Archive for the ‘Live’ Category

The March Violets / Heathen Apostles / Mouth Ulcers – The Warehouse, Leeds, 3rd June 2026

Posted: 4 July 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The March Violets’ career path has followed an unusual trajectory – as is perhaps fitting for a band which always stood apart, even from the scene it helped create. A band who’d disbanded before I even discovered them, they’ve released more new material since their 2007 reunion than in the whole of their initial career. Rosie has survived throat cancer, which stalled post-reunion activity for a while, and co-founder Si Denbigh was forced to depart following a stroke some years ago. But they’re still here, and in their current three-piece iteration, they’re touring as hard now, almost forty-five years since their inception, as ever, and they’re very much an active, still-writing band.

But this current tour is an unashamed nostalgia fest, playing the entirety of their 1984 compilation Natural History, which gathered (most of) their early single releases, and which was given a reissue for Record Store Day this year – hence the ‘(Un)Natural History Tour’ with all of the songs, but not in the same order. Tonight is particularly special, being a homecoming show, and they’ve cued up some hotly-tipped support acts for the occasion.

Up first, Mouth Ulcers – who have been booked to support none other than The Mission for one of their four nights at The O2 Forum in Kentish Town, London, marking the 40th anniversary of God’s Own Medicine. Wayne Hussey recently described them as ‘definitely the real-deal and a band that are deservedly going places’. It’s hard to argue. The singer, Zak, looks a bit Nick Cave in a rather baggy suit with bootlace tie, and as a band, they cohere as well visually as they do sonically, serving up a set of A1 shoegaze goth. Brittle, atmospheric guitars interweave… and that bass! Bassist Jamie-Lee is static, almost mannequin like, and knocks out the most perfect metronomic groove in the vein of Craig Adams era Sisters with complete nonchalance. Propelled by some supremely crisp drumming, they’re an absolute rush, and a complete revelation.

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Mouth Ulcers

Heathen Apostles make for a mess obvious choice for the bill, but prove to be an inspired one. They described themselves as Western Gothic, or Gothic Western, and play lively and dramatic folk, which is at times dark, with a cracked old double bass with loads of gaffer tape and a fiddler who plays hard, gnashing his teeth when it gets intense. Guitarist Chopper Franklin has steel-toed boots with the metal on the outside, and Mather Louth (vocals / guitar / frame drum. Theirs is quite a long set, but they have hauled themselves all the way from LA, and the fact they’ve toured recently with Fields of the Nephilim speaks not only of their quality, but how they’ve been embraced by the UK goth scene.

“Fuck Donald Trump… We’re not that kind of a roots band,” Louth tells us. It’s a sign of the times that nearly every band over from the US feels the need to make clear that they don’t support the regime of the orange fascist, but it’s always reassuring to hear it.

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Heathen Apostles

Protest song ‘No Peace’, which they say is being censored by online platforms – is a clear standout. ‘Without a Trace’ is introduced as a gothabilly hoedown, and it’s hard to resist the urge to get some air at this point, but I stick around, and ‘The Reckoning’ makes for a rousing finale. They’re not my kind of thing per se, but it’s hard to fault the energy and the showmanship.

The mighty March Violets are straight in with ‘Long Pig’, followed by ‘Religious as Hell’, which has only made the setlist a handful of times since 2007. To say it’s a joy to hear it is an understatement: as the first track off their first EP, it exemplifies The Violets’ most primitive, angular post-punk roots, with its stuttering drum machine and squalling guitar. ‘Hammer the Nail’ is one of only two later songs in the set, meaning we get to revisit a wealth of material which hasn’t been aired live in donkeys. ‘Radiant Boys’ hasn’t made the setlist for a couple of years, and ‘Undertow’ has barely made the cut in the last decade, but tonight, they sound fresh and punchy.

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The March Violets

On stage, they’ve stripped the setup right back, the guitar and bass going straight into the PA via DI, meaning that not only are there no drums, but no amps, and there’s no smoke and the lighting is pretty straightforward, too. This bareness only heightens the sense of proximity, and there are some nice exchanges with the audience. It also means that with none of the usual distractions, I find I watch and listen more closely, and am reminded just how unconventional their song structures are, as well as how unique Tom Ashton’s approach to guitar playing is, not only with the use of harmonics, but also the way he navigates the fretboard. And as on last year’s tour, he looks to be so happy to be up there – and the same is true of the rest of the band, for that matter. Rosie is on top form, super-sprightly and in fine voice, and the sense of occasion – playing these early songs in the very place where it all started – isn’t lost on her.

The set closes with ‘Snake Dance’ – because there it simply has to – and they encore with ‘Walk into the Sun’, the only other post-Natural History song of the set. It’s a solid pop tune (that’s now fully forty years old), and a supremely upbeat way to finish the night. And a great night it was at that.

Sunn O))) / Black Mountain – Project House, Leeds, 1st July 2026

Posted: 2 July 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

I can still smell the smoke on my clothes and skin. I can still taste the smoke. Not tobacco smoke, as used to be the case way back (although more recently than seems possible), but smoke machine smoke. Back in the 90s – and no doubt prior – gigs would often leave this lingering residue embedded within the senses. But some time, around the turn of the millennium, perhaps, there seemed to be a change in the formula of smoke used at most live events, in favour of something less dense and noxious, and which didn’t make you sweat so much, with most fog formulas now being advertised as being white, without ‘unpleasant odour’ and ‘leaving no oily residue’. Sunn O))) seem to have managed to hijack an entire tanker’s worth of the old vegetable oil-based stuff and pump it out at a rate of gallons per second during the entirely of their set, which, despite featuring (apparently) five tracks, has a colossal duration in the region of an hour and three quarters.

So much of the Sunn O))) experience is steeped in ritual and ceremony. From the hooded robes, the power of incense drifting in amongst the smoke from the machines, the wielding of the guitars as eternal drones ring in sustain from the amplifiers. Those amplifiers, vintage valve amps, stacked almost to the ceiling my towering monoliths, arranged in such a way as to resemble the interior of a prehistoric monument, bathed, before the show begins, in a celestial blue hue, inviting worship simply by their looming presence, even when silent.

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Black Mountain make for an interesting choice of support, and an appropriate contrast. Initially, they present as a quiet acoustic folk duo. There’s some chat at the side towards the toilets and bar, but the swelling audience is largely quiet and respectful in front of the stage. Their second song introduces drum machine and distortion on the guitar, and while the harmonious form doesn’t change, the texture very much does, with squalling desert rock overtones and bluesy strains and a dash of 70s rock filtering their way into the songs throughout the set, which is pleasant – not in the vague, not much of anything sense, but mellow and melodic and low-key. It’s a most enjoyable half hour which contrasts nicely with the earth-shattering experience which follows.

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Black Mountain

By way of an intro, they play all of the talk from between the songs from an entire live set by Venom, the progenitors of black metal (something Melvins did with their ‘Cowboy’ single, which was equally frustrating). It made for a long and twitchy eight minutes of suspense that felt like an eternity. But this is Sunn O))) all over. Their entire ethos seems to be based on the question of ‘how far can we actually push this?’ – and when they find what must surely be the absolute limit, they nudge it a bit further, and then further still. And as it played on, and on, the stage began to flood with smoke… and more, and more smoke, until it became completely impenetrable. Vertical LED beams along the front of the stage illuminate the smoke in such a way as to create a curtain which renders the stage itself invisible when viewed from the other side.

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Sunn O)))

Anderson and O’Malley are guided onstage with torches, and moments later the first chord strikes. Immediately, everything shudders. The very air quakes as I feel my flesh quiver and my ribs, my lungs tremble. Time immediately stalls. And something strange happens. Perhaps I enter something approximating a trance-like state. Whatever it is, I find myself utterly spellbound, and borderline hypnotised by the combination of the spectacle and the sound. It’s not zoning out, but zoning in, fixated on the tones and textures, and the way the two interact and interweave, catching glimpses of the band in the brief moments when the smog thins.

Stripped down to a two-piece, the volume is typically obliterative, but it’s clear they’re fully immersed in exploring the spaces between the notes, more subtle dynamics of the way certain frequencies resonate. The sound is remarkably clear, and while there are howling walls of feedback, the sonic spectrum is predominantly low-end, meaning that there’s no tinnitus-inducing harsh treble (at least not with earplugs, and everyone I see is suitably equipped), and as a consequence, it’s easier to simply bask in the huge throb which envelops every inch of your being. The first two tracks are run together as one continuous piece, a full hour in duration, and at this point, the smoke reaches a new peak of density. It’s beyond suffocating, you can’t see your own hand let alone the stage, from which emanates the most brutal howl of feedback yet. But there’s no checking your watch to puff that only twenty minutes have elapsed, and they’ve barely played three notes. Some people move further back to escape the full force of the backline, but the majority simply stand, transfixed. This is peak Sunn O))). As much as there’s a sense that they’re testing us, they’re also testing themselves, and revelling in the theatre of it all. It’s high art.

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More smoke blasts across the stage like a tidal wave. Everything is vibrating, from my nostrils to my buttocks. I’m amused to see people nearby attempting to film clips of the show, only for their phones to be completely submerged in billows of smoke – which are an analogue of the billowing rumble radiating from the stacks of speakers, and with the backline alone capable of filling the 1,000 capacity with that organ-bothering low-frequency drone, the fact they’re all in turn mic’d up only adds layers to this oceanic swell of sound. Anderson and O’Malley don’t so much strike chords as mildly stroke a string to set off another devastating avalanche of sound.

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Towards the end of the set, O’Malley lodges his guitar on top of a stack, wedged against the ceiling, before subsequently hanging it by the neck from a power cable above, and letting it swing from the rafters.

And just like that, it stops. The smoke clears, and the two men step forward and receive – humbly, and with gratitude – the most rapturous applause. Because for all of the theatre involved in creating the separation between band and audience, the obstinate absence of engagement, for the pain-threshold volume, the appreciation flows both ways. It’s a joyously respectful experience: no chat (as if!), no heckling, but a symbiotic exchange based on pure immersion in pure art. And tonight, we’ve witnessed an ascendency to a new pinnacle. Pure transcendence.

Papillon De Nuit / The Tengu Taiko Drummers – The National Centre for Early Music, York, 26 June 2026

Posted: 27 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Stephen Kennedy has an outstanding sense of occasion. Having put on grand candlelight shows under the Gothic Moth banner in the Cemetery Chapel in York, there was no way the album launch for his latest project, Papillon De Nuit, was going to be some pub gig with a couple of local rock bands supporting. And so here we are in The National Centre for Early Music, a converted church with a high, twin-vaulted ceiling. It’s an appropriate setting in which to mark the release of Musetta, an ambitious album a year in the making involving a considerable number of collaborators. This also marks their first live performance, and features a necessarily expansive lineup, featuring ‘cello, piano, guitars, drums and percussion, soprano, orators and vocalist’.

It also happens to coincide with the hottest June day in history – the third consecutive record-breaker, no less, so it’s a relief to be seated and in an old church rather than standing in a sweaty bar – much as I love sweaty bars, the humidity of later has been such that we’d have had people passing out left, right, and centre in such a setting. It’s still plenty warm enough, thank you.

The doors open later than advertised, and seeing the amount of gear on stage – and the sheer size of those drums – it’s hardly surprising. Most bands travel by transit van, or even car. The Tengu Taiko Drummers have a removal van parked outside. Once we’re all in, the lights go down, and there is a hush of expectation. And we wait. It’s a good three suspenseful minutes before the ominous drone and trilling pipes begin to creep from the PA and finally, the drummers begin to appear. No wonder they’re starting behind time: the setup for The Tengu Taiko Drummers is mind-blowing. They filter onto the stage in masks and present a piece which offers a narrative alongside the striking visuals and the sonic impact of the barrage of percussion. The logistics of some eight musicians packed onto the stage, bounding and leaping and switching positions, plus changing the configuration of the numerous and large drums between pieces would be challenging any night, but with the heat and humidity it’s little short of an heroic feat. It’s an extremely physical performance, and the players aren’t so much glowing as aflame only halfway through. It’s clearly a battle for breath, but they power through to deliver a spectacular show.

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The Tengu Taiko Drummers

Thank dog there’s a bar with some refrigerated beers: the interval affords a vital opportunity to replenish some fluids before Papillon Du Nuit make their highly anticipated stage debut. And they don’t disappoint. The plan, on paper, is simple: to play the album. But to bring a studio-based project to a live setting is a huge leap, and often, what works on tape doesn’t work so well live. But here, it all works spectacularly, and they sound as if they’ve been rehearsing for months – although the fact of the matter is quite different. Indeed, the fact is they’ve only rehearsed a couple of times, so it’s testament to the musical intuition and the high level of skill of the players that they come together so well. The sound, too, is fantastic. Clearly, the venue is set up for musical performances, but the sound engineer achieves magnificent clarity and separation between the instruments.

They open the set as the album begins, with the brooding ‘Jude’, Kennedy whispering ‘Is it dark or am I blind?’ ‘The Pilgrim’s Arc’ sees the drums leading the mix for the first time, paired chunky five-string bass break from Dominique, and showcasing them at their most expansive and ambitious, with its dual vocals, whereby Karen Amanda O’Brien’s voice provides a counterpoint to Shephen’s on this this sweeping epic of a song.

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Pappilon du Nuit

Images of tombstones and lyrical themes of mortality and loss abound, and these are songs rich in poeticism and steeped in the most beautiful melancholy. ‘I’m in your head / so I’m not dead,’ Kennedy sings on ‘Sister, dear’, and it’s as if he’s speaking from the other side in the future tense. The effect is intensely moving, balancing the darkness of the inevitable with a rare positivity, without ever being cliché. In contrast with the reflective atmosphere, Kennedy is sporting – in addition to his trademark hat – some pretty bold trews, the black and white striped spandex giving more glam metal vibes than soul-bearing introspective gothic drama.

‘Amber’ is sparse and atmospheric, and with its marching boots introduction, its dark, gothy bass and snaking guitar, ‘Frozen Charlotte’ is a real highlight of the set, as it is on the album. It’s sweeping, majestic, grand, the sound crisp and clear and nailed tightly to some tense, metronomic drumming. Mika Rudawska’s brooding cello stands out in shaping its haunting atmosphere.

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Bringing the The Tengu Taiko Drummers back for a collaborative rendition of ‘Ariadne’ makes for an incredible finale: Kennedy vacates the stage to stand in front as soprano vocalist Megan Richardson takes centre position, and he enthusiastically conducts this monumental performance.

Combining an album launch with a debut live outing was an ambitious project, to say the least – but it befits such an ambitious musical project – and not only did it not disappoint, but exceeded even the highest expectations. Nothing short of stunning.

A Void / Mango in Euphoria / Hitlist – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 19th June 2026

Posted: 21 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The phrase ‘local band’ still carries negative connotations, despite the fact that practically every band is local to somewhere. Of course, the main criticism when it comes to the application of the term ‘local’ is the implicit issue of their failure to travel further afield to grow their audience. Historically, it carried with it the notion that the band weren’t good enough to get gigs elsewhere. Concurrent with, and somewhat contradictory to, this – and I suppose we’re largely going back to the music press of the 80s and 90s – was the London-centric nature of coverage of live music. Occasionally bands from, say, Manchester, Sheffield, or Leeds would get a rare look-in, but it’s not hard to see why bands who wanted to ‘make it’ would move to London. The north was perceived as quaint, parochial, and peripheral, and largely of less consequence.

It’s quite the paradox that many bands could cultivate a career without ever travelling outside the M25. No-one ever beefed that bands who never, or rarely, played outside London were just ‘local’ bands. Then again, to an extent, it’s a question of scale. It’s possible to play in London four times in a week and still not reach all of the potential fanbase. The same can’t be said of somewhere like, say, Lincoln, or Stoke, or even Nottingham. In this context, it’s understandable why smaller London-based bands don’t feel the need to travel further afield much or often, particularly in the current economic climate, when the cost of fuel alone is likely to outstrip the proceeds of door takings and merch sales, without considering sustenance and accommodation.

As such, we’re incredibly privileged to receive two – two – London-based, French-derived bands hitting Leeds together. Both have been on my wishlist for a while, having followed both online for some years now. The last time A Void played Leeds was 2021, and although they ventured north to play York earlier this year, following the departure of the latest in their ‘rotating cast’ of drummers, they played an acoustic set, and superb as it was, it wasn’t the full-throttle grunge blast I’d spent so long yearning for. And now co-founding bassist Aaron Hartmann has departed (as in left, not died), meaning they’re showcasing a brand new – ‘temporary’ – lineup. Which feels a bit harsh, but we’ll come to all of this presently.

First up, and early doors, Hitlist deliver punchy punky alt-rock songs with solid choruses and strong hooks – and some flamboyant slap bass breaks. They have some really nice melodic guitar parts woven into the songs, and play with confidence. Their set is well-considered, and they get harder and faster towards the end. The drummer moans loudly between songs, as if he’s in serious pain or perturbation. It is absolutely fucking boiling mind. And it only gets hotter as the night progresses.

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Hitlist

Mango in Euphoria are pure class from the very start, and they’re straight in with some big glammy grooves. The new, all-female five-piece lineup is sounding fantastic (the high tom being louder than the rest of the drums notwithstanding, but that’s pedantry on my part) – tight, together, with a bright, metallic guitar sound and the synths adding no small dynamic variation. They’re also fully committed to the image, too – none more so than Mango herself in her strikingly slinky getup, and nothing you may have seen in terms of footage on the Internet fully conveys the wild force of nature she is on stage. Throwing poses galore and chucking herself about all over, you’d think this was a 1,500 capacity arena rather than a 150-capacity indie venue with a worryingly bouncy stage. It’s quite the show, alright.

‘5th Year’ is a straight up power ballad. The set flies in the blink of an eye. ‘Lovestruck’ lands as the penultimate song, and it’s epic – the atmospherics and sultry beats of the studio version switched up to chunky, rockin’ dark pop beast before they close with ‘Hollywood’, and they slay it.

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Mango in Euphoria

A Void power in with a swift one-two of ‘One of a Kind’ and ‘Sick as a Dog’ from their last album, Dissociated. Next up, the first of the new songs is particularly hard and driving, reminiscent in parts of Solar Race, only with some straight up metal riffery. It’s apparent just how much the songwriting – and musical capabilities – of the band have evolved since 2018’s Awkward and Devastated. New drummer Mave is a hard hitter, while bassist Lauren lunges towards the crowd and plays with total commitment. And the rapport and banter between the three is a joy. There’s also some remarkably candid chat, and we learn that the album-in-progress since 2023 has been recorded no fewer than three times due to lineup changes whereby new members have brought something different to the songs.

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A Void

They’re all absolutely melting up there, and Camille laments her choice of a velour tracksuit-type getup which is likely the clothing equivalent of a portable sauna. Because this is A Void, there are elements of chaos throughout – Camille upends her pedal board several times, and the drum kit and stool require constant adjustment, and there’s always a sense that anything could happen at any moment. But they manage to keep it together to the end, closing an hour-long set with a boisterous rendition of ‘Stepping on Snails’, and in typical form, Camille celebrates by lying on her back and waving her legs in the air. I’d have responded in kind if I wasn’t encumbered by a pint and a camera and being of an age where I’d likely struggle to get up again. That said, the number of older blokes in the room – I’m talking 60+, rather than 50+ – is somewhat strange, but bands don’t choose their audiences, and there are also a lot of women under thirty here, too. But I digress as my brain slowly melts and I find myself transitioning to a liquid form… this was one of those crazy, sticky, intense summer gigs that stand out, and those of us who were there will be telling people about it in years to come.

Utterly Fuzzled #10 – Objections / Knitting Circle / Count Florida / The Bricks / Pope Joan / Dragged Up – Fulfordgte WMC, York, 6 June 2026

Posted: 9 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

I’ve been frothing about the Utterly Fuzzled events for a while now, as being an absolute cornerstone of the remarkably vibrant York scene of the moment, and similarly, I’ve commented variously on the sense of community and the way the promoters support one another rather than compete. It’s perhaps a byproduct of these challenging times – noted from the stage by Objections during their set – whereby putting on gigs at this level is bloody hard work and largely a thankless task – and not without financial risk, either, which means that those who do it do so because first and foremost they’re passionate about music.

Times have certainly changed: back in the 80s and 90s, often regarded as a golden age for independent venues and new music, smaller places such as York were under the monopoly of greedy promoters who would operate pay to play and other unscrupulous policies which largely ensured that the bands – who had no money to begin with – took the risk while they got paid regardless. At least now there’s a certain sense of equality in that no-one gets paid.

This is their tenth event, which expanded into a two-nighter (A Fuzzlefest, if you will), of which this is the second, and the lineup is stacked – a veritable ‘Best of Utterly Fuzzled’, with four of tonight’s acts making a return (if we include Objections who played a pre-Fuzzled event before the name was formalised).

The fact that former headliners Dragged Up are late additions and opening proceedings, hitting the stage at 5:30 before hauling up to Newcastle (after playing Middlesborough the night before), is quite the coup, and testament to the strength of the connections organisers Jo and Pete have with the bands they put on.

Future single ‘Rapunzel’ lands mid set with guests vocals from Mel Whittle of fellow Glasgow act Count Florida – who are on later – and slides onto the chord sequence of Bauhaus’ ‘Dark Entries’ in the mid section. They close with a sprawling eight-minute monster about leopard print, which lands with far more impact in the room than it ever could on paper.

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Dragged Up

Pope Joan’s performance exemplifies everything that’s brilliant about the Fuzzled events – the spread of genres and the willing ness to showcase the oddball and experimental electronica amidst the guitar-based indie and post-punk and beyond. Pope Joan – formerly of Leeds act Casino Volante – brings a host of elements together with some quirky humour and a dash of strange. Initially, we get Stereolab meets Kraftwerk, evolving into some experimental synthy hip-hop with some mutant disco going on. Then at times it gets a but noisy, a bit DAF, a bit Cabaret Voltaire. The bants are awkward, and this seems to be part of the act, too. There’s a Yeah Yeah Yeahs cover that sounds more like Suicide – the band, that is.

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Pope Joan

Two weeks on from the last time I saw them, The Bricks are relaxed and on fine form. It’s a very different setting, and the fact they’re every bit as good playing through their backline as through a PA – and seem as comfortable – is an indication of just how well meshed they are as a unit. Gemma installs herself in front of the stage, and, with all the room, she makes the most of the space, charging about, radiating electric energy. And once again, she hollers her fucking lungs out, to the extent that she’s visibly and audibly spent every grain of her guts by the end of the set. It wouldn’t work if the band behind her weren’t the pinnacle of precision, though, and while they have lengthy debates about what song’s next and how it goes, once the first bar happens, they’re in the zone.

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The Bricks

Second Glasgow band of the night, Count Florida espouse vintage jangly indie, hinting at the sound of C86, but perhaps more pertinently that of the Postcard Label – something which is uniquely Scottish (despite their releasing a single by The Go-Betweens, who were Australian). They’re perhaps a little under rehearsed for a few of the songs, and while not necessarily performed to peak level, I couldn’t help but feel the effect of some of their deeply personal songs about death and about loss and needed to breathe for a couple of minutes after their set.

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Count Florida

Knitting Circle just get better, tighter, more confident, more comfortable with every performance. They might not think so, but they do. Even when looking tense and debating the set list, the way they react to audience call-outs and situations more generally shows an assurance that’s a measure of a band becoming truly established. They throw in the risky new material in early, and the second half of the set is, as ever, a showcase in choppy, issues-based post punk. On the subject of issues, Jo (vocals, bass) recently posted on Facebook how a recent review had made a deal of her choice of dress in contrast to the rest of the band, highlighting how deep sexism runs in all aspects of our culture – it’s particularly glaring in context of Pete’s remarkable shirt collection. When asking of the audience how the mix was, there was a call for him to turn his guitar up – fair enough, but equally, he might have turned his shirt down. Anyway, needless to say, they sound great.

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Knitting Circle

Objections are also well-liked around these parts, and further afield. I made precisely no notes during their set: I was simply hypnotised by the fretwork. They’re by no means a wanky band, but they are incredibly technical, and totally kinetic in their performance. They’re not exactly in the domains of Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica, but there is very much a sense of the three bandmembers each playing different tunes – but it all comes together, miraculously. Claire Adams’ bass switches between stop/start and booming groove, and it melds perfectly with the precision, jazz-style drumming of Neil Turpin, while Joseph O’Sullivan goes nuts in his own world making noise never before wrung from an electric twelve string. They’re completely unprepared when hassled for an encore, but after some debate, we get one. This is real, spontaneous. And it’s ace.

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Objections

This is live music at its best. Six bands for the price of a takeaway. Four have travelled: all six are worth the entrance fee. But it’s more than just about seeing some decent bands. It’s about the vibe, and the people, too. This is the very core of the live music scene.

Sewage Farm / Too Late For Gods / Bitchcraft – The Black Horse, York, 4th June 2026

Posted: 5 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Alongside the Utterly Fuzzled events, the monthly Horsemusic nights at The Black Horse – a traditional boozer just outside the walls at the north of the city centre – have rapidly become established as not only a showcase for local and regional talent, also a barometer to the health of the music scene in the City of York. While proper dedicated independent / grassroots venues have been whittled to just two, these nights tend to be well attended and the acts received enthusiastically.

Tonight’s lineup is an absolute cracker. Bitchcraft had been scheduled to headline, but switched to go on early doors in order to hotfoot it across town to play a cancer charity gig – that they’re in such demand speaks for itself, as does the fact that they’re keen to honour both bookings. Equally telling is that the organisers have elected to pass any donations from tonight’s Horsemusic event (which is free, donations welcome) on to the charity too. This is what makes a healthy scene, when bands and promoters support one another and work together. And so it is that Jo and Pete Dale are here, clapping the bands as hard as anyone, and flyering for their upcoming weekender in between.

The last time I saw Bitchcraft, they announced their change of name during the set, because some film makers weren’t happy about The Blair Bitch Project. The new name suits, though: the all-female four-piece serve up fierce grungy alt-rock of a very 90s persuasion, and despite some guitar issues later in the set, there’s no sense that they’re holding back and saving themselves for the second set. Oh no. They give a hundred per cent.

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Bitchcraft

The risk of the intended headliners going on first is that things could potentially fall a bit flat after, but the quality across the board is such that all three of tonight’s acts felt like headliners.

Too Late For Gods – who for some reason I’d assumed had travelled from further afield, but are also a York band, and who have brought some very keen mates along, wearing hoodies of their album, Misery Blooms – have a lot going on. A power trio with five-string bass and big amps, their Facebook page describes them as a ‘post-hardcore/emu three piece’, and I worry that Rod Hull’s estate might be wanting a word, but they go far beyond these genre parameters, with some thick, gnarly metal, grunge, nu-metal, at times a bit Fudge Tunnel, a bit metalcore, a bit post hardcore, a bit emo… It’s a matter of taste as to whether all of these different elements have equal appeal, but it’s a matter of fact that they kick up a lot of noise and some hefty, sludgy riffs, beefy bass and roaring vocals. It’s also a matter of fact that they play incredibly well, have their sound absolutely down, and mic stand issues not withstanding, deliver an outstanding set.

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Too Late for Gods

Sewage Farm have no issues. Well, not of a technical nature, although their rampant, riff-blasting rager of a new album, Fuck It, which I reviewed for Whisperin’ and Hollerin’ is positively foaming with piss and vinegar. They play pretty much the entirety of the fifteen track album during their set, which can’t be much over half an hour long. And it’s glorious. No chat. No tuning. No pausing to regain breath, take drinks, towel down. Instead, they power through the songs – short, fast, loud – packed back to back from beginning to end.

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They’re a blur of moppy hair giving the riotous energy of Mudhoney and the US alt scene before it transitioned into grunge proper, and because they’ve all been in countless bands since forever, they play with a proficiency which matches the power, and they’re simply a lot of fun. And fun is important, especially right now.

The Bricks / Imaginary Friends / Rodentia – The Fulford Arms, York, 22nd May 2026

Posted: 23 May 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

It’s bank holiday Friday in May. It’s exam season at university, and York Races on Saturday. And it’s the first day of a heatwave, which hits after three weeks of rain and temperatures which have struggled to make double figures. These could all be factors in explaining tonight’s turnout. But because it’s absolutely melting, I probably go a fair way to compensating any fall in bar sales just to put fluid in as fast as it’s pouring out of me, and I can only imagine how hot it would have been if the place had been packed.

Rodentia are a late addition to the lineup, which has been subject to a number of revisions. They open their set with a cover of ‘Harness Your Hopes’ by Pavement. It seems a curious choice, although having gone viral on TikTok and become their most streamed song on Spotify, meaning it’s probably a lot better known than I appreciate. They’re a three-piece, and the singer/guitarist is a lanky sod who’s vocal style is a croaky drawl. He asks us if we’ve heard of a band called Radiohead before they play ‘Just’. I hope he’s kidding. It’s a passable rendition. On their second original song, ‘Never Left’ (the set alternates a 50/50 split of originals and covers), the bass and guitar part ways in playing the same key around a minute in, and the discord become increasingly apparent as the set progresses. Then there’s a cover of Viagra Boys ‘Worms’. It’s all very much geared towards the lower end of mid-tempo, and as such lacks dynamic and energy. They finally find the accelerator at the end of the last song, ‘Borat’, and go pedal to the metal before a hard stop which feels like driving straight into a wall. There’s potential, but considerable work needed.

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Rodentia

Sheffield’s Imaginary Friends gave the initial impression they were going to be a bit pop-punk, but immediately unleashed a bass-heavy grunged-up wall of noise. At times more straight punk, and in places proper heavy, their invitations to come forward become a running joke throughout the set. Because it’s not especially busy, the space in front of the stage is quite sparsely populated, but half of those present are pinned to the walls in the face of the sheer volume. Apparently, they’ve got merch, too.

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Imaginary Friends

This is a power trio for whom power is the operative word, with a wild flanged guitar sound. It seems I’m too old to know ‘All Star’, the cover they closed with. Apparently, it’s by Smash Mouth, according to a younger mate. Would see again.

The Bricks I would always see again, and by now I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve seen them. The thing is, they’re always bloody good – and tonight is no exception. Whether it’s packed to the rafters or half empty, they always give everything, and there are few bands who are this consistent, both in terms of performance and the standard of the material. However, because the audience is a bit sparse, the vibe is notably relaxed, with more direct interaction between band and audience.

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The Bricks

Their songs are short and fast, and there’s no way they could play with such intensity for an hour even if they had the material. But Gemma’s on chatty form, and while she may be utterly fearsome while singing, between songs her persona’s more akin to Mrs Merton (more so now she’s wearing glasses), and utterly hilarious at times. Because it’s all so natural and unfiltered, not to mention the diametric opposite of the music and the performance, which is full-on, stomping, aggressive, it’s all the more endearing. The bottom line is that they’re a great band. Will definitely see again – next month.

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