if it's needed by OCD suffering tiresome musos) genre they should be filed under. There is definitely a true punky edge but one with roots both sides of the pond. 

One moment you could be in a punky hardcore NY basement back in the 80s, the next at an early Slipknot jam session. Without the masks. There are influences and references swirling round the head like a trippy psychedelic dream sequence. Dark shadows of Glassjaw, Minor Threat, Million Dead,The Clash and Black Flag, lighter motes of The Damned and Eddy And The Hotrods, King Blues and even UK hardcore nods to TRC and Gallows (unsurprising I suppose, given Sears' involvement). 

The overall effect is stunning. Pop heart, punk testicles and a rock anus. The set  is a brilliant mix of light and shade, heavier bombs and melodic interludes. Drew Elliot takes on the responsibility of two guitars into one with aplomb. Mixing up jangles, chugs, slides and graces perfectly. Vitriolic, wry, witty and personal pathos-drenched lyrics sit side by side. Real life by a real band. Making a really good noise. Amen.

Fill your ear buckets with some of their splendid noise here>

Mallory Knox *****

By now, the scout jamboree is in full swing. And the 2nd Highbury Scout hut rammed to it's bulging walls. Cambridge's newest radio-friendly rock and roll darlings are set to do unspeakable things to our rear ends.

With so much expectation, hype, air-play, press coverage and intertweetsocial noise around these guys with the new album Signals dropping imminently, they've got a lot to live up to tonight.

But as soon as the first tune belts out, anxieties are eased, pants soiled, hearts lifted and wee, well, weed. The youthful acolytes sing back every word to huge new tunes Lighthouse, Death Rattle, Wake up and even Beggars which was only given its first official airing last week. These kids learn fast!

The sound is massive, Mikey Chapman's vocals pristine and spot on throughout. And they're loving it up on stage. Milking the crowd's fervour. Cajoling and interacting without arrogance, self-import or rock star wankiness. It feels genuine. Thankfully.

It's not hard see the fizzy atmosphere here transported to bigger spaces, halls and arenas in the not so distant future. The hype looks as though it's well worth the ink, airtime, pixels and hot air. The new album (recorded at the beginning of last year with the brilliant Dan Lancaster) is set to catapult these boys even further into the rockosphere with it's radio-friendly hooks, anthems and oo oohs. And tonight's consummate performance underlines this.

But there's thankfully also room for their sharper teeth to be bared with older material and favourites like Resuscitate and Oceans diving into their heavier side; complete with chugs, drops and breakdowns and getting the young 'uns pitting and moshing sweatily  

They shouldn't forget this edge if they're going to maintain the originality and interesting fusion. While it's welcomed news that rock is apparently going to be the next mainstream flavour, there are bands tilting at the genre from the other side, think Lawson, The Script et al. It's not going to be long before One Direction get Telecatsered and Blackstarred up. Perish the thought.  And, I'm sure the last thing the brilliant crop of acts like acts like Mallory Knox, LTA, Deaf Havana and Don Broco need is to be subsumed my the mire of mainstream blandness.

As long as Thug Workout still gets live airings by the Brocans, Nicotene And Alcohol Saved my Life by JV-G and his boys, Far Q by LTA  and the bigger, heavier heritage is not eschewed exclusively in favour of accessibility and 'niceness' then we are saved. And Mallory Knox will be leading the flag waving for vibrant British rock music for a good while yet, I'm sure.

Tonight is an encouraging portent of big things to come. Bring it on.

Don't believe me? Then feast your ears on these beauties. here>

Spycatcher duo Drew and Will's alt-folk alter egos Dirty Leaves and then This Town Needs Guns Next.

More tunes soon. Bwoooar!

Alt command - Freeze The Atlantic and Hold Your Horse Is - live review Bull and Gate

Freeze The Atlantic ****1/2*

Hold Your Horse Is *****

Radio Alcatraz ***1/2**

The Bull And Gate, Kentish Town 8th January 2013

Finally escaped the sofa, the man versus fudge sized bucket of Quality Street and the inevitable shit TV and headed out for the first gig of what promises to be a great year for the heavier side of music. Well, if all the so-called pundits, hacks and futurologists are to be believed.

Radio Alcatraz ***1/2**

So, to Kentish town for a jumbo selection box of Hampshire/Surrey home grown goodies.


But first, let's get the slight negative out of the way, all tonight's acts suffer from a not particularly vox-friendly Front of House rig. The music sounds great, but all the singers sound vaguely muffled and lack total cut through. A shame, but, to be honest a minor whinge.

Anyway, ignoring the flavour guide card thing, let's get stuck in to tonight's glutton box.  First on the tongue tonight are a nuggety, chewy interesting ball of flavour Radio Alcatraz. A satisfying blend of mescaline-fuelled ATDi/Mars Volta proggy complexity covered in rich, heavy, spiky riffs. 

Diminutive front man Simon Griffiths belts out a high tempo collection of polemic, politicising and at times ranty lyrics aided and abetted by swirling post-hardcore atmosphere and extra chewy riff bombs and a stiffly whisked rhythm section. It's tasty stuff. With the occasional shard of glass or hint of astringent acid cutting through the huge body.

There are vague but definite similarities to Zack de la Rocha in Griffiths's delivery as he jumps, spins and darts around like a hamster whacked out on goofballs stopping in his tracks occasionally to earnestly deliver his heart-felt sermons. Not that it's in anyway overdone or self-important. There's a fun and fizz in the mouth throughout. As I say, tasty stuff indeed.

Will definitely choose one of these again. 

The Radio Alcatraz Delight: A fiery centre with molten lava, Jack Daniels, kerosene and rusty, blood-covered razor blades deliciously covered in dark and complex riffery. Yum.

Hold Your Horse Is *****

Next to be unwrapped and popped in the gob are Mssrs Pearson, Penny and Rouse. 

With their totally brilliant album Frimley to plunder, the home counties trio serve up a wonderful mix of tantalising tastes. Ranging from indie-imbued choppiness to full-on throbbing erect priapic rock and roll. 

There's a wonderful paradox in HYHI's oeuvre: simple complexity. The songs often sound straightforward, but the constructs and cleverness lend an originality and satisfying substance. Cute time signature diversions and beat drops, chugs that counterpoint, polyrhythms and compound timings that add a dissonant edge that eschews the predictable.

A good few of the tracks from Frimley are given the glorious raw live treatment. That's raw in a good way. There's a controlled shambolic feel to some of their work, but that's all for the cameras. It's complex, challenging, grown up but not self indulgent or shoe-gazing. 

Poppy refrains peek in between the oft frenzied and splendid guitar work of Robin Pearson and his dual output flux capacitor guitar and throughout, the vibrant, explosive melange is controlled by the beautiful and sensitive bass playing of James Penny. Who looks like he's just got off the school bus tonight. Resplendent in 6 former's jumper and accompanied by his rucksack just plonked down in front of his cab.

Not satisfied with bombing us with their previous work, the lads even serve up a new sweetie. Douche Beige continues where Frimley left off. Knowing, witty, huge, but catchy and fun. Pretty much sums up tonight's stonking performance. 

The Hold Your Horse Is Barrel: Lively and zingy centre crafted from the finest razor wire, battery acid and blinding bath tub gin surrounded by a jaunty, amusing explosive crackling that melts faces. Definitely contains nuts.

Freeze The Atlantic ****1/2*

Given the fact that I love Reuben and, of course, Hundred Reasons, it beggars belief that this lot have missed my radar. As a kind of latter day Alt supergroup (I'm sure they'll thank me for that - sorry chaps), formed by waifs and strays from both the aforementioned legendary bands, they can only really be bloody good.

And on tonight's performance that's proven. In spades. No, fuck it, in Royal flush Hearts.

Vocal sound notwithstanding, the set is electrifying. Huge tunes. Massive riffs and hooks, melody, harmony, light, shade, energy and beauty. All delivered perfectly but not clinically. These boys are seriously on it. Every aspect welded seamlessly together. But not without a real jagged serrated edge when needed.

There are tons of guitar-based post-hardcore, Alt pop rock bands schlepping up and down the country at the moment, and finding an edge to differentiate is becoming harder and harder. Genres transmute, mash ups of all manner of styles and influences are being experimented upon and launched daily. But the thing that really puts bands like this ahead of the pack is, quite simply, talent. 

Not just the ability to blisterningly and perfectly shred the pentatonic, diatonic, dorian and any other sodding scale or to master every chord, progression, lick and cadenza. (The last thing we need is sterile, indulgent technically brilliant musicians wanking in front of us.) No, genuine talent for song-crafting, balance, originality and making genuine connections.

Freeze The Atlantic may not have mastered or launched a totally original blend of music upon the world, but they truly are bloody good at what they do. And what they do is bloody good. 

A 'knowing' crowd has definitely been treated to something pretty special tonight.

The Freeze The Atlantic Frappé: Deliciously and delightfully created from whispy clouds, angels tears and puppy dogs. Then thrown into a fucking rusty sceptic tank, with gallons of home made moonshine, nitroglycerine, napalm, speed, crack, machine gun cartridges and Stravinsky's jizz. Covered in concrete encrusted with rare gems. Hmmmm, delicious.

More tunes soon, Bwooooar!

Mallory Knox and Spycatcher next...

Sub species - Enter Shikari Live at The Roundhouse -

Enter Shikari ****1/2*
Cancer Bats *****

The Roundhouse Camden 17th December 2012

Like a fine old ruby port and a slab of Stinking Bishop’s Finger, tonight is serving as the perfect way to end what’s been a trouser-stretching fat feast of a year for live music.

Not that anyone will give too much of a rat’s rectum, but I’ve cobbled together a de rigeur review of the last 12 months here. Have a look here if you can be arsed.

Anyway, back to tonight’s groaning table.

Cancer Bats *****
First on the bill of fayre (well, 2nd actually but I found myself unavoidably delayed over a schooner of sherry with the good chaps from InMe rather than face the wobbery of the gents in Engine Earz) are dirty greasy Canuck hosers Cancer Bats.

The massive cathedral of a venue is already fuller than Beyonce’s cami-knickers by the time Monsiuer Cormier and his scuzzy, hairy biker boys take to the boards.

There’s growl, bark, bite and big squealy bastard guitar riffage aplenty to wire up the tickly bits of the massive and very young congregation which hits the spot and gets the pit fizzed - up and sweating like Ian Watkins in a wendy house* (*allegedly). 

However, weird and vaguely unsettling sight of the night is a huge, fairly well behaved circle pit with two 14 year old girls, complete with handbags bopping along merrily in the middle. 

Anyway, the big-arsed riffs keep a coming. And climax loudly and wildly in the always-brilliant Lucifer’s Rocking Chair. ‘That’ Beastie Boys cover sets hearts a thumping and arms a pumping as always and the savage Hail Destroyer gets the pits opening up. But I can’t help feeling Cormier’s screamy range operates in too narrow a spectrum to truly excite or enthrall. It’s all a bit, well, grey. Not enough lows. Or, for that matter, highs. 

There’s no debate that he’s a cracking front man and the punked-up, fucked-up, doomed-up noise that mssrs Peters, Middleton and Schwarzer is even dirtier than Kat off EastEnders gusset; but in a huge upturned bucket like The Roundhouse, I’m not convinced grey is vibrant enough. Still, I’m nit-picking, the crowd go nuts and the scene is set for the St Alban’s noiseniks to come and do their thang.

Enter Shikari ****1/2*
For 10 minutes before the lads appear, the packed out former railway engine shed is treated to a selection of ravey, dubby, wobby and bleepy mixed up dance music interspersed with a wonderful retro recording from a mid-west US drive in, counting down the minutes to the performance. A master stroke in heightening the already pre-orgasmic flushes of the attendant scenesters and sixth formers.

Finally the lights dim and the strains of System... throws a lump of sodium into the already ridiculously efforvecent scene soup. And we’re off...

I’ve lost count of the dozens of times I’ve been lucky enough to have my testes rearranged by this lot. And, remarkably they never fail to disappoint. A fiercely independent and fuck-you attitude oozes from every pore and the constant shifting of interpretations and versions of their oeuvre keeps things fresh every time. 

It’s a hoary old chestnut to bang on about their originality and their cross-genre pollenation that defines their sound and stoically bats off categorisation or pigeonholing. But it’s unavoidable. They truly are one of a kind. And continue to plough lone furrows while all around seem to be regressing to some mealy-arsed mean of predicatbility or conformity.

Tonight’s show has all the Shikari benchmarks, hallmarks and skidmarks, but keeps things spicy and appealing. Tantalising teasers like Stand Your Ground make a subliminal appearance before dissolving into Destabilise, remixes and extended intros, outros, bridges and brutal sub bass beatdowns are sprinkled over every dish adding extra firepower, depth and lustre. Labyrinth even got the dust blown off it. 

The brilliant A Flash Flood Of Colour album is unsurprisingly well represented with Arguing With Thermometers and Gandhi Mate, Gandhi standing out in the main set, but for me, Return To Energiser is the total triumph. Ok, it lacks the sublime acoustic ending that Rou served up at the amazing Hammersmith show back in the spring, but with a tinkered with bridge and a huge bowel-relaxing sub added, it shows that the earlier material from the seminal and brilliant Take To The Skies album is as relevant and citricly sharp as ever.

There was even a beer intermission (complete with waiter) in Labyrinth and time for a bit of crowd tomfoolery while Rou is being filmed for an ad promo for the band’s Sssnakepit beer. Tight and slick as most of the show is, there’s still plenty of room for a bit of fucking about and cheeky chappy japes too. Although Mr Reynolds seems forgivably pretty much out on his feet both literally and occasionally vocally.

As the ever-stunning Motherstep/ship brings the main set to a close, it’s clear we’re in the midst of another pretty special Shikari evening. Further underlined when the lads re-appear to play us out with three more fine tunes.

A chilled and sensational interpretation of Constellations, complete with fuck-loads of  festive snowy confetti stuff sprayed all over the sticky scenies sends shivers down spines, sets hairs standing up and moistens more than the odd eyeball before the anthemic Pack Of Thieves makes a rare appearance and turns the venerable old loco shed into a mass Karaoke. Zzzzzonked is an apt way to finish and send the thousands of beglittered, bewildered and broken sweaty urchins spewing out onto the refreshingly chilled Chalk Farm streets. 

I’ve said it before, but no one comes close. Wonderful, warming and world class. 

More tunes next year. Happy Chrimbo and all that bollocks. Bwoooar!

Here’s another link to my review of the year thingy. HAVE A LOOK.

The best gigs of 2012. Honestly.

A vintage year. Well, sort of.
A review of 2012.

Over 70 gigs attended. Over 300 bands seen. A decent sized lake of cider downed. At least a Renault Scenic full of Jagermeister seen off. 4 sets of very expensive attenuated earplugs lost. Lots of lovely people met. And some bellends. Tears shed. Trousers soiled. Overall, face hurts from smiling. What a year.

Anyway, no public votes. No democracy. No real point. But, bollocks to it, here’s a brief run-down of my favourite top gigs, releases and other stuff of the year. Can’t be arsed to write too much about the shows, but because of the time of year, I've done it as kind of tasting notes for vino. But there are links to the original reviews if you really are that bored.

Gigs of the year.

10: Skindred at Brixton Academy. Mr Webbe and the boys serve up a powerful but playful offering to  a packed Brixton academy. Hints of nettles, brambles, molten titanium, barbed wire with top notes of mary jane. The best showman in the land puts on one of the very best shows. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? REVIEW >

9: This Town Needs Guns at The Borderline - Wow. A smooth but enormously complex blend of headiness, blissful character and almost scientifically created perfection. But with real soul and a gentle aftertaste. Technically unparalleled but the new line-up takes things to new levels. Not to mention their space-aged cuboid magic sound boxes. REVIEW >

8: Hundred Reasons at The Fighting Cocks - Raw, beautiful home-grown genius. Fizzing with vibrancy, energy and power; an old favourite that's aged splendidly and excites the palate like an angel cumming on your tongue. 10 years on. A secret intimate sweatfest in downtown Kingston. Ridiculous. Privileged. REVIEW >

7: The Xcerts and Yearbook at The Borderline - A weird but wonderful blend. All edgy and fierce with an underlying beauty and complexity. At times like a fine premier cru but delivering the wit, verve and impudent kick in the cock of a case of something deliciously nouveau. Or some shit like that. All kooky, edgy, nerdy, sassy, library. You ‘eard. An absolute pleasure to be there. Two of the very, very best around on the same bill. Bonus. REVIEW >

6: Lower Than Atlantis at The Garage - Maturing nicely but not losing that rough, venomous, gall-tinged edge, Chateau LTA is becoming a classic. Big hearted, full bodied but with traces of napalm and brimstone still not far behind the surface. All bound together by Mike Duce's deep burgundy melancholia. Big drinking beauty. With gravel in the glass. And a whisky chaser.The night they celebrated their well-deserved signing to Island. An emotionally charged and fantastic show.The show later in the year at The Electric Ballroom was also right out of the top drawer but, for me, the Garage show just shaded it. REVIEW >

5: Enter Shikari at Hammermith - Incomparable fusion of everything. Impossible to work out every ingredient, taste, top note and big sub-bass infused bottom note. Like a fine zesty young white with Thunderbird and fine dessert wine mixed in. But when you think you've got it nutted, huge power, body, reckless confusion and intoxicating strength of a dark, bastard red. One of a kind. What a show, What a spectacle. What a shit Mexican meal afterwards. Genius stuff with a Hertfordshire accent. The band, not the Mexican meal. REVIEW >

4: Deaf Havana at Shepherds Bush - Bubbly and bright (unusual for JV-G) celebratory, astringent and sharp. But with a beautiful mellowness, soul and hint of sadness. That said, drinkable by the gallon and becoming more and more widely appealing now that the initial battery acid sharpness has (to some, lamentably) waned. Incredible, emotional, joyous and jubilant. Those fenland fellas have certainly come a long way. REVIEW >

3: Don Broco at their album launch show at The Barfly - On the face of it a screw top cheap and very cheerful Lambrini or Cava. But on further tasting, there's a genuine sophistication and ridiculously mature massive brilliance in there. Big flavours, addictive fruit and raw power. Not overly-complex but delicious and fruity. Wonderful with a bit of cheese.  Ok, I didn’t actually review this show, but having seen the Beds boys four or five times this year, this one really took the biscuit (see what I did there). Closely followed by their amazing support slot for LTA at the Electric Ballroom and their absolute sweat-fest at Burnout Festival. Hic.

2: Dillinger Escape Plan at The Garage - Fiery, stupidly impenetrable complexity. But so ridiculously satisfying. Thunderous body with searing acid shards and acrid spikes. Spine-tinglingly perfectly served. Aggressive, outré, challenging, mad. Bewildering. Just fuck. REVIEW >

1: Arcane Roots at The Old Blue Last - Like a new world arriviste that's just so much better than the motherland original. Multi-layered, smooth, spiky, classical but challenging, rough but silky. Full bodied but zingy. Strong and intoxicating. Truly the most wonderful of mixes which will only get better with age. Set to be a world classic. Yum. And indeed, yum. Too good. Seriously. Too good. Britain's best band. By a distance. This lot must be huge next year. A free show at an absolutely rammed OBL was the absolute highlight of an absolutely fabulous year. Darling.
REVIEW >

Disappointments of the year: 
AWOL Nation - pretend, ersatz, frothy, unsatisfactory. >
Dry The River - well-prepared, well-executed but monotonously dull and lifeless. >
Rob Lynch - fiery but relentless. Too much. Needs laying down to mature. >
Marines. - predictable, watery, unfulfilling and unexciting. Needs fizz. >
Deaf Heaven - Beautiful, well-considered body but bitter waspiness ruins the potential. >

Revelations of the year: 
Subsource - crazy, mixed up flavours. Huge body, massively satisfying. Boiii. >
Yearbook - insanely quirky. Dances all round the palate but delivers beautifully. >
Gnarwolves - rough, lusty, fiery, raw, fun and spicy. Party in a bottle. >
Oathbreaker - the heaviest, most massivly robust and doom-infused brew imaginable. >

Top blokes of the year: 
Burn The Fleet.
InMe. 
Real Adventures. 
Gnarwolves. 
Don Broco.
The Xcerts.
Midgar.

Festivals of the year: 
The year of the smaller fest. With highlights being: 
Takedown. REVIEW >
Banquet’s Big Day Out. REVIEW >
Burnout. REVIEW >

Albums of the year.

10: Iron Lungs - Polar
9: Ideas - Hawkeyes 
8: This Is The Six - While She Sleeps
7: Koi No Yokan - Deftones 
6: Astraea - Rolo Tomassi
5: Changing Tune - Lower Than Atlantis
4: Fools and Worthless Liars (De Luxe Edition with the brilliant re-works) - Deaf Havana
3: Daybreaker - Architects
2: Priorities - Don Broco
1: A Flash Flood Of Colour - Enter Shikari

Who’s going to be the big old bollocks next year? 
Don Broco. 
Arcane Roots. 
Yearbook. 
Mallory Knox.

And that's it for the year. Just want to thank all of you who've painfully struggled through my waffly, farty, verbose prose. I've had nearly 20,000 visits to this silly, mid-life crisis, self-indulgent blog in the last year, which, to me is unbelievable. 

Almost as unbelievable as the quality and breadth of amazing live music in the UK. Here's to another year of sticky floors, Jager-fuelled sweaty mosh mania, hangovers, ringing ears and brilliant fun.

More tunes soon, Bwoooar!

InMe live at The Relentless Garage

InMe *****
Hilda May *****
Midgar *****

Relentless Garage 10th December 2012

As it’s a time of food, booze, goodwill and general overindulgence, I thought I’d attempt to sum tonight’s show up in the style of a restaurant critic. No fucking idea why. Probably a really shit idea. But after a few festive Jagers and with Messrs McPherson and friends still ringing in my lugholes, it seemed like a perfectly sensible concept. 

So, what’s on the menu tonight?

Midgar *****
Well, for starters a rich, meaty and wonderfully sophisticated offering from those epic proggy proto-classical wizards in Midgar. Airing predominantly a full array of new tunes, the über-stylish polymath Andy Wilson-Taylor and the rest of his steam-punked Bullingdon boys resplendent in foppish waistcoats deliver a complex yet melodic and accessible combination of ball crushing breakdowns fused effortlessly with all manner of multi-layered tunefulness. 

The new stuff is deliciously big. No, ridiculously huge. Keys and all manner of triggered backing trickery alongside startling musicianship lift them away from the bland burger-helper guitar-based alt lad bands that seem to be breeding like kitchen cockroaches. There’s definitely an originality, but at the same time a genuine comfort. The overall effect is delicious.



Only one older tune, the pompy and grandiose Karmic Retribution is given the treatment tonight, and fits comfortably onto the plate alongside the new stuff including the new instant classic, All I've Ever Done. (Free download here)

The impressive early crowd seem to be lapping it up and getting involved and hopefully, in the not too distant future, these boys will be headlining shows of this size.

To sum up: a really rich and powerful boeuf bourguignon with the semi-automatic dum-dum bullets used to slaughter the cow still wedged in the flesh accompanied with a huge Claret and washed down with pure illicit grain spirit drunk from a gothic skull. Bloody tasty.

Hilda May *****
For the next course a rustic bugger’s muddle of influences chucked onto the table with no plate. Hilda May are impossible to categorise. There are definite tastes of pop punk and hardcore but with a grungy gravy and a grebo rock sauce.

The crowd look a bit bewildered. After the beautifully presented and massive flavours of Midgar, it’s all a bit spikey and scruffy. Tim Lawrence’s vocals are definitely from the hardcore cupboard. His barks and bravado are reminiscent of Real Adventures’ front man Lewis Reynolds. And he’s ably backed by a complex yet simple sauce with traces of Glassjaw, Minor Threat, Gorilla Biscuits and even old-time home growners Million Dead.

A really provocative and interesting choice for the overall bill tonight and certainly an act that’d be better suited to a more punky and dirty bill of fare alongside bands like TRC, Polar and Palm Reader, or the aforementioned Real Adventures. That said, they’re full of chilli bite and energy and act as a kind of perverse or inverse palate cleanser before tonight’s main course.

To sum up: a hearty but scruffy bean and festering lizard sausage casserole served on an upturned rusty bin lid and eaten with an evil bastard corroded flick knife. Washed down with blinding home-made scrumpy drunk out of a rusty soup can. Wholesome, exciting and interesting but not for the faint-hearted.

InMe *****

The last night of another tour and the end of an exhausting year during which beguiling front man Dave McPherson has chalked up over 200 gigs both with the band and as a brilliant acoustic solo turn. There’s definitely an end of term vibe in the thronged Relentless Garage as the hungry diners take their places.

InMe are true originals. Survivors from the nu-metal age and contemporaries of fellow Brits A, Vex Red, Hundred Reasons, FFAF and, at a push, Lostprophets. And they’ve stuck to their guns and continued to produce mesmerising, complex, huge and memorable music ever since. Culminating in this year’s tour de force - The Pride (made even more notable by the innovative and brilliantly altruistic and heart-warming pledge mechanic),

It really is party time tonight and they pile through a burgeoning menu stuffed with old favourites, older specialist offerings like So You Know for the die-hards all spiced up with big dollops of the more contemporary material like epic set opener Moonlit Seabed. Myths and Photographs is a majestic chateaubriand with all the trimmings, Safe in A Room is a complex and moving triumph, as is Firefly. The crowd are salivating throughout, stuffing their faces, ripping the bones apart and gorging like rabid, slavering dogs. And they’re loving it. 

It does, however feel a bit like a big family meal. For close rellies and friends. Which is no bad thing. But could be a little alienating for any newcomers or distant relations. No matter, totally stuffed, deaf and having had my bowels purged by the most powerful, loud and deep bass brown notes, I wandered off fully satiated and with a smile as wide as Lisa Riley’s waistband. A gastronomic triumph. Even though they didn’t play my favourite All Terrain Vehicle and eschewed their traditional staple Underdose.

To sum up: a groaning buffet stuffed with massive dishes of every imaginable flavour. sharp shards of metal salad with sulphuric dressing, whole massive musk oxen served on the bone with searing scotch bonnet chillies stuffed up its arse, lighter, thought-provoking citric accompaniments served with rich and powerful dark sauce with the heaviest bass notes all washed down with bastard overproof rum drunk out of  a titanium space helmet. Bizarre, beautiful, heavy and intoxicating. But ultimately wonderful comfort food. Yum.

Enter Shikari next.

More tunes soon, Bwooooar!