Aural Aggravation

Christopher Nosnibor

During their comparatively brief career, which spanned the years 1999 to 2004, Mclusky released three albums and achieved a cult following, and that was kind of that, with Andrew Falkous going on to form Future of the Left who would achieve and similar cult status. But the thing about cult bands is that their reputation has a habit of developing posthumously, and while the musical differences between FOTL and Mclusky are, in real terms, quite scant – shouty, noisy, post-hardcore – the nostalgia for Mclusky – often harboured by those who never got to see them the first time around – has become pretty fervent over the years.

A large part of the appeal of both Mclusky and Future of the Left is their not giving a fuck for convention, and this tour is a perfect case in point, as they commemorate the twentieth anniversary of their second album. There’s not only no anniversary reissue, but it’s long deleted and hard to come by second hand an expensive when it does turn up. This, and the reformed lineup features neither of the two bassists who played with the band the first time around, so it’s two-thirds of Mclusky playing most of the second album. Meh, these are just details, it’s been sold out for weeks now and the buzz beforehand is palpable.

Helping to build that buzz are Beige palace, who are an ideal choice of support, with their skewed, angular tunes and offbeat banter. That synth / organ bass grinds hard, seriously, and they may play some bum notes but no-one notices, or much less cares. The quirky trio are a strong advert for the Leeds DIY scene. In fact, having emerged from the community that evolved around CHUNK and the Brudenell itself, it’s a source of pride that they’ve scored slots like this and with Shellac a couple of years ago, because theirs is THE sound of Leeds, and they’re very much equal to the high-profile bands they’ve supported. Doing your own thing and not trying to be cool counts for a lot.

Beige Palace

It’s certainly served Falkous and co well over the course of an enviable career, and has drawn a sellout crowd tonight. While commemorating the anniversary of Mclusky Do Dallas, this isn’t one of those sets where they play the album through from beginning to end, and instead they open with ‘Fuck this Band’. It makes for a fitting start to a set where they openly complain about some of the songs being shit, and how they don’t enjoy playing several others. But they play them all with guts and gusto, although ‘Light Sabre Cocksucking Blues’ is tossed off as the second song, as if they’re keen to get it out of the way and get on with the rest of the show. Any other band would have saved it for the encore, Mclusky don’t piss about with an encore either, instead sweltering their way through an hour and a quarter of back-to-back guitar-driven tunage. It’s testament to the strength of their other material that everything subsequent doesn’t feel like an anticlimax.

Mclusky

Damien Sayell is an immense presence who bounces and lumbers relentlessly: he’s big and burly and he doesn’t just play notes or chords, he tears chunks of bass noise from the wood with his fists, like a bear in a frenzy. Falkous squares up to the mic and spits lyrics at a hundred miles an hour while sweat spurts from every pore in his face, the sinews in his neck standing out like ropes, and they never let up for more than a minute between songs, keeping the banter and tuning to a minimum: many of the calls from the crowd are shut down pretty succinctly, and they seem keen not to disrupt the flow.

Mclusky

That flow is shown the appreciation is deserves with some hefty moshing in the middle that extends a fair way back into the room.

And then, wrapping up a twenty-song set that features all bar one song from Do Dallas, they sign off with a raging rendition of ‘To Hell with Good Intentions’, they’re gone. Still punk, still not giving a fuck, Mclusky still know how to kick ass.