Archive for the ‘Live’ Category

Soma Crew / JUKU / Johnny D and the Space Cadets / Sewage Farm

Posted: 6 November 2026 in Live, Reviews
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The Black Horse, York, 5th November 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

When you get into live music, some shows will always stand out, particularly among the formative experiences. Over time, recollections and different bands and places tend to blur somewhat, and particularly when there’s beer involved. It’s not always the big name events which stake the strongest places in the memory banks, either, and so it is that tonight – a free event with four acts playing in a pub just outside York city walls – proves to be one of those gigs which will not soon be forgotten.

I’ve been wearing earplugs to gigs since 2008. It may not be cool, but nor is being deaf, and I’d rather be able to still be going to see live bands in another eighteen years, assuming I live that long. And yet, despite the plugs, I find myself reviewing my notes and sifting through my photos since arriving home with a persistent whistle in my ears, the likes of which I haven’t suffered in a very long time – since before the days of wearing plugs, perhaps. Or maybe since the last time I saw A Place to Bury Strangers.

This is by some margin the loudest pub gig I’ve attended since 1993. That year, having started gig-going in 1990, and so already reasonably accustomed to live music, I was annihilated by the ear-bleeding blast of Lung at The Duke of Wellington in Lincoln, the obliterative squall of Rosa Mota at The Falcon, and not to be outdone, my own band – who David Gedge would describe as ‘well loud’ a year later when we shared a bill at The University of York – played a set so loud the vibrations shook the head off the bass amp when we played at The Falstaff in Lincoln. Yes, I grew up in Lincoln, and subsequently escaped. And I have seen no shortage of high-volume performances in the intervening years, from Swans to the aforementioned A Place to Bury Strangers (holy shit: that’s a band which redefines brain-melting volume) as well as Sunn O))), and a couple of Iggy Pop shows which were off the chart, in so many ways. The fact I’m transported back to those events in my earlier life is testament to the impact of tonight’s aural onslaught.

Sewage Farm are on first, and it’s insane that a band of this pedigree – Sam Forest used front Nine Black Alps and bassist Danny is a former Federal, and they headlined here earlier in the year – is mind blowing. Their pre-show post on Facebook stated that this has been their most successful year to date, playing ten shows, selling around thirty CDs and ten T-shirts…. Meaning I’ve seen a third of their live outings for the year. And I can say in all honesty, I’ve never been disappointed. And I did briefly consider wearing my Sewage Farm T-shirt tonight, but then thought ‘fuck it’, mostly because it’s way too cold for a T-shirt and I’m layering up with long sleeves and a hoodie. And jacket. And a coat. I need the pockets. With their blend of Mudhoney, Bleach -era Nirvana, and the attack of late 80s hardcore, their sound is proper grungy, and this is perhaps the best I’ve seen them yet. It’s also seriously fucking loud.

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Sewage Farm 

Johnny D and the Space Cadets are from Sunderland and play ultra-dense blues boogie rock ‘n’ roll with, at times, something of a vague psyche hue, and a hefty dash of surf twang for good measure. It turns out that the space cadets are just the drummer, who sports a hat and shades, and shares vocal duties. The guitar signal is split through two amps, one of which is a bass, giving a phenomenal density to their sound. In places, they’re like ZZ Top, but with the amps up to twelve. They’re unbelievably loud, and pure quality.

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Johnny D and the Space Cadets

So how will JUKU, who enjoy (if only by my pronouncements) the reputation of York’s loudest band stand up in the face of the preceding sonic blitzkrieg? Characteristically, they just get their heads down and crank out the riffs back-to-back, with no stopping, no let-up, no chat. Naomi announces the song titles amidst a raging wall of feedback as the drummer is already beating his sticks to count in the next song, and they’re off again. And as always, the sound is a dense mesh, but the drums cut through with thunderous clarity and it’s all delivered at 130 decibels and at a hundred miles an hour. ‘Trigger’ mines a more overtly post-punk sound, with a dash of shoegaze in the blend, while ‘Out of Control’ is a dark grunge beast in the vein of Solar Race. Dan is just going crazy in his corner of the stage, like no-one is watching, while Naomi is effortless nonchalance as she pretender her glasses aren’t sliding down her face. And they kick ass like no other band around.

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JUKU

Something about tonight is just different, and special. The crowd are keen, the bands are in the zone, and Soma Crew’s droning one-chord diffs are particularly satisfying at this volume. And this volume is the level where you feel like you’re floating. I know there are many who feel that high volume is detrimental to a live experience, and it can be, but some bands are best experienced at a level whereby your internal organs are slowly rearranged. You don’t simply hear the frequencies, but feel them, in your guts and elsewhere, and it’s immersive. For a time, the sound lifts you out of body, out of mind, out of the everyday world and lifts you to another place altogether, a cerebral zone where there is nothing but you and the sound. Everything else fades to a blur, melts into the distance. You don’t need drugs to transport, transform, and elevate you from grounded reality.

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Soma Crew

For ‘Propaganda Now’, the lap steel is subbed out for a third guitar, and from hereon in the sound is like a jet engine, and all there is to do is bask in the enormity of the sound. Time’s pressing on, and they announce their last song at 22:38. It’s ‘Westworld’ so the riff doesn’t land until 22:41 they’re still plugging away at it six minutes later. This is peak Soma Crew: they stretch and bend time as they weave their way around eternal looping riffs, holding a single chord for a lifetime, while Nick happily rattles away at the back, the very definition of motorik. They seem to have raised their game tonight in response to the unprecedented volume, and ‘Westworld’ makes for the perfect close to a phenomenal night.

The cold November night air hits as a welcome relief, and the fireworks that were blasting like a war-zone on the way in have desisted – or maybe I just can’t hear them.

LUNG / Trauma Party / Paper Fortune / 11 x 11 – Moon, Newtown, Wellington, New Zealand, 31 October 2026

Posted: 3 November 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Words: Michel Rowland

Photos: Vince Cabrera

It has been nine months since I saw either LUNG or Trauma Party live, each at different dates on the New Zealand leg of Schkeuditzer Kreuz’s Swan Grinding tour, back in late January. It seems fitting that it is not only Halloween, but Kieren (Schkeuditzer Kreuz)’s birthday, so I have worn my Swan Grinder tee to mark the occasion.

I’m meeting regular gig-buddy Natalie at the venue early, so we can catch up before things get loud. While I wait, local gig photographer Vince Cabrera and I discover that we’ve both just arrived in Wellington from the Hutt Valley on the same train. I am soon joined by Natalie, and a few other familiar faces begin to file in. Kirsty from Trauma Party, Dave and Zak (and brother Niko) from LUNG, Xan and Victoria from Angel 11 x 11… There is even a surprise appearance by old mucker Mikel from Christchurch, whom I’ve not seen since the previous Schkeuditzer Kreuz NZ tour in 2023. The circumstances of his being here in Wellington could certainly have been a lot happier, but it’s a nice surprise, nonetheless. Mikel remembers when his old band, the mighty post-industrial no-wave noise merchants Leonard Nimoy, played with LUNG. My best guess is that this would have been c.1993, on LUNG’s Three Heads on a Plate tour.

I might normally expect to have seen a few more folks tonight, but presumably Halloween has pulled many of us between a few more prospects than just any other Saturday. The crowd that eventually gathers is a small but enthusiastic mix of LUNG’s regulars, perhaps a handful of the other bands’ local followers (albeit not many, given that two of the four bands are from out of town), and a few random revellers for Halloween. With around three quarters of the bandmembers aged between their fifties and sixties, a good chunk of the faithful few are of a similar vintage – old enough to remember all of this post-punk business from the first time around. Among the younger set, it is occasionally difficult to distinguish the small clutch of goths from those of their peers in Halloween costumes. A young man dressed as Johnny Bravo is offering chocolates and Werther’s Originals to all in attendance, although quite a few people seem not to make the Halloween = candy connection, and regard him with suspicion. The Werther’s, meanwhile, have been steadily melting in his back jeans pocket. Outside on Riddiford Street, as the night grows dark, the usual Newtown nightlife is increasingly dotted with small groups dressed for Halloween, while the spillover from the Toa Samoa and Tonga Community Rugby League Parade sees a steady flow of utes (pick-up trucks) flying Samoan or Tongan flags up and down the main drag.

I have been trying to stay off the booze for a while now, with varying degrees of success, and am apprehensive about what will be the first gig I have attended in many years without being buoyed by alcohol. I need not have worried. I am in good company so far as non-drinkers go, and aside from being a great little bar and venue, MOON put on a pretty good selection of non-alcoholic beverages, as well as making some bloody good pizza. And it turns out that, contrary to what I’ve been telling myself for decades, I am in fact quite capable of socialising and enjoying music with old friends, without also having to be inebriated. Who knew?

Opening act is Whanganui duo Angel 11 x 11, comprising Xan Tesla and Victoria Singh. As with LUNG and Trauma Party, the last time I saw these two was when I conscripted Victoria (alias DJ Virago, of Dark Entries Dance Night) to DJ at Schkeuditzer Kreuz’s Wellington show in January, and she arrived with new beau Xan in tow. Xan’s music I knew primarily from his days in Nelson blackmetal / doom outfit Beltane, around the 1990s and early 2000s. Victoria I remember seeing live for the first time back around 1997, when she was a sort of avantgarde gothic sleaze cabaret singer called Satina Saturnina, singing a song about how she fucked her Barbie.

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11 x11

I have earlier spent some time negotiating with Victoria to purchase one of their very limited-edition of 11 handmade CD-R ‘maxi-singles’. She seems reluctant to part with even one, and far more interested in showing me the display case she has decorated and brought them in. It is a very nice display case, to be fair. The suggestion that I might pay $11 for #11 of 11 seems to finally tip the scales in my favour.

If I hadn’t listened to their demos on Bandcamp earlier, I might have been expecting sludgy, doom-laden post-industrial fringe performance art, but Angel 11 x 11 are something altogether more entertaining. This is more like glammed-up electro-goth: a backdrop of grandiose ‘80s drum machines and atmospheric synth programming, overlaid with histrionic guitar solos on a Flying V, and minimalist post-punk basslines enshrouded in chorus and flanger… part Specimen, part Sisters, and (as Vince astutely observes) part Sigue Sigue Sputnik.

Undisputed frontrunners for the Most Halloween-Appropriate Band of the Night Award, Angel 11 x 11 are as much a visual presence as a musical one. Xan, on lead vocals and guitar, is a sinewy spider from Mars in leather trousers, both disco reptile and funky alligator, his eye makeup a nod to Pris from Blade Runner. His long, slender form hunches and contorts to drape itself over and around the mic stand, and sometimes seems to completely envelop his guitar. Victoria, on bass and backing vocals, is a smouldering hot mess of layered op-shop furs and négligés, making expressive Nina Hagen eyes at the audience from beneath Siouxsie-esque kohl. She doesn’t so much approach the microphone as she does stalk it like a cat and pounce upon it, before fellating it into submission. They are a gloriously tongue-in-cheek rock’n’roll pastiche, and magnificent fun that had me grinning from ear-to-ear for much of their set.

Next on the bill were Paper Fortune, the one band I had no prior knowledge of whatsoever. They are a fourpiece, fronted by Esther Tempest and Emmie Ellis, who trade lead vocal duties and alternate between lead and rhythm guitars. Esther is a southpaw, which further adds to the symmetry of dual frontpersons. Their opening number was a languid, swooning, indie guitar ballad that verged onto alt-country / dreampop terrain, while the rest of their set was a largely up-tempo blend of alternative rock, indie guitar pop, and occasional forays into grungier riot grrrl territory.

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Paper Fortune

I wish I had managed to swipe a setlist, or that I had since been able to find more than two demos from four years ago online, because then I would be able to tell you which songs I liked best. But I do know that one of them was called ‘Fairweather Friend’, which featured a beautiful, soaring vocal from Emmie, calling to mind (for me, at least) some of Tanya Donnelly’s more commanding moments during her tenure with Throwing Muses. It was a brand-new song, apparently, on its first live outing, and while the band didn’t quite stick the landing at the end, that did little to spoil it, as it felt as though it was supposed to collapse into chaos anyway.

Not necessarily the sort of thing I’d ordinarily go out of my way to see, Paper Fortune nevertheless made a convincing case for themselves. And if nothing else, I came away wishing there was more of their music available to listen to, which is surely a good sign.

Having made their way from Waiheke Island to Wellington this weekend, with another gig in Whanganui and a side-mission in Levin along the way, Trauma Party launch into their set at MOON with latest single ‘Roll Up (It’s the New Truth)’, from the debut EP Because You’ve Been Good. Its rumbling, jagged tumult immediately sets the tone for the band to blaze their way through previously unreleased tracks ‘Fuckface’, ‘Bad Things (Happen in Small Towns)’, and brand-new song ‘Flamingos’, with scarcely a pause between them, bridged by guitarist Derek Solomon’s wall-to-wall feedback, and a few cryptic words of introduction from frontman Buddy Olson. The band’s apparent commitment to touring every provincial shithole in the North Island lately has certainly paid dividends, which are nowhere more apparent than on ‘Bad Things (Happen in Small Towns)’: a song that drummer Kirsty Swanney ploughs into with aggressive enthusiasm.

Since I last saw them in Auckland, Swanney has gone from a solid, energetic drummer, albeit occasionally a little awkward and stiff, to a veritable fucking powerhouse. Routinely dealing with bogan male underestimations of the female bandmember has stoked her (f)ire and given her something to prove, and it shows. She brings to the stage that same contagious sense of absolute joy at playing that she always did, but now moves seamlessly between thunderous, rolling tom-driven arrangements and syncopated, twitching, off-kilter post-punk backdrops, through to even occasionally basic DIY garage punk backbeats, where that is what the song calls for. Throughout, her playing is powerful, dynamic and fluid, with an instinctive musicality that extends well beyond mere time-keeping.

Bassist Ron K’s undulating, grinding basslines work particularly well in tandem with Kirsty’s oceanic rhythms, an interplay and musical rapport dating back to their time together in post-punk outfit Glass Cell. Onstage, Ron himself cuts a comparatively discreet figure among Trauma Party’s larger-than-life personalities, slight of frame and quietly unassuming in his presence. There is nothing slight about the sonic gravity of his bass, however, which occupies its own considerable space within the band’s sound. Indeed, there is an economy without austerity to Trauma Party’s arrangements, with every instrument making full use of the space afforded to it, leaving nothing wasted or wanting.

The whole band has become more intensely focused. They are somehow more raucous, rowdy and raw than ever, yet simultaneously more tightly honed, well-oiled and streamlined. Where Derek Solomon’s guitar lines on earlier singles ‘Speak to Me’ and ‘Sharks’ tended towards the spritely, spiky melodicism of Magazine or Wire, both songs in a live setting now carry more of the sonic heft and muscular, corrugated-iron guitar style of Solomon’s earlier punk, metal, and industrial rock background. That increased resonance and density is even more pronounced across the newer material making up the majority of their set. Solomon fills the roles of both sideman and bandleader equally well, commanding stage right as the band’s musical director on guitar, while serving as a vocal foil to frontman Buddy Olson.

Offstage, the white-haired Olson presents as a softly spoken, unassuming, warm but somewhat reticent sort of chap. Onstage, he immediately transforms into that late twentieth century countercultural archetype of rock’n’roll frontman as poet, shaman and guru: a lyrical conduit for both the band and the audience’s collective neurodivergence and sociopolitical anxieties. As animistic shapeshifter, he is at once Saruman the White and the Wild Man of Borneo, Ian Anderson, Jim Morrison, J Mascis and Obi-Wan Kenobi. With ‘Flamingos’ he delivers the imperative to shake-shake-shake one’s pink tailfeather whilst furnishing us with an instructive demonstration, replete with shared catcalls of “Hoo! Hoo!” from both Olson and Solomon. Buddy doesn’t so much do The Swim during ‘Sharks’ as allow his arms to become sea-serpents, whose unified ambition is to illustrate the line “sharks in the river” to the audience, through a form of interpretive dance known only to sea-serpents who are also arms. He introduces ‘City Shines’ as a song of appreciation for people who adorn trains with spray-painted artworks, and as if by magic, you are listening to the unstoppable force of a train going by. “I see my name go by”, he roars, “I’m a fucking God!”. ‘Molotov Disco’ meanwhile gives us the line “It’s a revolution, it’s a dancefloor banger / Every revolution needs a dancefloor banger.”

At least eight of their eleven songs tonight are destined for a debut album, scheduled to start tracking in earnest this month, if I recall correctly. I can scarcely wait.

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Trauma Party

LUNG frontman Dave White has screamed himself hoarse the night beforehand, opening for Mudhoney in Tauranga. His solution tonight, it seems, is to scream himself even hoarser. He sounds as if he has been gargling Tom Waits’s cigarette ash for mouthwash.

Earlier in the day, by some strange, synchronistic turn of events, I had just received a review of LUNG’s latest album, Fog, from Austrian alternative rock print zine, SLAM. The reviewer described the band as: “Somewhere between garage, post-punk and grunge… wild and idiosyncratic… between genius and madness… LUNG rage away on Fog as though there were no tomorrow, anarchic and always surprising… almost as though THE STOOGES and SONIC YOUTH had been reincarnated together…”

I didn’t get a spare moment to send it to Dave before I had to catch my train into town. In fact, fuck. I still haven’t sent it to him.

We – that is the vaping and / or smoking contingent – have gone back outside again during the changeover between bands. As LUNG take the stage, I hear Dave impatiently begin to strike at his guitar, and I see bassist James Woods break from a casual stroll into a hurried sprint across the few short metres between the toilets and the stage.

Presumably, you have to be well-heeled to follow Dave’s lead. The sonic equivalent of Captain Ahab, he leads a devoted skeleton crew of James and drummer Zak White (who is also Dave’s son) to the depths of hell and back in pursuit of some crazed vision known only to Dave. And a formidable crew they make. James’s lurching, churning, staggering bass does as much of the melodic heavy lifting as it does hold down the bottom end, while Dave’s guitars repeatedly veer off into unbridled noise. Zak’s drumming is gargantuan. Beneath the sheer scale and velocity of it there is also intricacy and rhythmic invention, from swinging, loping 3/4 and 6/8 time-signatures, to breakneck punkabilly hoedowns, to more complex, tempestuous fills where the songs allow space for them. James and Zak’s obvious technical proficiency, however, is never showy, and never threatens to overpower the raw DIY ethos of LUNG. They are the anchor stone to which Dave’s madcap tangents are tethered, while he is the lightning rod through which their collective energies are channelled into something altogether more volatile.

The list of songs at Dave’s feet is more like a series of suggestions than a prescribed setlist. I can’t remember what they opened with, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t ‘Full Moon’. It may have been ‘Slaughterhouse’. It was one of those slow, churning, darker ones in any case, and it was to be the last of those for the night, before Dave launched the band headlong into a set of mostly short, sharp, bombastic blasts of noise-punk from Fog. As Derek from Trauma Party points out, MOON’s inhouse sound-tech Warwick understands that the full impact of LUNG’s music demands volume.

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LUNG

The wildly popular recent single ‘Isolated Gun’ follows, before being abruptly upstaged by ‘Blood Clot’ and its barking-mad hook “Run! Run! Run! / Run! Run! Run! / Run! Run! Run! / Run! Run! Run!”. Maryanne is invited to join Dave on vocals for ‘RALPH’, a song about Maryanne’s cat, Ralph. The lyrics consist largely of Dave and Maryanne in a call-and-response round of screeching at Ralph. “RALPH!”, shrieks Dave. “NAUGHTY!”, squawks Maryanne.

‘Xtra Spank’ is a live highlight, driven by its propulsive, repetitive guitar riff and yeehawing psychobilly stonk. I’m pretty sure ‘Blue Al’ gets cut from the set altogether. Dave, whose day job is driving a recycle truck for Wellington City Council, insists that if we listen closely to the lyrics to ‘Recycle Man’, we will learn how to do his job. The lyrics proceed as follows: “Recycle! Recycle Man! Recycle-cycle-cycle-cycle man! Can! Can! Can! Can! Can! Can! Can-Can!” As training seminars go, I feel one could be forgiven for coming away feeling woefully underqualified.

‘Panda’ is yet another highlight. Stripped of the atmospheric synth intro and warbling organs of the album version, it works just as well as a stark, jaunty little slab of blunt-force avant-noise-punk trauma, alongside its Fog siblings. ‘Firestarter’ comes about as close as we’re going to get to another darker, moodier track, although that’s entirely relative to the frantic pace of the other Fog material.

At some point, James begins mocking Dave (68) for being an old-age pensioner, before confessing that he (James) is actually just enjoying not being the oldest member of a band for a change. Later, James will insist that Dave needs to tune his guitar. “What for?!”, I demand to know from the peanut gallery. In between bashing away at it like a percussive instrument, scratching and scraping at the strings in a frenzied squall, and holding it aloft over his amp for feedback, he has scarcely fretted more than three actual notes on the beleaguered Thunderbird all night. Dave protests that he hasn’t tuned his guitar since the ‘80s. Regardless, it is dutifully retired in favour of a supposedly “in tune” Telecaster copy.

Dave points out that almost the entirety of their set has thus far been from the latest album, before lobbing a copy of the LP blindly into the front row, where the person in the French Maid costume seems quite delighted at her prize. He introduces their next song, ‘Swing’, from 1991’s debut Cactii, as “one for all the old cunts.” As it becomes apparent that they are nearing the end of their set, the diehards dutifully commence baying for more. Dave shuffles about, pensively scanning the “setlist” at his feet for the five or six songs they haven’t yet played. “Did you say one more, or two more?” he teases. The roar for two more is unanimous. “Right, one more then.” Bastard… He introduces the aptly named ‘Dinosaurs’ as the first LUNG song ever written, before pointing out that Zak wasn’t even born yet.

Shortly after midnight and it’s all over, whereupon Natalie and most of the crowd empties out quite quickly. A few dregs and stragglers hover about, myself and Mikel among them, while the bands pack down and load out. I snag myself a Trauma Party t-shirt from Kirsty and a handprinted and stencilled copy of Because You’ve Been Good on CD-R, and skulk about a little longer before saying my goodbyes and ordering an Uber. It’s a rather steep $90 ride back to Upper Hutt at this hour on a Saturday, but I’ve easily saved more than that on not drinking. Coupled with free entry for me and Nat, and Trauma Party refusing to let me pay for merch, turns out to be a pretty cheap night out, all in all. Four bands worth seeing, a few old friends worth catching up with, and considerably more fun than I’d anticipated, under the circumstances. I could get used to this.

ATKRTV / Damage Control / Fat Spatula – The Fulford Arms, York, 30th October 2026

Posted: 31 October 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Since Fork, who had originally been advertised as the main support act, have disappeared from the bill, Fat Spatula are the sole utensil-themed band playing here tonight. Being the night before Halloween, they’ve gone for fancy dress, but without any obvious theme, meaning they look even more disparate than usual. Drummer Jamie presents as a ghoulish Rasputin figure in a monk’s cowl and corpse paint. Bassist Andy Precious, lurching and twirling centre stage, is sporting a boiler suit and steam punk goggles which soon depart his face, and I’ve no idea what singer / guitarist Nick Wolterman has come as. It transpires that the special guest they’ve been touting is Bull’s Tom Beer on rhythm guitar. He’s really giving it some, and plays most of the set without a top E. As always, there’s something mildly chaotic about their performance, but with their brand of slacker alt-rock, it actually works as a style of presentation. The set is built around their 2022 album, Microwave Minutes, with short, snappy tunes across a range of styles: ‘Chicka Chicka’ is a bit funky, ‘Skulls’ is a bit country, and the verses of ‘Love Happens Naturally’ call to mind REM’s ‘It’s the End of the World As We Know It’. As always, they’re good fun.

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Fat Spatula

Damage Control are quite the contrast, with a heads-down blast of straight-up unreconstituted thrashpunkmetal. Some bands wear their influences on their sleeves: these guys wear them simply on their T-shirts. Sgt Steel (bass / vocals) is wearing a Mötörhead shirt, and judging by his playing style and posture, he’s been possessed by the spirit of Lemmy. Capn’ Fent (drums, vocals) is sporting a mclusky T, while I can’t quite make out guitarist The Wizard’s logo, because it’s largely obscured by a flailing flurry of hair being shaken all over as he blasts out chords on his Flying V at a blurring pace. They stick closely to the punk-edged speed metal template of Mötörhead for the duration of their set, playing every song loud, hard, and fast. They’re seriously tight and their sound is powerful, and meaty.

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Damage Control

ATKRTV are one of a recent crop of bands founded in York who have gone on to relocate in order to make a go of it, and like Bitchcraft (who have also moved to London) and Teleost (now based in Glasgow), a return to their roots after only a short time evidences a huge developmental leap. Less than a year ago, they were the opening band on a lineup in this very same venue, and while showing clear promise, were a bit rough around the edges, and their grunge / noise-rock / math / jazz hybrid was still in a state of evolution. Ideally, evolution is a continual process, rather than something which takes place prior to reaching a specific end point, and that’s precisely what their debut EP, Pilot, released in September is. As they put it, ‘Like a pilot episode, this EP worked as a testing ground for different musical directions, a snapshot of what we’ve enjoyed playing over the last three years’. They also describe themselves as ‘a post-hardcore band writing frenetic songs born from technological angst’. The first four songs land back-to-back, short and pacey, the fusion of math, jazz, and hardcore landing in a space that’s not a million miles away from Fugazi at times.

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ATKRTV

These EP songs are longer and more complex, with movements and segments and tempo changes. The third of the EP’s tracks, ‘Attacker TV’ is noticeably slower, heavier, and more atmospheric, while the EP’s driving, high-octane last track, ‘Dial a Vow’ hits hard with its choppy chords and strains of feedback. And then they’re diving headlong into the fast and furious attacking numbers again, and I’m often reminded of …And You Will Know Us By the Trail of Dead. Calls for an encore are met with heavy grinder ‘Garage Flower’, as yet unreleased – which is in fact true of most of their material. It showcases yet another facet of their sound, and it’s one which suits them.

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ATKRTV

During the set, Max (guitar / vocals) makes several forays into the audience, on one occasion winding up thrashing away on his back. They still have every ounce of the energy they had previously, but they’ve learned how to harness it, to channel it into more precise playing, and they’ve grown in confidence, too. Put simply, they’ve come a long way in a short time.

Chameleons / Lol Tolhurst / Kahula – Stylus, Leeds, 21st October 2026

Posted: 22 October 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Chameleons might be considered as being among the ‘also-rans’ of the early days of goth, along with the likes of, say, Rose of Avalanche and The March Violets. Despite gaining a solid cult fanbase early on, due in no small part to a stunning debut album, subsequently signing to Geffen in the mid-80s, as well as receiving substantial critical acclaim, they somehow failed to take off. Calling it a day after the release of their third album, Strange Times in 1987, they reconvened briefly at the turn of the millennium. Their latest reunion, now five years in, is approaching their longest continuous run, and has also yielded a new album and EP. And so here they are, arguably as popular now as they’ve ever been, and not as a nostalgia act but a going concern. The number of younger people in the audience tonight is also testament to this.

The doors are early – 7pm – and Kahula are on early doors – 7:10 – so play to a mere smattering of an audience. The five-piece from Manchester are like many of the new, younger emerging bands who are taking the post-punky / goth sound of circa 1984 as their template. They’re a bit early U2, with vocals which evoke Lloyd Cole and Ian MacCulloch. They’re competent, but uninspiring, and they’re met with polite applause.

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Kahula

Lol Tolhurst by way of a support act is quite something, and a definite draw here. In the wake of his two books, the most recent being Goth, which has been well-received, the co-founder of The Cure has been enjoying something of a career revival after the wilderness years which followed his expulsion from the band circa Disintegration.

Of course, his set of early Cure songs – from the period where was an active co-writer – isn’t a solo set, and he has a bassist and guitarist (who covers the vocal duties) accompanying his drums, and they open with a super-slow and supremely dolorous ‘The Holy Hour’. The bassist throws Peter Hook lunges. And then they’re straight into ‘A Forest’, which would have been more expected as a closer. ‘Siamese Twins’ is next after an intro from Lol which references the closing line and Sylvia Plath. Of course it’s bleak.

Tolhurst’s drumming is simple / sparse / motorik depending on your perspective, but hearing these early Cure songs live and in a – comparatively – intimate setting (Stylus has a capacity of 1,000) is, almost inevitably, moving, even in the absence of Robert Smith’s unique vocal. You can see from the body language that they’re feeling it onstage, too, inhabiting these oppressive sonic spaces.

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Lol Tolhurst

Their rendition of ‘A Strange Day’ isn’t instantly recognisable, and it doesn’t quite gel, mangling that essential lead guitar part. ‘M’, however, sounds perfectly crisp and brittle. The singer seems to struggle with some of the notes on ‘The Hanging Garden’, where the other two seem at their most comfortable. Lol introduces ‘All Cats are Grey’ as a ‘slightly different version’, and reminds us that they’re his songs too. He seems to have revisited a demo version or something for it, and it does provide an interesting insight into his contribution to the writing process for those early albums. It’s drummier than the studio version. Again, it’s the vocals which are the weakest element, and it’s perhaps worth noting that the guy onstage isn’t the one featured on the tour promo. Or perhaps not. ‘Three Imaginary Boys’ prefaces a band intro, before they give us ‘Boys Don’t Cry’, and at their scheduled end time, launch into ‘10:15 Saturday Night’ by way of a finale. And having promised a set of Lol-era Cure songs, that’s what they gave us.

Chameleons open a set loaded with newer material (five of the seven songs from Arctic Moon feature in the seventeen-song set) with ‘Where Are You?’, and they sound fantastic. Their LED backdrop is like a movie through the set., and I suspect some of it – at least – is AI generated, and I find a certain discomfort in this. Still, there’s nothing remotely artificial about the musicianship or the enthusiasm with which they play the songs.

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Chameleons

The jangling indie of ‘Lady Strange’ lands third, and sits comfortably alongside the older tunes.

‘I wish these songs weren’t still relevant,’ Mark Burgess opines before they drop the first truly vintage track of the night in the form of ‘Up the Down Escalator’ from Script of the Bridge.

Burgess’ voice is remarkably strong, and with two guitars, they sound muscular. Burgess looks office casual, and pretty limber, too. He swaps his bass for a 12-string acoustic for the epic ‘David Bowie Takes Me by the Hand,’ another one from the new album.

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Chameleons

He warns that Trump is just the prelude of worse to come before ‘Saviours Are a Dangerous Thing’, and they land ‘Soul in Isolation’ at the hour mark – and if my ears don’t deceive me, there are nods to The Beatles’ ‘Eleanor Rigby’ and ‘There is a Light that Never Goes Out’ by The Smiths’ slipped in along the way, giving something of a medley feel to this already huge tune.

Hearing ‘Swamp Thing’ with fresh ears and in a live setting, it’s easy to understand why they were hailed as they next U2. Meanwhile, the epic ‘Feels Like the End of the World’ is one of the standouts on Arctic Moon, and so it proves to be in tonight’s set, too. They wrap up a colossal set with the killer brace of oldies, ‘Second Skin’ and ‘Don’t Fall’. It’s incredible that songs of this vintage can still sound fresh, but then, it’s incredible that Chameleons are this good after all this time.

Deafkids / Kombi / Error Control – Boom, Leeds, 18th October 2026

Posted: 19 October 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Doors opening at 7 suggests an early start and early finish, and sure enough Error Control is on at 7:30. It’s very quiet in terms of attendance – so quiet initially I’m wondering if I’ve got the wrong night, but the beer’s decent enough and there’s some pounding, beat-heavy industrial noise pumping from the PA.

There’s a pattern emerging here: bands on respected underground / independent labels landing in Leeds to play to small but enthusiastic audiences play some of the most outstanding gigs I’ve witnessed all year. This was true of Might and Noisepicker when they played the Duck and Drake, and the same is true of Deafkids, who have brought Kombi, also from Brazil, along as the main support. It’s the tenth night of a world tour which has already seen them play mainland Europe, UK, and Ireland, with a stack more UK dates before heading back across Europe and onto Japan before a final haul round South America. These guys work hard. I do wonder if Angine de Poitrine’s long-sold out (and probably oversold) show at the O2 may have pulled some people away, and likewise the Ambient Leeds night at The Fox and Newt, but it doesn’t seem all that probable. So where the hell is everyone? Still, those present make up for number in terms of enthusiasm, and get to witness something special.

Error Control, playing blindfolded, creates a punishing wall of noise worthy of Merzbow. He begins by tentatively locating the monitor and draping the mic on it to generate a sustained feedback, which then goes through a succession of pedals and bits, which he tweaks and bashes to evermore brutal effect. It’s the kind of noise that’s both exhilarating and immersive, the harsh blast rendered even more intense by the use of only red lighting, which strobes. As he climbs up onto his bench in front of the stage, a potential health and safety nightmare reveals itself, but he gradually returns to the ground, where he proceeds to hail his pedal board onto the floor, and the set ends abruptly while he’s standing on the pedalboard and everything cuts out.

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Error Control

It’s only after I get home that not only have I seen him perform in person once before, but that performing with …(something) ruined, we’ve also featured alongside one another at two virtual gigs during lockdown.

Kombi’s set is a fine example of exploratory, experimental music, which reveals different facets as the set progresses. Billowing dark ambient with guttural growls gives way to fractured guitar and crackling contact work, a convergence of avant-garde and industrial. On the third piece, he unleashes Sunn O))) -like power chord drone. The second half of his set is a continuous extended piece built around dank loops and drones and wailing feedback, whereby the low frequencies bother the bowels and the shrill squall of treble terrifies the eardrums.

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Deafkids are having some technical issues and start twenty minutes later than advertised. Oh, but they’re more than worth the wait. And if they’re disappointed by playing to around twenty-five people, they don’t let it show, and their set is an absolute blinder.

They’ve not only captured the sound and feel of new album, CICATRIZES DO FUTURO (SCARS OF THE FUTURE), but take it to a whole other level live. Not for the first time, I’m amazed that there are just two guys up there: with a combination of pre-recorded drum loops, prerecorded and live guitar and extraneous noise loops, infinite delay on everything, especially the vocals, and some truly remarkable drumming, they conjure a dense, powerful sound, dominated by a thunderous barrage of percussion.

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Marian Sarine’s drumming is something to behold, often playing the congas with one hands while working his way around snare, toms, and cymbals with a stick, effortlessly switching to two sticks, and occasionally two hands. He smiles a lot, too. The resulting battery lands like Test Dept meets Swans, but with some techno breaks and a Latin twist. Oh, and there’s some looped beatboxing, too. Because they need more beats. It all builds to a head-shredding wall of noise. This ultra-percussive explosion is paired with abstract guitar work and vocals swathed in cavernous reverb and endless echo. It’s totally hypnotic, propulsive.

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With so much percussion, it’s got groove. It’s techno, trance, dub, shoegaze, and noise rock all at once. And some flute. It all makes for an intense fifty minutes. And it’s all done by ten past ten, which is ideal on a Sunday night.

Meryl Streek / Bad Nights Sleep / Heavyset. / Texas Forever / Emilia Slade – The Fulford Arms, York, 16th October 2026

Posted: 18 October 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Listening to Stories They Don’t Teach You in School earlier, I was – not for the first time – struck by the raw, unfiltered nature of Meryl Streek’s lyrics. On discovering supporting Pigs x 7 earlier in the year, my first impression was that he was a bit of a novelty act, although I’d changed my mind completely after about three songs. Explaining what he does to anyone has proven a challenge. Yes, I have to concede, it’s a bit like Sleaford Mods… but really not at the same time. We’ll return to this later. But for now, he’s the reason I’m here having been hooked by that last show here. And tonight is sold out. It’s the first night of the three-day One For the Road festival, which is an annual event here, and has been since 2013 – although as far as I can recall, this is my first time here.

When I arrive, I’m held up waiting at the door because the woman in front of me, who’s probably about 60, is getting stroppy with the door staff, first because she doesn’t want her to take the stub from her ticket, and then because she doesn’t want her wristband putting on, or too tight, and starts walking off before said wristband has been attached to said wrist. I report this aberrant behaviour because it’s in some way illustrative of a sector of tonight’s audience, emblematic of the world post-lockdown, where people have seemingly forgotten how to interact or how to behave, particularly people of a certain age. Yes, it’s sold out, so inevitably it’s rammed, but I’m shocked by the number of times I get nudged and knocked by people moving backwards or sideways without considering the space around them, and the fact there are groups of people holding conversations at the bar when there are others wanting to get served.

Emilia Slade, who’s up first, and as such opens the weekend’s proceedings, is playing without her full band, is here in the capacity of acoustic singer songwriter, and serves up some emo-hued introspection and confessionals, with a side-serving of environmentalism, and a cover ‘The Obituaries’ by The Mezingers. Texas Forever, whose main purpose of existing is to play this festival each year, are the heaviest and most ferocious guitar band on the bill, playing some fairly fiery hardcore, but with a Yorkshire twist. Their most interesting feature is the dynamic of the twin vocals, which find guitarist Jonny Gill, of Lyon Estates and (formerly?) On The Ropes, adding countervocals to powerful effect, and it really sets them apart in their field. But as most of their songs are only a minute or two long, there’s a fair bit of chat to fill out a half-hour et.

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Emilia Slade / Texas Forever

It’s not just Texas Forever: for a festival that’s such a York scene thing, it’s noticeable how few of the local acts I’ve seen elsewhere, and the same is true of the crowd. As I come here often, and am accustomed to running into people, it’s rare that the only people I know or even recognise are the venue staff, and one gets the impression that for many of those present, this is their sole annual outing. This makes the presence of Meryl Streek even more incongruous. And – spoiler alert – Meryl Streek is incongruity defined, in any context.

When the festival started in 2013, country / folk / Americana acts were ubiquitous in York. Heavyset. take us back to those days. One of the songs has a guitar line that sounds like a fiddle. The punctuationally frustrating Bad Nights Sleep – a beardy six-piece – serve up some middling, middle of the road 00s emo punk pop crossover. Rarely have three guitars (plus bass) given so little impact. But then, they have middling, middle-of-the road song titles like ‘Call Your Mother’ and ‘Dance a Two Step’, and ‘The Kids Need New Shoes’. Seeing the middle-age women swing their handbags and the anorak-sporting older guys swaying to this, I begin to relish the prospect of them shitting their pants to Meryl Streek’s rage. ‘Infinity Welcomes Careful Drivers’ dives into a Pink Floyd prog wankfest of intertwining solos, and they have a song about being a rock n roll band that sounds like the fucking Commitments. Towards the end of the set, they do land a song that’s half decent, a bit Oceansize, a bit Biffy Clyro, but it’s not exactly adequate compensation. And yet there are people – older men – rushing for set lists and to have their festival posters signed.

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The Heavyset. / Bad Nights Sleep

Credit to these crets, they mostly stepped back rather than left, mean that Meryl Streek got to pay to a packed house. He did so in near darkness, too, with the entire lighting rig off, and turning off the illuminated stage backdrop off for large portions of the set, with the sole illumination being a torch, and even then, only occasionally. But , while in near-darkness for over half an hour… what a set! Largely culled from the new album, Stories They Don’t Teach You in School, released just this week, it’s forty-five minutes of relentless, explosive rantology.

My first thought, in terms of the Sleaford Mods comparisons, was that while the Mods are all about the anti-performance shtick, Meryl Streek puts on a performance. But watching him in a smaller venue tonight, there’s a sense that this isn’t a performance at all. The relentless pacing back and forth, the frenzied energy that emanates from every pore as he spits out his words at a hundred syllables a second, it’s art, but it’s not show: this is necessity, this is how it has to be, because he can’t be any other way. Streek isn’t doing this for fun, he’s doing it because he has to, and the relentless stream of vitriol is the only way he can stay even remotely sane. It’s powerful – and then some. Every second, you get the impression he’s reliving some trauma or another, and he channels it and channels it, and when he runs out of words or feels he needs to psyche himself up for the next lyrical onslaught, there’s a phlegm-shifting, guttural “wwurrgh!!!” before he resumes his endless stomping.

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Meryl Streek

A mash-up of dance, trance, punk, and shoegaze, there’s a lot happening in the laptop backing track, which is also littered with sampled, often lifted from new reports on murders and suicides, common focuses of his songs. There are no two ways about it: Streek focuses on dark topics, and some would likely say his material should carry trigger warnings. But fuck that: life doesn’t come with trigger warnings and we need to face up to this stuff.

The fact he’s made multiple charts, including the UK album chart in the week of the release of Stories They Don’t Teach You in School is immense, and proves there’s a market for DIY music that’s ugly, brutal, and speaks honestly of the human condition.

He spits and snarls his way through ‘The Chancer’, and ‘Kelly’ is both powerful and devastating, and closes with the ripping pairing of ‘Death the Landlord’ and anthemic single cut ‘If This is Life’. Never has such passionate rage and relentless negativity felt so magnificent.

Strange Pink / Flesh Planet / JUKU / The Bricks – The Fulford Arms, York, 11th October 2026

Posted: 13 October 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

I reckon I’ve probably said that both The Bricks and JUKU are my favourite current York band in the last couple of years. How can both things be true? Well, essentially because it’s too close to call. But that means that even without Strange Pink headlining, tonight’s lineup is guaranteed to be killer, one not to be missed. It also means that this is a face-off… who will win?

On the other side of town, GANS are playing at The Crescent. No doubt off the back of their supporting Pixies at The Barbican, they’ve won some new fans, but this is definitely the pick of the live action tonight, with four quality bands for a fiver – yes, a FIVER! – less than the price of a pint. It’s madness, particularly given that every act on the bill is individually worth way more than that.

The Bricks are headline quality on any night, and this is no exception. If I’m not mistaken, it’s been a couple of months since they’ve ventured out, and it seems that Gemma Kennedy has been building some pent-up energy and tension during that time, meaning that tonight, she’s on fire, not only with a commanding vocal performance, but a dominant stage presence, which sees her kick, lunge, stomp, and charge back and forth with barely a moment to breathe. They open with ‘Icarus’, and it’s clear from the very start that they’re on peak form – not that they have any other level of form, but tonight they seem to find an extra level. ‘Snake’ provides the slower segment after a new song which Gemma describes as their ‘indie’ song. ‘Modern Mirror’ powers home as a scratchy anti-AI anthem. She lines up the sheets with the lyrics to second new song, ‘Life Lesson’, where The Fall meets Hole. It’s mint – of course. But not a Polo, the mint with a hole – it’s definitely at least Extra Strong or XXX. Because they’re never anything less than awesome.

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The Bricks

A JUKU set feels like less of a gig than an event, and if we’re following the mint comparison, these guys are the Fisherman’s Friend mints of music. They don’t play frequently, but when they do… woah. What they do is full throttle rock ‘n’ roll, and they slam down riff after riff, a relentless riff machine, and while Naomi’s as cool and nonchalant as you like at the mic, Dan’s off in the back going full psycho Neanderthal, and the drummer and lead guitarist are just getting on with it, standing as if in the eye of a storm as a sonic maelstrom tears from the stage. The strolling swagger of ‘Hot Mess’ follows a blistering ‘What’ Penultimate song ‘Out of Control’ is straight up 90s grunge, but at 120 decibels and a hundred miles an hour. They’re not reinventing rock ‘n’ roll, by any means. But they are rediscovering the power of the volume control. Between them and The Bricks, my favourite York band remains a solid tie – but JUKU are by far the loudest York band, and they are an absolute rush.

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Juku

Where do you go from here? They’re not a band you’d want to Follow… unless you’re Flesh Planet. They’re kinda grunge, kinda noise rock, a bit industrial, and boast an immense bass sound… and an immense sound overall. The sound is dense and textured, and the arrangements are laced with synths which add depth and a certain smoothness, and it’s crisp and tight but with serrated edges. The bassist takes much of his inspiration from Lemmy, both sonically and visually. Cool: if you’re going to draw on influences, why not take your lessons from true legends? Here, we move from mints to wine-tasting analogies, because Flesh Planet offer a spicy blend that’s rich, dep, and dark, with hints of later Depeche Mode, Alice in Chains, NIN and Filter all in the mix The singer’s got a baggy, stretched, fluffy jumper and bleached hair, and clearly loves Kurt Cobain, but the vocals offer hints of Brian Molko when he’s not being screamy. But they’re so much more than an influence pic ‘n’ mix band. They’ve not only got some stomping tunes, but a tangible chemistry and a rare, raw energy. They’ve barely been going eighteen months, and shows like this should see them playing to substantially larger audiences in no time.

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Flesh Planet

And then there’s Strange Pink -featuring local(ish) legends Sam Forrest and Dom Smith. It’s been a fair while since the days of Nine Black Alps, but Forrest hasn’t been idle in the intervening years, currently fronting both noisy grunge duo Sewage Farm and Strange Pink, a quintessential grunge trio who take their cues from Sonic Youth and Nirvana. ‘Seventeen’ is a sad nostalgia song that brings the perfect balance of slackerism and the poppier end of Nirvana’s sound, and encapsulates everything that’s great about Strange Pink. As seasoned musicians, they understand the nature of the dynamic of the power trio, and the fact that there’s no space for a weak link or to carry anyone, and sure enough, they’re each on it, the sound driven by Dom’s powerhouse drumming. Holy hell, that man give it his all and then ten per cent. This is how it’s done.

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And to see four acts of this quality, where not only the standard but the energy – and the volume – is maintained throughout the night, is an intense experience.

Megafragma / New Concordia / Kid Kid Squid – The Black Horse, York, 1st October 2026

Posted: 3 October 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Michael Jackson’s ‘Thriller’ is playing just before Kid Kid Squid start, and I find myself on a rare reflective trip on how times have changed. I was in primary school – aged eight – when it was released, my school reopened on the evening that the full-length video was aired on the BBC so we could all watch it on a TV on a trolley in reception. Even at that young age, it felt like a moment in musical history. No musical release is such a global event now. Not even half-time at the Superbowl has a sense of occasion which comes close. Culturally – in no small part on account of the advent of streaming, but also the absence of music on television now, which means that the promotional video has far less reach and impact – music has come to be treated like sonic wallpaper. Do people really listen to Ed Sheeran and Taylor Swift, or is their bland fare simply amiable background? Come 2015, a headteacher is forced to apologise after showing the ‘Thriller’ video to some primary-age pupils (age seven and eight) because, according to their complaining parents, they suffered ‘night terrors’ afterwards.

I expect the members of Kid Kid Squid, David and Katy – who emerged from the rocked-up dance covers act The DDK – will remember the release of ‘Thriller’ well. How well they remember the 90s is probably another matter. It’s evident from their penchant for banging beats that they spent some time having it large during the rave years. Having tried out their brand of driving techno with live guitar at an Electronic Music Open Mic (EMOM) night a few months ago, this is the duo’s first gig proper, and they’ve got things pretty tight. The first track is a bit Utah Saints, but with more of drum ‘n’ bass leaning – and the drums and bass are both thunderous. Are they rock with rave beats, or rave with rock guitars? However you slant it, the sound is outstanding. Crisp and clear, the beats are pounding and the heavily processed guitar is like a tweaking Roland TR303. Midway through, they drop their eponymous track and it simply explodes both in energy and volume – and while the chorus of ‘We ain’t no kid and we ain’t no squid!’ might not be the pinnacle of poeticism, it’s good fun – and factually accurate. These things matter. The set culminates in a frenzy of flange. That’s good fun, too, and that’s a fair summary of what KKS are about: not so serious, hi-NRG, fun times.

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Kid Kid Squid

I’m not sure what happened to the Old Concordia – apart from the Polish-built sailing training vessel which capsized and sank off the coast of Brazil in 2010. Sturdy drumming and soaring guitar definite their alt-rock sound. They’re solid and then some, and it’s a remarkably confident debut (they’ve both played before, and together, but this is their first outing as a two-piece). Atmospheric passages fill the space between songs, thus avoiding awkward silence or – worse – awkward chat and banter. They must have poured some hours into rehearsing to come out this fully formed. I’ve no idea where the bass was coming from. The drummer isn’t wearing headphones, so there’s nothing to indicate a click track or sequencing, but there must be something happening behind the scenes. Maybe it’s simply the power of the mind and some kind of magic. But what’s behind the scenes is immaterial, really. Out front, we get blistering guitars, chunky riffs and some of the most incredible drumming. Verdict in short: amazing. Horsemusic have done it again in introducing us to another act worthy of national attention.

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New Concordia

Megafragma are a relatively new act, but comprising some old faces, including, on guitars, Alexander King, of Glass / The Sound of Glass – quite possibly one of the most preposterously pretentious bands I’ve ever witnessed. But hey, he’s only the guitarist and backing vocalist, right? Right.

They rock up in red jumpsuits: that’s ok. The Wharf Street Galaxy Band, one of the finest acts to evert emerge from York / Leeds wore red boiler suits. And these guys are tight. Polished. Slick… They’re an amalgamation of post-rock, post metal, post post… which is actually pretty cool. But they do go a bit punk-pop and demonstrate some emo leanings, which is less so. Still, I could let that go… There’s a niggle here, and I need to chew on it while I dissect.

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Megafragma

More than just a click track, they have electronic drums augmenting the live kit. The bass is a bit buried in the mix, but still, they sound super-slick, anthemic, arena-standard and the drums – which are technically faultless – are well up in the mix and propel the songs along with a dynamic force. This is not your average pub-gig band, and the set is loaded with the wow factor. But the songs… pause and exhale… are quite forgettable. As the set progresses, it becomes increasingly apparent that this is very much a case of kit over content. More like Middlingfragma. They sound immense, but hollow. Technically superlative, but missing some essential ingredients, namely soul, and passion.

I can’t grumble too hard: three high-quality bands for £0, and pints in proper glasses for £5.20. This is where it’s at.

WENCH! / Under the Influence / Knitting Circle – The Fulford Arms, York, 26th September 2026

Posted: 27 September 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Two of the bands on tonight’s bill are fairly regular features here on Aural Aggravation: Knitting Circle have established themselves as solid staples of the York scene as exponents of pissed-off, political post-punk, while WENCH! originally from Hull but now a Leeds band on account of two-thirds of their members having relocated, are always worth making the effort to turn out for whenever they’re in the locale. But what’s particularly noteworthy about tonight’s lineup is that not only do we have three female-fronted acts, but more women on stage than men. This matters, because female representation is a topic which has been cycling in discussion for a few years now, and becomes particularly prominent when festival lineups are announced. There’s no shortage of women in music, either in bands or as solo performers, so why are so many gigs, and festivals in particular, so male-dominated? That’s perhaps a rhetorical question, but still. What’s more, it’s becoming increasingly apparent that women often rock harder than men. Perhaps it’s because they feel they have more to prove. Perhaps it’s because they’ve more to be angry about. There’s a lot to be angry about right now, of course, and that’s a dissertation in itself. I’m angry, as are most people I know. But as a white, middle class, and (reluctantly) middle-aged male, I recognise I don’t have centuries of patriarchal oppression and daily sexism and misogyny to push back on.

Up first, Knitting Circle open with ‘Where’s the Culture?’, which sets the tone in terms of the conversation sand the musical form – catchy, scratchy, and challenging the (patriarchal) status quo. ‘I am the Fox’ (a song against fox-hunting, told from the perspective of the fox) is particularly tense and bristly, part of its guitar line leaning heavily on ‘Not Great Men’ by Gang of Four. The fact that Pete Dale can actually play cutty, trebly guitar lines which are of a standard which puts him in the same frame as Andy Gill is testament to his guitar mastery. While there are new songs in their nine-song set, the fact that only one of them – set closer, ‘Losing My Eggs’ – is from their EP, and single, ‘Safe Routes’, which they dedicate to the RNLI has otherwise been released evidences the pace of their creative flow.

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Knitting Circle

It’s worth taking a momentary side-step here. This song feels even more poignant and important than ever: a few days ago, right-wing agitator Daniel Thomas, who seems to think that forming a masked militia is the pinnacle of patriotism, was filmed slashing a dinghy in the English Channel. Not by a news crew, but by an accomplice. And he posted it on social media to demonstrate his fierce opposition to ‘illegal’ immigrants – but in court pleaded not guilty to the actions he himself had shared evidence of. Then cried like a child when remanded in custody. Of course. But these so-called ‘illegal’ immigrants… where are the legal routes? They don’t exist. Meaning, we currently have no safe routes. But we do have a lot of people fleeing war… and then these right-wing fuckheads decide that the RNLI – an emergency service run by volunteers – are the bad guys for rescuing people from the sea, and are legitimate targets for abuse and intimidation. How low can you get, eh? This is why we need Knitting Circle more than ever – to remind us that not everyone is a nasty piece of shit with a racist agenda when things get bleak. And things are bleak right now.

Oh, but Under the Influence are an absolute revelation. Woah. The ‘UTI’ acronym is no accident, of course. Their objective is to sting. And they do, hitting hard with their brand of fast and furious authentic hardcore punk / grunge crossover. It’s not hard to see why the anarcho-noise Sheffield trio have scored support slots with the likes of Subhumans and Discharge and a Rebellion booking. Maisie’s vocals are a combination of ear-splitting screams and full-lunged roaring… and she plays her guitar so hard that her bottom E string goes in third song, ‘Dead Babies’. “Bollocks,” and “Fuck it,” she says, like a true plain-speaking Northerner. After some deliberation, she humbly accepts the offer of the loan of Pete from Knitting Circle’s guitar with which to play the rest of the set. ‘7 Naans’ – about ordering takeaway – shouldn’t be terrifying, but with a rabid Courtney Love howl it is positively nerve-shattering. They’re passionate, sincere, and not without humour. They have a song called ‘Vegan Reich’ simply because they hate the band Vegan Reich (which is a perfectly sound reason in my opinion). Eyes wide, Maisie spits and screeches words at a rate of nineteen to the dozen, backed by some ferocious drumming and thunderous bass.

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Under the Influence

Are we ready to be WENCHED? Well, as ready as well ever be ready to be hit with a shovel after being slammed with the two-by-four that was UTI. This is a band that brings all the attack and play so, so hard: the energy is infectious, and it’s like an electric current circulating through your body. During the very first song of the set, bassist Hebe loses her strap and singing drummer Kit sheds a cymbal. They don’t miss a beat or a note. Musically, they’re outstanding, and different in their compositional approach, with the bass often fulfilling the lead role. There are dual vocals, too, shared between guitarist Sev, and Kit, whose style is – at least in places, quite technical and almost jazzy, but played with metal force. Other times, she leans forward over her drums with an ogre-like posture and just fucking goes all out, and it’s brilliant to watch – not just her playing, but the interaction between the three and how they coalesce to create something so immensely powerful. They’re also disarmingly direct and spontaneous in between songs. This shouldn’t be mistaken for being amateurish by any means, but gives an insight into a band which is keeping it real in the truest sense. What you see is what you get. And what you see is three women who believe in social justice and not just women’s rights and feminist issues, but human rights and making the world a better place.

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WENCH!

‘Deep Fake’ may be slower, with a psych-hued swing, but it’s certainly no gentler, and their set is a combination of hooks and rage. They blast through the songs in significantly less than the allotted time, but they’ve done the job and then some.

For all of the anger, the rage which emanated from the stage, tonight felt like one of the most uplifting, unifying events imaginable. The bands – all articulating dissatisfaction with the status quo, speaking out against shit governments and shit behaviour – brought, in their own ways, a positive message and a sense that together, we can make things better, and in the meantime, we can have a blast venting through music. In the face of everything, we have to have hope. Tonight gave a vital reminder that we do. It also evidences why we shouldn’t aspire to keep politics out of music. Because politics affects all of us, every day, and using a platform to take a stand is a powerful, and positive thing. Here, we stand unified in hope, and against hate.

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