Archive for the ‘Live’ Category

Irk / Algernon Cornelius / Care Home – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 24th January 2025

Posted: 25 January 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Irk (not to be mistaken for Lancastrian newcomers Irked) certainly took their time over their second album, so the fact their playing its launch gig four months after its release is fitting.

The last time I saw them would have been 2018, in the now-defunct CHUNK, alongside Britney and Beige Palace (also now sadly departed), at the launch of debut album. Back then, CHUNK – a fairly basic rehearsal space which also hosted gigs – was the hub of an emerging DIY scene which spawned a bunch of noisy bands who emerged in the wake of the likes of Blacklisters, Hawk Eyes, That Fucking Tank. Fortunately, the Leeds scene is resilient and continues to thrive with new spaces and new bands popping up – and Irk are still here, despite geographical dispersal and general life stuff like jobs and families doing little to boost the time and energy available for creative work.

One of the new bands to have emerged more recently is Care Home. Care Home no doubt won themselves some new fans when they landed the coveted slot of supporting the Jesus Lizard last January. Tonight they’re a late substitute for Blacklisters, who were admittedly, an additional draw for tonight, but it’s hard to be too disappointed with the choice of replacement, kicking the night off in suitably noisy fashion. The interplay between the guitar and synths works well and affords them a greater range when it comes to the arrangements. The bass work alternates between a stop/start jolting and insistent solid four-four groove, and when paired with some busy, beat on every beat drumming, they’ve got a sturdy spine around which everything else hangs nicely. The vocals are straight-up, unpretty (post) hardcore shouting, an effluence of nihilism in t vein of Kowloon Walled City.

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Care Home

Algernon Cornelius proved to be an inspired choice, breaking up a rock-orientated bill with some highly inventive and energetic hip-hop. Pulling together a truly visionary array of sources, spanning jazz, punk, and metal and even sampling a Beige Palace song, it’s all going on during his lively set.

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Algernon Cornelius

Irk’s set is a squalling blast of noise from beginning to end. The bass is simply immense. Recorded, it’s not immediately apparent that the sole instrumentation is drums and bass – and not only because various guests add additional detail in various form, but this means that on stage, the fact they blast out such a dense racket with so little only accentuates the impact. But that bass… the sound is pretty varied and big on texture, from the rib-rattling mid-range, compressed sound which resembled tearing cardboard to the bowel-quivering low-end, there’s substantial range. Meanwhile, Jack Gordon hollers and howls through a host of effects and distortion, and this show – like the album itself – was worth the wait.

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Irk

With ‘The Seeing House’, they’ve really honed things and learned the benefits of shifting tempo and tone: ‘Eating All of the Apple’ is the perfect example of how they’ve absorbed the sparser, joltier aspects of Shellac’s output on board. Gordon’s vocal has more range, too, veering toward more gothic territory. And still they slam forth colossal riffs, paired with meaty beats and rabid yowling.

But for a serious band, they just can’t do serious when it comes to their shows: there’s a comedic elements to Gordon’s delivery and postures, not to mention the chat between songs, where he would take time to share wisdom he had discovered on that Internet from the mini-ons, printouts of which he would hand out to members of the audience.

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Irk

There’s something so, so quintessentially Leeds about Irk – quirky, self-effacing, a disparity between the abrasive noise and the affable nature of the people themselves – and they are genuinely nice guys. But this is so often the case: the music is the outlet. And the atmosphere tonight is one of warmth, of camaraderie. A lot of people know one another. This isn’t a scene in the sense of posing, self-importance or smugness, but one defined by camaraderie and mutual appreciation.

Irk’s set was punchy and abrasive, delivering fifty minutes of intensity interspersed with comedy, making for an event which felt like the perfect launch for the album. And I shall treasure my numbered, annotated minion forever.

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Blue Monday! feat Flat Moon / Trip Sitter / Gents & Ginger / Pedestrian – The Fulford Arms, York, 19 January 2021

Posted: 22 January 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The third Monday in January has been labelled ‘Blue Monday’ because studies have found it to be the most depressing day of the year. Christmas and new Year are but memories which have faded into the eternal darkness of dull days where sunrise happens after going to work – if it happens at all – and sunset has happened not long after lunch. For those on salaries, after the early pre-Christmas payday, bank accounts are drained and it’s still a long, long way till January payday, it’s cold and wet and frankly it’s all shit. For those not on salaries, the same is true minus the January payday. And that’s before you throw in the prospect of World War 3 and markets crashing around the globe while AI is rapidly taking over everything. So the idea of a cheap – four bands for three quid in advance cheap – gig with an uptempo party vibe and something of a ‘beach party’ theme is genius. Simple, but genius. In terms of marketing and the economy, enticing people out to put a few quid over the bar is infinitely better than everyone staying home vegetating while watching shit TV, and I’ve written variously on the therapeutic properties of live music.

This bill wasn’t quite as therapeutic as I might have hoped. I’m absolutely not averse to fun, but can’t say I’m mad keen when that fun is appended with a ‘k’. Because of a last-minute change from the advertised running order, Trip Sitter and Gents & Ginger (who were originally supposed to be on third and second respectively) swapped places and as a consequence, the first half of the night was very funk-orientated. It’s a matter of taste, of course, and the audiences – it seems there’s a different crowd in the room for each act, which feels strange (I’m accustomed to bands bringing their own fans and not all of them sticking around for all of the acts, but this was like a shift-change in the audience each time there was a switch on stage, and each lot brought a very different atmosphere) – would tell quite different stories.

Reformed for tonight only, former college act Pedestrian bring a ska funk groove, and one song sounds far too much like RHCP to be forgivable. In fairness, they make up for it with a Mr Bungle cover. While they’re tight, handling the complex song structures with precision, the stage energy is quite low and seemingly self-conscious for a party band, but their mates go absolutely fucking ballistic. I find myself cowering beside the speaker to avoid being moshed to death by 6’6" sixth form virgins who seem hell-bent on breaking one another’s limbs.

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Pedestrian

Gents & Ginger offer up some sort of lounge jazz muso wankery involving chords that require eight fingers spanning five frets, and with bad shirts. They play with eyes squinted and looking like they’re inhaling their own farts. The bassist has a knitted teacosey on the head of his guitar, and the last song sounds like Kings of Leon or something. They go down ridiculously well, too. I need more beer.

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Gents & Ginger

Trip Sitter proved a very different proposition, the foursome offering a Latin spin on 80s rock. And they do actually rock out and venture into blues territory with some style. And the last song of their energetic set is Eurovision worthy.

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Trip Sitter

Flat Moon won me over the last time I saw them, despite reservations. Tonight…. No. Perhaps I was listening with different ears. Perhaps the very, very different crowd that suddenly packed to the front created a very, very different atmosphere. They were shouting and dancing and hugging and having a good time, but something just felt jarring, and Flat Moon were cocky and exuberant throughout their set of jizzy jazz-infused ska cuntery.

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Flat Moon

But loving all the bands is not always a prerequisite to a good night: seeing friends and simply getting out is enough. At this time of year, finding the motivation to leave the house can be the issue, and seeing friends doesn’t have to entail talking loudly over the bands, either. The bands could play, they went down well, people came out and supported live music. Good. And that’s all you need.

Cwfen / Helve / Acceptance – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 17th January 2026

Posted: 18 January 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

That a quarter of the tickets sold in 48 hours, and the show was sold out a full three months in advance speaks for itself. It’s been a huge twelve months for Glasgow purveyors of epic goth-tinged doom, Cwfen. It was only last February that they played their first show south of the border. Since then, they’ve toured supporting Faetooth and released their monumental and widely-acclaimed debut album, Sorrows, which has had Kerrang! positively frothing with enthusiasm. And they deserve all of this. There’s something quite special about Cwfen: they’re in a league of their own, and certainly not simply your run-of-the-mill doom band. Make no mistake, they’re full-on and heavy – in places gut-churningly so – but they have so much more going on, especially in terms of melody and dynamics.

This is an outstanding lineup. All three acts are heavier than lead, but each offers something quite different. This matters, because however much you may love a headline act, its tiresome and takes the zip out of an event if the supports are lesser versions of the headliners. I’m reminded of the mid 2000s, when you’d get four instrumental post rock acts on a bill, and I’d find myself crescendo’d out by the end of the second set and be falling asleep on my feet during the headline set, and also the time industrial noise duo Broken Bone supported Whitehouse at the Brudenell. Nothing like having a third-rate tribute act who think they’re amazing as a support.

Leeds is a significant spawning ground for metal acts of all shades, and both Acceptance and Helve showcase the depth of quality on offer. First up, Acceptance bring the weight with some heavy tom-led drumming behind the blanket of guitar. Theirs is a dense wall of screaming anguish, with billowing smoke often obscuring the stage. For all that, there’s remarkable separation between the instruments, and the remarkably thick but clean bass cuts through nicely. By the end of the set, the vocalist is crawling on his hands and knees, drained, having poured every last drop of emotion and energy into a blistering performance. When the opening act could easily be headlining, you know you’re in for a good night.

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Acceptance

Helve’s bassist is wearing a Swans Filth T-shirt. This is something I would consider a recommendation. As it happens, they sound absolutely nothing like Swans, being a full-on metal act, but they are as heavy as hell. With two guitars and bass and massive amps and piles of pedals, there’s no room for the lead vocalist on the small stage. Compared to Acceptance, who play everything at breakneck pace, Helve’s songs slower, more atmospheric, offering a sound that’s more post metal. Applying a screwdriver to his guitar strings, the first guitarist conjures some strange droning sounds at the start of their set. Their riffs are slow and dense, and whole there’s some nice mathy detail along the way, the end of the set brings a full-on chug-blast in the vein of Amenra.

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Helve

While Helve clear out and Cwfen set up, we’re treated to Shellac’s first album by way of entertainment, and when Cwfen hit the stage, opening with ‘Bodies’, it’s like a bolt of lightening. More powerful than even the volume is the stunning clarity of the sound, replicating all the detail of the studio recordings but with the added potency of the immediacy of being in the room and mere feet from the band. The song’s nagging lead guitar part is an instant, hypnotic hook.

Perhaps recognising that Sorrows is perfectly sequenced, the set is, essentially, the album played in order – with the addition of a new and unreleased song, ‘Revenge’, which is inserted – most comfortably – in between ‘Reliks’ and ‘Whispers’.

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Cwfen

For such a dark band, they seem pretty happy on stage, Agnes in particular beaming throughout the set. She’s every reason to: they’re on immaculate form, and the entire room is captivated and shows its appreciation. Each member brings something quite particular to the table: gum chewing barefoot bassist Mary Thomas Baker doesn’t simply play, but becomes the groove, a solid foot-to-the-floor low-end thud that’s more goth than anything else; drummer Rös is pure precision, while Guy deNuit manages to sound like he’s playing multiple parts at once, creating a magnificently textured, layered sound. Agnes, for her part, in addition to some tidy guitar work, is a formidable vocalist with immense presence, effortlessly shifting between commanding clean vocals to a banshee howl in a breath.

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Cwfen

The screaming metal verses of ‘Penance’ give way to a sweeping , majestic chorus, and I find myself blown away in the same way I was the first time I saw them. This is indeed a rare feat. But then, if anything, they’re even better now than a year ago, even more powerful.

Talk about an early peak. I may well see other gigs which equal this one, but the chances of a night which surpasses this before the year is out are, frankly, slim. Bad Owl have done an outstanding job in curating this lineup, and Cwfen are as good a live act as you’re going to find.

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BirdLands / Cowgirl / Still/Moving – The Fulford Arms, York, 8th January 2026

Posted: 9 January 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

This is the first time I’ve felt so conspicuously old that I’ve felt the compulsion to lurk in the shadows and hope I’m invisible. The sensation is compounded by the fact I’ve done something to my back and it’s agony to transition between sitting and standing, and to pick up my pint from near my feet. It would have been so easy to declare turning out too much effort, but beer and live music usually proves to be the best medicine, and so it is once again tonight.

Still/Moving probably count as a rock band by contemporary standards, but they’re a blend of indie and emo and are, essentially, a pop band. They’re also very much a typical university band, finding their feet and padding out a limited number of original compositions with covers. They cover a song by 21 Pilots. They cover ‘Alley Rose’ by Conan Gray. The singer hasn’t quite figured out her moves or what to do when she’s not singing, but they sound solid, with some nice fluid, rolling drumming. Whether this is their limit and they’ll peter out by the time of their finals, or they’ll evolve , only time will tell.

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Still/Moving

Every time I see Cowgirl I hear something different, even with the same or similar setlists. There are some new songs making their debut here, and the US alt-rock of Pavement with a light dash of country and some West Coast breeziness which define their sound are all present as ever, but now I’m hearing a bit of Dinosaur Jr, too. Tonight is their first time out in a while, but if they’re remotely rusty, it’s not evident out front. And just as was the case when I caught them back in September, they crank it up and rock out, the twin guitars and dual vocals of Danny Barton and San Coates switching back and forth. The contrasting styles work so well. Sam’s breaks, like his stage presence, is contained, displaying a certain precision and constraint, whereas Danny is far more flamboyant, at times going full Neil Young in his feedback-laden fretwork, fully wigging out. Again, the set concludes with an immense, climactic finale with a devastating wall of sound. This is how to warm things up on a cold January night.

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Cowgirl

BirdLands (not to be confused with late 80s / early 90s indie act Birdland – the additional ‘s’ in conjunction with the mid-name capitalisation suggesting perhaps the enactment of a verb rather than some geographical location) have been going a few years now, performing their first gig in 2022, and released their debut album in 2024. And yet somehow, they’ve bypassed me – perhaps on account of their live outings being comparatively rare, with their last performance being in July last year. Small wonder this hometown crowd is pleased to see them.

From the moment they take the stage, it’s clear that this is a band with both confidence and ability, and confidence in their ability, too. With two guitars, keyboard, sax, and trumpet, there’s considerable scope for arrangements, and for a band who describe themselves as ‘Post-Punk-Art-Rock’ a significant amount of jazz and funk happens, quite often simultaneously. The bassist is tight and versatile, nailing down some solid grooves and occasionally slipping in some slap action, and in conjunction with the drummer, they make for one strong rhythm section. There’s a lot going on here, with Arctic Monkeys being one of the more obvious touchstones, and not just on account of the wordplay and the unabashed northernness they exude. The lead singer certainly channels Alex Turner in his inflection at times, but then there are dashes of Brett Anderson here and there, and with the incorporation of yelps and whoops, Mark E. Smith as interpreted via James Smith (of Post war Glamour Girls / Yard Act).

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BirdLands

And while most of the stylings are nineties / noughties, some of the interplay between the sax and buoyant bass action is straight out of the Eighties. It’s not just that there’s a lot going on: it’s a lot to process. But there is absolutely no denying their quality. The songs are masterfully composed and arranged, they’re tight, they’re together, they perform rather than simply play. Now they need to expand their horizons beyond York.

Cold in Berlin / Rhombus / Arch Femmesis / Play/Dead / Flowers of Agony – The Fulford Arms, York, 27th December 2025

Posted: 28 December 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

In my workplace, there’s been an email thread circulating with end of year reviews of best and worst gigs etc. It started around the end of November. I had four more shows to go to then, including this one, and you never know if your gig of the year could be a last-minute entry – especially with Cold in Berlin having dropped Wounds mid-November. What with this and Sorrows by Cwfen, it’s been a stellar year for New Heavy Sounds, showcasing some remarkable work by female-fronted bands who really bring the weight.

I’m here first and foremost as a fan tonight: not only hyped by the prospect of seeing Cold in Berlin again for the first time since 2019, but revved by the prospect of Arch Femmesis, who I discovered supporting The Lovely Eggs in May ’22. Their performance struck me and stuck with me, making them an act I vowed to see again whenever the opportunity arose.

Furthermore, this goth Christmas do is a fundraiser for the Sophie Lancaster Foundation. For those unfamiliar, Sophie, aged 20, and her boyfriend were attacked simply for being goths by a bunch of teenage boys, and Sophie would die from her injuries a few days later. It’s one of those things that’s hard to process, and as disparate as the goth / alternative ‘community’ is in such times – and as the range of acts on tonight’s lineup evidences – they prove that there is solidarity among outsiders.

I arrive feeling like I’ve not properly dressed for the occasion – no painted leather jacket, no tassels, no band T-shirt, no winklepickers. I favoured a woollen hat over my Stetson because it’s fucking freezing and I need to cover my ear as well as my hairless head. I console myself with the notion that my resemblance to Andrew Eldritch as he now looks might boost my goth cred. I’m not entirely convinced it does: the place is thick with beards and hair and leather. And I do mean it’s thick… the turnout is impressive for a cold night between Christmas and New Year, a time when a lot of people are away or hibernating or lolling in a festive food coma.

‘We are Flowers of Agony’ announces the guy with glittery makeup and a Siouxsie and the Banshees baseball cap. We? It turns out he has an entire band on his mobile phone, right down to backing vocals. The result is some kind of overwrought synth pop Meatloaf karaoke. Credit where it’s due, it takes some guts to get up there and do that, but… Agony might be a bit harsh, but it was pretty painful.

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Flowers of Agony

Play/Dead are hard to find online amongst the voluminous links to the 80s post-punk act Play Dead, and are very much from the industrial / metal end of the goth spectrum. The singer channels Trent Reznor all the way, and image-wise they’re strong (apart from the lead guitarist, who appears to have just got off work, while shots from previous gigs show him to be suited and booted). The songs are just as strong, and brimming with rage and angst, with programmed drums and sequenced synths interweaving well with the twin-guitar and bass assault. Nihilistic anthem ‘God is Terrorist’ is more Marilyn Manson than Nine Inch Nails, while the penultimate song, ‘Subliminal Messages’ is more Depeche Mode in its template. It’s hard to fault their execution.

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Play/Dead

It’s nigh on impossible to fault Arch Femmesis on any level. The Manchester-based but from Nottingham electro-punk duo can’t be judged by other bands’ standards, because they are something of a unique proposition. Zera Tønin (who featured on ‘Land of the Tyrants’ on the latest album by Benefits) is simultaneously sultry and scary when she’s singing, but sassy and straight-talking between songs, regaling us with details of her menstruation, wind, flatulence and halitosis, and there’s some banter and audience interaction, too. Lyrically, she’s pretty up-front and straightforward, too, and again, not without humour. They’re backed by some pretty hard beats, and by the end of the set they’re pumping hard (the beats, although Zera probably is, too). There’s an element of ‘what have I just witnessed?’ circulating in the post-set buzz, but that’s part of the appeal – that and the fact they were proper bangin’.

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Arch Femmesis

Upbeat trad goths Rhombus have been going since around the turn of the millennium, and have become ubiquitous on the scene during that time, particularly here in Yorkshire. They’ve built quite a following: there are people here tonight who’ve seen them ten, twenty times, and one guy who they hand a certificate for his fiftieth time in attendance. Their formula seems specifically designed for those whose musical credo is ‘I know what I like, and I like what I know’. By way of an example, current single ‘Running From My Shadow’ leans on ‘Walk Away’ by The Sisters of Mercy for intro (that song seems to have become one of the definitive templates for contemporary bands doing the trad goth thing) before going a bit Skeletal Family.

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Rhombus

“Audience… step closer,” instructs bassist / vocalist Edward Grassby. Towering, burly, bearded, behatted, he’s a commanding presence. His addition that the band ‘Won’t come into the crowd, won’t spit beer…’ felt like a rather disparaging dismissal of the previous acts who hadn’t spent beer, but spent considerable time in amongst the punters. And this is where I realise that the band’s personality is a bigger issue than the derivative sound. Well, not the entire band: Lee Talbot’s drumming and Rob Walker’s Simon Hinkler style guitar are outstanding… but Alixandrea Corvyn’s interpretive dance and air drumming detract from her actual singing, and Grassby comes exudes an air of arrogance which far from endearing, and likely a major factor in why I’ve never taken to them. That and the fact they’re called Rhombus. That said, I seem to be in the minority in my view, as there are plenty who are hugely enthusiastic (at least by old goth standards) for them.

Cold in Berlin just keep getting darker and heavier with each release, and tonight’s set draws primarily on the new album, Wounds, and the EP, The Body is the Wound which foreshadowed it – meaning it’s dark and heavy. It’s also absolutely stunning. Maya seems remarkably at ease, and smiles a lot between songs – but during the songs, she emanates a chilling demeanour, a control and intense focus which is utterly petrifying. Often, she ventured out into the crowd, and glides, ghost-like, between the audience members. She’s glacial, while around her, the riffs conjure a devastating maelstrom. This is no better exemplified than when they drop ‘Dream One’: the vocal delivery is icy, stark, the control bordering on psychopathy. The instrumentation is spacious, with air between the suffocating power chords to begin, until everything crashes in and hits with an almost bewildering intensity. There is no ‘White Horse’… but the strength of the nine-song set more than compensates. There isn’t a moment that isn’t like being slammed by a sonic hurricane, and it’s not just because of the pulverising volume.

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Cold in Berlin

Sometimes, you don’t know what you need until you get it. I for one had no idea that what I really needed was a half-tempo rendition of ‘Love Buzz’ to conclude my last outing for beer and live music of 2025, but Cold in Berlin on peak form really outdo themselves: this is absolutely crushing, the slowed-down bass-led riffing so heavy it knocks the air from your lungs. It’s a conclusive pinnacle to a megalithic performance, and the best possible finale to a great night at the end of a great year for live music.

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Cold in Berlin

And to close my last write-up of a live event for the year, a year which has been dominated by Oasis and festivals and immense arena events, I feel compelled to add that having attended a few academy-size events this year, all of the best shows I’ve witnessed – and I’ve been to fifty in all so have enough to benchmark by – the best by far have taken place in sub-500 capacity venues, and there is absolutely no substitute for packing into a tiny place with no barrier and standing close enough to see the whites of their eyes, the sweat beading, the chords played. And tonight encapsulated this perfectly.

The Ruts DC – The Crescent, York, 7th December 2025

Posted: 10 December 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The Ruts always stood out amongst the class of ’77 for being that bit different. Sure, early singles ‘In a Rut’ and ‘Staring at the Rude Boys’ were quintessential rabble-rousers, although clearly more sophisticated than the standard meat ‘n’ potatoes pub rock turned up loud kicked out by many of their peers, and on their debut album, The Crack (1979), classic punk bangers like ‘Babylon’s Burning’ sat alongside straight-up dub tunes like ‘Jah War’ and moody cuts like ‘It Was Cold’ which were closer to post-punk than punk. Commercially, they’re nowhere near The Sex Pistols and numerous others, and never were, despite ‘Babylon’s Burning’ going top ten in the UK, but that’s likely because they were never as packaged and required that bit more work to fully appreciate.

What’s even more remarkable is that since reforming in 2007, they’ve expanded their recorded catalogue significantly, with the second exploratory dub Rhythm Collision album, the fiery, rockier Music Must Destroy, and, most recently, Counterculture?. They’ve remained attuned to current affairs and done so without falling into that common pitfall of old folks trying to be relevant. But then, this is a band who were staunchly anti-racist and anti-nazi from their very birth, even if not necessarily in the songs themselves – and where we find ourselves now means that their stance is as relevant now as it ever was.

Another thing is that while they tour frequently, they keep things varied: the last time they played York, they were touring Electracoustic Volume One – a collection of not-quite acoustic reworkings of songs from their back catalogue. It was a fairly sedate performance, with Segs and Leigh Heggarty seated, as they played two sets, the second more electra- than acoustic, the songs interspersed with some moderately lengthy anecdotes. It felt fitting for a band who had – shall we say – accumulated some years, forty-five years on from the release of that seminal debut.

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Tonight is a very different proposition, and with a very different set-list. For a start, it’s fully electric, and while the obvious songs that simply have to feature in every set are present and correct, there’s a substantial portion of the set devoted to newer material – ‘Psychic Attack’ is a standout – and even a brand new, unreleased song, ‘Bound in Blood’. As a consequence, there’s no ‘H-Eyes’ or ‘This Music Must Destroy’ – but we’re rewarded with rarely-performed deep cuts like ‘Backbiter’ and other classics such as ‘Love in Vain’ instead.

I did feel a niggle of concern when Ruffy shuffled onstage with a stuck and looked awkward getting himself positioned on his stool, but once in place, he was at ease, and his drumming was nothing short of magnificent. An old hand, for sure, he’s laid back and knows his kit like the back of his hand.

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There’s significantly less chat this time, too. Ruffy does briefly reminisce about his childhood before the encore – having been born in York, it’s clear he still feels an affinity and affection for the city, and while The Crescent is a top venue that always brings them a voluminous and enthusiastic turnout, one can’t help but wonder if this is also a factor in their tour booking. But less chat equals more focus on packing in the songs, and they play every last one with total commitment. The musicianship is outstanding throughout, again serving as a reminder that The Ruts could always play – I mean really play: not in a wanky way, but the detail to the guitar parts, the basslines, is remarkable, and they’re so, so tight: it’s no overstatement to say you won’t see a better live act. They pack ‘In a Rut’ (still without any debate, one of the best punk tunes ever), ‘Jah War’ and ‘Babylon’s Burning’ Rut’ (also, still without any debate, one of the best punk tunes ever) into the back-end of the set, and after starting the encore with the comparatively gentle ‘Pretty Lunatics’, wind up with a rip-roaring rendition of ‘Staring at the Rude Boys’.

This is one of those shows which is pure quality, and thoroughly uplifting, energising. Yes, they played the hits, but this was more than some nostalgia trip. This was a night seeing a band as good as they’ve ever been. As the lights went up, there was a palpable buzz about the venue. They’ve still got it, alright, and they still matter. Never surrender!

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Utterly Fuzzled #5: Gaza Gig – Fulfordgate WMC, York, 6th December 2025

Posted: 8 December 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Back in September, Navigator Art and Performance hosted ‘A Gig for Gaza’ to raise funds for MAP (Medical Aid for Palestine) and PCRF (Palestinian Children’s Relief Fund). At the time, I wrote, ‘I shouldn’t be here. This event shouldn’t be happening. No, I don’t mean there shouldn’t be a bunch of York acts performing a packed bill on a Sunday evening in front of around two hundred people, but the reason it’s happening, the circumstances meaning we need a gig for Gaza’. But here we are again. The genocide continues. And as the government continue to stifle protest against the genocide– which for some reason they find more problematic than the mass killing of civilians, largely by arresting pensioners with placards, events such as this show that support and solidarity exists in ways which may be less headline-grabbing, but no less significant.

This time around, it’s the curators of the consistently wonderful Utterly Fuzzled events who are doing their bit, this time with a fundraiser for Medical Aid for Palestinians. It can often feel like that as artists, or individuals, we’re powerless in the face of this, and in many ways, we are, but these are the ways we use our platforms and what capacity we have to do something – because something, however, small, is infinitely better than nothing.

It’s a cold and very wet Saturday night in December. The kind of night that would validate the narrative that music venues go bust because they’re not supported, and people want to see bands they know over local acts and so on… yes, it’s been cold and wet in York for a solid month now, and every time I leave the house to go to an event I experience a depressing sense of déjà vu.

One thing that will never engender a sense of déjà vu is the range of acts on offer at a typical Fuzzled event, and this is no exception.

Efemel should have been further up the bill, but the demands of parenting young children don’t sit so easily with being in a band – meaning that anyone who wasn’t down early doors missed out on a treat. On the surface, they’re an indie rock act, who play sad but optimistic and heartfelt songs, with a dash of country in the mix. But that’s only half the story: fairly ordinary on paper, but on stage, they’re rich in quality, with nuanced and well-considered arrangements and a high level of technical proficiency, with a lead guitarist who demonstrates a rare understanding that less is more.

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Efemel

Kar Pouzi proved to be an absolute revelation – at least to me. Anyone who is a regular reader will know where I’m coming from here, and I felt a buzz of excitement from early on in her unashamedly strange and arty set. Switching between baritone saxophone and unusual microphone technique, Helen Papaioannou offers a performance that’s captivating – for me – and perplexing for many. Her setup involved laptop and pedals, with undulating oscillators and drum machines accompanying her unconventional approach to music-making. There’s a lot of breath and discord here, and – at times – some blasting noise. Kar Pouzi sits on the fringes of jazz, with the saxophone and vocals channelled through various processors and loops resulting in music that belongs to the early, evolutionary stages of industrial as represented by Cabaret Voltaire and some of Throbbing Gristle’s work.

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Kar Pouzi

Landing in the middle of the bill, Raucous Dorks are a bit ramshackle, with their set marred somewhat by a very trebly guitar sound and, despite spending some considerable time passing the tuner back and forth, some serious tuning issues. There were moments which offered glimmers of entertainment, but they really didn’t seem to be firing on all cylinders on this outing.

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Raucous Dorks

In contrast, Knitting Circle never fail to deliver, and seemingly find additional cylinders to fire every time they play. Even though reduced to a three-piece in recent months, they charge forth, sonically undiminished, Pete Dale’s choppy Andy Gill / Wilko Johnson influenced guitar slicing across Jo’s strolling basslines. Their songs are songs which touch on a swathe of sociopolitical issues and – now (semi) famously, after a BBC feature – issues rarely broached, such as the menopause, the topic of ‘Losing My Eggs’. Because things are running behind time, their set is abridged, but they still manage to open with a new song, closed their set with the rousing and apposite ‘Safe Routes’ and pack in no shortage of established corkers along the way. They’re raising awareness of menopause, they’re anti-fox hunting, they’re opposed to genocide and war in general, and are clearly a menace to society. They absolutely get my backing, and are without question among the finest of the city’s representatives, at a time when York is spawning some fantastic bands.

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Knitting Circle

Headliners Fashion Tips aren’t from York, but they’re pretty fucking special, as my coverage of their releases and their last York appearance supporting Thank in April last year attests. They’re presenting a different lineup here, and are stripped back to a three-piece. And tonight’s headlining set is barely half an hour in duration, but it’s a brain-frying frenzy of explosive electronica and instruments that sound plain wrong at times – by which I mean the bass sounds like brain-whizzing scribbling synth overloading with treble on minute before switching to gut-blasting low-end the next while the guitar delivers both shards of trebly distortion and weirdy noises more commonly associated with analogue synths. The chaotic, cacophonous racket is all driven by the most frenetic, spasmodic blasts of drum machine. The band positively crackle with energy, and look like they’re having a blast as they pack the songs so tight there’s absolutely no time to catch a breath. The effect is a short, sharp shock, and makes for a dizzying climax to a stacked lineup – and all in a good cause, too. Free Palestine!

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Fashion Tips

PAK40 / Teleost / ATKRTV – The Fulford Arms, York – 4th December 2025

Posted: 5 December 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

It’s a cold and very wet Thursday night in December. The kind of night that would validate the narrative that music venues go bust because they’re not supported, and people want to see bands they know over local acts and so on – if the place had been quiet. But there’s nothing quiet about tonight., in terms of turnout or decibels. Ok, it’s not rammed, but it’s respectably busy, and as for the volume… These guys take it all the way to eleven.

The promoter’s strategy of booking a local / student / uni band to open up is one that rarely fails, and there’s a significant turnout early doors for ATKRTV. It helps that they’re good, albeit an acquired taste and not your average uni band. Operating in the classic power trio format, their primary inspirations are clearly US noise rock and grunge – there’s a bit of the Jesus Lizard here, a dash of Sonic Youth and Shellac there – as well as UK 90s noise that makes nods to the likes of Fudge Tunnel and Terminal Cheesecake – but there’s a lot going on, with hints of avant jazz in the blend, too. They’re a bit rough round the edges, but there is a musical style which is forgiving of this, and the jagged jarring juxtapositions of squalling guitar work with some meaty bass work evidences a technical ability beneath the surface of the feedback-strewn tempest. And while the banter might need some work, the songs are a glorious angular explosive racket, and they give them a hundred percent. And this is why it’s always worth getting down early doors. Every headliner was a support act once, after all.

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In my recent review of that debut album, Atavism, I commented on how the challenge would be for them to replicate the live sound in the studio. This is because their life sound is simply immense. There really is no other word for it. And this is not volume simply for the sake of it: this is volume as an expression, volume which renders the music physical, volume without which certain frequencies and tonalities, so integral to their sound, would not be achievable. Their performance in this same venue back in February was spellbinding, and I came tonight in the hope of replicating that experience. And oh yes, I did, and then some: Teleost seemed to take things to the next next level tonight.

Theirs is a subtly different take on the whole droning doom / stoner form, incorporating almost folky elements in the way that more recent Earth albums do. And instead of being solely about bludgeoning riffery – and hell, there’s plenty of that – there’s a rare attention to detail, not just in the delicate picking and soft cymbal splashes in the quieter moments, but in the full-spectrum sonic experience they conjure. And yes, conjure is the word: this is a world of magic made with a mystical blend of musicianship, amps, pedals, and something else quite indefinable. The way Leo Hancill uses a standard guitar, played through a substantial but not extravagant pedal set and two amps, to cover the range of both guitar and bass is spectacular in itself, but what really makes their sound unique, and it’s so easy to lose yourself in the timbre and texture, the way the sounds reverberate against one another to create this sensurround experience.

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Teleost

Once again, I find myself truly mesmerised by Cat Redfern’s ultra slow drumming. What’s most remarkable is how effortless she makes it appear. Granted, her sticks are batons, but she is still an immensely hard hitter please with absolute precision. Yet she plays with an order of serenity, her expression calm, almost a smile, although it’s clear that’s behind this is intense concentration, and perhaps an element of telepathy between herself and Leo. Certainly the intuition between pair is remarkable, and no amount of rehearsal alone can achieve this level of tightness. The way they navigate the peaks and troughs, spinning elongated quiet passages, where they reduce everything to a hushed hum and the tinkle of a cymbal before bringing in a cataclysmic riff with pinhead precision is nothing short of phenomenal. And for all the noise, the experience is remarkably calming.

Before Teleost, there was PAK40. But with basis / vocalist Andy Glen now resident in Germany, and Leo Hancill living in Glasgow, activity from this former York duo is now extremely rare. That they’re touring with Teleost, having released a new EP simultaneous with the Teleost album makes economical sense, but also represents a significant feat of co-ordination.

It’s not difficult to identify the origins of Teleost when listening to pack 40. They’re certainly slow and heavy. But their style draws more overtly on the Sabbath-based doom sludge template, and there much more overtly metal. In places, they present a sort of blackened New Age metal hybrid. There’s also something more direct about their drum / bass combination. But oh, that bass. The thick, tearing distortion when the riffs kick in are agonisingly close to brown note territory: you feel your ribs rattle and your skin quivering.

In contrast to Cat Redfern’s zen drumming, Leo drums with his face, and in contrast to Hanclil’s slow nodding guitar style, Andy Glen goes all out with some unrestrained headbanging as he unleashes the most pulverising bass riffs. PAK40 are harder, and more abrasive. And this is why the double-header works: for all of their similarities, the two bands bring different shades of heavy. And they’re both intense, physical forces.

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PAK40

I babble some shit to people on the way out. I think I got away with it, because everyone is equally dazed. We’ve been blitzed, blown out of our minds and shaken out of our skins tonight by a musical experience that borders on transcendental. It’s a cut above your average wet Thursday night in December, for sure.

Benefits / The DSM IV – The Fulford Arms, York, 19th November 2025

Posted: 20 November 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Benefits exploded onto the scene not long after lockdown – and I mean exploded, an atomic detonation of rage. The essence of the setup was pretty simple: angry sociopolitical spoken word delivered with blistering vitriol, backed by a blinding wall of noise. The result could reasonably be described as something in between Whitehouse and Sleaford Mods, but the fact is that from day one, Benefits created their own niche. The live shows were jaw-dropping, and the debut album, Nails captured that raw energy with a rare precision.

The arrival of second album, Constant Noise marked a necessary departure – sonically mellower, far more beat-orientated, a lot less shouty, angry-sounding. My first impression was that it was decent, more produced, but still packed some sting in the lyrics., and will be hard to top in terms of the number of mentions of dogshit in albums of the 2020s. But it’s a fair reflection of post-lockdown Britain: dogs have proliferated exponentially, and concordantly so has the volume of dogshit – and, just as bad, bags of dogshit tied and dropped, piled next to or on top of bins, and hung in trees. What kind of twat does that? A selfish one is the only answer. But as for the album, I kinda let it sit for a while. But over time, with more – and more – listens, the album’s depths reveal themselves. Constant Noise is every bit as angry as Nails, and if anything, the more moderate, tempered delivery hits harder. It just takes a little bit longer to reveal its depths and quality. But how would this translate live, especially now they’ve been stripped back to the founding duo of Kingsley Hall and Robbie Major?

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Benefits

Before we would get to find out, there was the equally intriguing support. The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are one of those acts who may have only attained cult status during their time together, but it’s one which has expanded since their demise. They were always a band destined to implode, as was apparent when I witnessed a particularly fractious gig here in York circa 2007. But this was always a band which had derangement and volatility wired into their makeup. Guy McKnight formed DSM IV in 2018, and they’re an altogether different proposition, trading in gothy electro with some tidy guitar textures woven into the fabric of the songs, and Guy seems altogether more settled. It’s all relative, of course, and he ventures into the crowd on numerous occasions, and at one point around the middle of the set, tosses mic stand over, drops the mic and busts some tai chi moves. It’s a solid set, both compelling and entertaining, and they’ve got some tunes, too.

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The DSM IV

Benefits don’t really have a great many tunes in the conventional sense. Choruses and hooks aren’t the primary focus of their compositions. Hall’s words range from reflective and ponderous to outright roaring rage, the backing spanning sprawling barrages of obliterative noise to quite chilled dance grooves. But at this volume, and when delivered with this much passion, there’s nothing chilled about this live show.

Here, I find myself returning to the topic of seeing an act you’ve seen before and been blown away by, and going to see them again in the hope of replicating that first time – only it’s a weak hope, because the first time has the element of surprise which is unlikely to be repeated. Yes, a band may be consistently awesome, but that first bombshell experience, that initial high… very few bands have the capacity to have that impact more than once. Benefits, however, hit even harder on this outing than any before.

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Benefits

There was word online that their current tour was as brutal as any they’d ever done. Having seen them three times previously, and never with the same lineup, it seemed like that claim might be a bit of a stretch, particularly without a live drummer. But synthetic beats have a way of bludgeoning and cracking in a way that live drums don’t always, and when paired with gut-churning low-frequencies and ear-bleeding top-end noise, the sonic impact of what blasts from the PA is positively immolating.

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Benefits

Kingsley gets most of the chat out of the way at the start, with a bit at the end: in between, they power through a relentless set uninterrupted. And relentless it is, and not just sonically: with the sole lighting consisting of blinding white strobes for the entire duration of the hour-and-twenty-minute set, the stark, uncompromising nature of the music and lyrics is amplified. They put every ounce of energy into the show, Hall positively streaming with perspiration by a third of the way through. And we feel the passion; the whole room is buzzing and aglow with a sense of unity through a shared experience of catharsis. These are shit times. Dark times, bleak and scary times, domestically and globally. Benefits capture the zeitgeist, and rail against those who will one day be proven to have stood on the wrong side of history – the right-wing, flag-shagging, pro-Brexit, racist, xenophobic, hatemongering, exploitative, manipulative capitalist shits and their supporters and enablers – articulating thoughts and feelings with a unique precision and an intensity which is positively nuclear. The experience is nothing short of mind-blowing.

Dead Space Chamber Music / Lunar Cult Club / Eldermother – The Fulford Arms, York, 17th November 2025

Posted: 18 November 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Live music should carry a warning over its addictive properties. Witnessing a band playing a set so good that you’re buzzing for hours, even days afterwards is a unique high, and one that sets a seed of a desperate need to replicate that experience.

I’ve seen a lot of live music since I started going to gigs over thirty years ago, but the number of acts who have ignited that sense of fervent excitement is limited. I’ve seen many, many amazing shows, but few have blown me away to the extent they’ve felt in some way transformative. Dead Space Chamber Music are one of those few, and I left the Cemetery Chapel in York a few months back feeling dazed and exhilarated, my ears whistling despite having worn earplugs. I simply had to see them again, in the hope to experience that same sense of rapture.

Eldermother – consisting of Clare de Lune on harp and vocals and Michalina Rudawska on cello – have no shortage of musical pedigree, and a superabundance of talent which they showcase with their minimal neoclassical works, a mix of covers and original material. They open with Radiohead’s ‘Street Spirit (Fade Out)’ led by harp and with Clare’s soaring vocals, and it’s one of those performances that make the hair stand up on back of your neck with its haunting atmosphere. There’s a rendition of WB Yeats’ poem ‘The Stolen Child’, a work rich with imagery inspired by wild nature and imbued with emotion and drama. The execution is magnificent, and the originals are similarly graceful and majestic. ‘Hurt’ may not be by any stretch representative of Trent Reznor’s career, but it certainly showcases his capacity for powerfully emotive songwriting, and if it’s the song which forms his legacy, it’s all to the good. Yes, Eldermother play a semi-operatic version of ‘Hurt’ with harp and dark, brooding cello, and… woah. It’s almost too much, especially this early in the evening. I find myself dabbing a tear and grateful for the low lighting.

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Eldermother

Lunar Cult Club – featuring Doug Gordon, aka Futures We Lost – as the provider of the instrumental machinations, take the theatricality up several notches to deliver a set of otherworldly cold, cold, darkest electro with glacial synths and funereal forms. The bank of synths swirl and grind, muddy beats thud and pop from amidst a dense sonic fog. Sonically, they’re impressive – in the main, the arrangements are sparse, and overtly analogue in form – but visually, they’re something else. Theirs is a highly theatrical stage show, and this significantly heightens the impact of the songs. The two singers, dressed all in black and with faces obscured by long, black lace veils – Corpse Bride chic, as my notes say – sway and move their arms in an unnerving fashion, as if reanimated, exhumed. I’m reminded of Zola Jesus and of Ladytron, and I’m mesmerised by their facsimile of a Pet Sematary Human League with its spellbinding marionette choreography. The final song, ‘No-Ones Here to Save Her’ is as dark as it gets: the vocals merge and take us to another realm entirely.

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Lunar Cult Club

I’m still floating in a state of mild delirium when Dead Space Chamber Music take to the stage. The atmosphere is thick, tense, hushed… awed. Something about the trio’s presence alone makes you sit up, lean in, eyes wide, ears pricked. There’s a lot of detail here. Their focus is gripping by way of spectacle, and their set is designed as a linear work which evolves and transitions over its duration, in a way which calls to mind when Sunn O))) toured Monoliths and Dimensions, whereby, over the course of the set, Attila Csihar transformed into a tree. There are props and costume embellishments, mostly on the part of Ellen Southern, who performs vocals and various percussion elements and a strange stringed instrument: she brings much drama and theatricality, delivered with a sense of self-possession and deep spirituality which is utterly entrancing.

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Dead Space Music Orchestra

They’re so quiet you can hear matchsticks dropping into a tray. But the fact that these things are audible, amidst cavernous reverb and sepulchral echoes, is a measure of the clarity of the sound and the band’s attention to detail. Ekaterina Samarkina is impressive in the sheer versatility and nuanced approach she takes to the percussion which is truly pivotal to the performance. Her work is so detailed, subtle, the sound so bright and crisp, as she slowly scrapes the edges of her cymbals with a bow. Lurking in the background, Tom Bush – on guitar – plays with restraint, sculpting shapes and textures rather than playing conventional chords and melodies. In combination, they conjure a rarefied atmosphere.

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Dead Space Chamber Music

But towards the end of the set, as if from nowhere, emerge huge cathedrals of sound. The last time around, I compared their climactic crescendos to Swans, and having seen Swans just over a week ago, I very much stand by the parallel called then. And this is not volume for volume’s sake: this is about catharsis, about escape. Dead Space Chamber Music make music which is immense, transcendental. And when they go all-out for the sustained crescendo of the finale, it’s not because of a bank of pedals or a host of gear: they simply play harder, throwing themselves behind their instruments, and full-throttle intensity. It may not be as loud as on that previous outing, or perhaps it’s simply because I’m expecting it, but they nevertheless raise the roof, and fill the space with expansive layers of sound on sound.

The three acts very much compliment one another, making for an event which is more than merely a gig, more than three bands playing some songs: this is an occasion, steeped in theatre and art, performed with a sense of ritual. The experience is all-encompassing, immersive, enveloping; it takes you out of life and suspends time for its duration. It will take some time to return to reality.

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