Posts Tagged ‘goth’

San Francisco-based goth/industrial/post-punk/darkwave unit Bestial Mouths is proud to release the video for ‘HISS,’ taken from the band’s upcoming album DEAD LINES (Lineas Muertes), set to be released on September 4th via Negative Gain Productions.

The mastermind Lynette Cerezo has stated about the track:

“When hatred becomes dispersed through a culture until it’s difficult to distinguish personal anguish from the machinery producing it, identity becomes performative, divided into subsets and factions. “Progress is fragile,” and it can also be poisonous. This poison is cyclical: with the seeds we plant, we reap another generation of toxicity.”

DEADLINES (Lineas Muertes) is the first full length album from Bestial Mouths since 2023 saw the release of R.O.T.T. (inmyskin) through Negative Gain Productions. Featuring eight emotionally heavy and politically driven high-energy anthems, DEAD LINES represents a communal march away from the servitude of those who seek to exploit and abuse our fears.

Written together by Lynette Cerezo with Brant Showers (∆AIMON/ SØLVE) and featuring the elegant mixing skills of Zola Jesus collaborator Alex DeGroot, this is the band at its most polished and accessible; while still presenting a raw and untethered rejection of nihilism and the weaponized apathy calculated by systems designed to erase us.

For everyone who understands the desperate frustration that leads to burning everything down around you, this one’s for you. DEAD LINES secures Bestial Mouths’ reputation for powerful and empowering releases with its heavy and cathartic rhythms, tense and emotional vocals, and earnest message of resistance – “We don’t have to live like this.”

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Christopher Nosnibor

Well, this certainly wasn’t the introduction I’d been plotting previously. And it’s almost certainly not the review anyone was expecting – least of all myself. But I started Aural Aggravation specifically to create a platform for more in-depth, essay-like pieces which ventured into topics around the music, rather than simply giving cut-and-dried star-rating reviews in a hundred and fifty words or fewer. Bucking the trend? That was essentially the point. And so here we are.

I’d had a great time. I’d seen some outstanding live music, and spent time with friends and acquaintances – and perfect strangers, and short dark ones – united in an appreciation of music and (sub)culture. I was walking home over the bridge less than ten minutes from my house – a busy spot at any time, even at night – in what’s generally considered the ‘nice’ end of York, holding a black plastic rose I’d been handed towards the end of the night, when suddenly my ear prick up: “carrying a rose an’ shit… is it an ‘ee?” Then, incredulously, “Yeah, it’s an ‘ee,”. A couple of drunk blokes are rasping loudly between themselves as they sit on the bridge in the dark. Yes, I’m an ‘ee. A fifty-year-old ‘ee, white, bald, and wearing a battered Stetson, just minding my own business. And yet, for some reason, they found it necessary to comment. Why?

In my head, I’m whispering ‘cunts, cunts, cunts’ to myself, but strangely enough, never once in all of my fifty years have I felt the need to pass comment, and certainly not to shout out some shit, at a random stranger. And yet, since the age of fifteen, when I ‘turned goth’, I’ve been subjected to street heckles – or, let’s call it what it is – verbal abuse by strangers for simply walking down the street. A lot of it comes in the form of unintelligible yells from passing white vans. The first I distinctly remember – perhaps being one of the first instances – was some bloke yelling out of a van, “St. John’s is that way!” I used to live just outside Lincoln, close to St John’s Hospital, which was at one time the largest mental institution in the country, before the Conservatives introduced ‘care in the community’ (a topic which is an essay in itself). I get a lot of people doing Michael Jackson impressions at me – because, y’know, he was a bald white bloke who wore a Stetson… ohhh. Of course. A hat and shades. I must be Michal fucking Jackson. Easy mistake to make.

But here are two things I feel I must note. The first is, that apart from the time some drunk female racegoers passed me making stage whispers of “It’s Pitbull!” (I wasn’t wearing my hat, and being a bald bloke in shades, hey, it must be Pitbull, because there are no other bald guys in shades in the summer), it’s always – ALWAYS – men. The second its that I simply cannot grasp the way people are seemingly incapable of having a thought without verbalising it, and at volume, even if not with the intention of intimidation or harassment. But seemingly the Catchphrase hook of ‘say what you see’ is a rule to live by for far too many boneheads.

Doberwoman, tonight’s first act, summarises this shit most succinctly, when she observes that prejudice is the product of fear (and perhaps self-hatred). Racism stems first and foremost from a fear which comes from a lack of understanding of other cultures. The most rabid homophobes seem to be mostly afraid of their own homosexual tendencies (take a moment to reflect on Andrew Tate’s absurd assertion that any man who sleeps with women is gay), and it’s clear that people who feel compelled to harass anyone who’s even vaguely alternative are likely scared because they simply can’t comprehend anything that isn’t their own tiny mainstream sphere, but more than that, they’re afraid because they see either an element of themselves, or the potential for them to become that thing, of crossing into that otherness.

Doberwoman, incidentally, is great, getting things going early doors (really early, as in 4pm early) with an energetic and entertaining set of lo-fi electropop with some strong feminist messaging. In a nutshell, she’s a one-woman Soft Cell. The vocals being up in the mix allows her powerful lyrics to be heard with clarity.

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Doberwoman

The strong messaging is a leading reason why we’re here, and it’s worth taking a moment to reflect on this, particularly in context of the experience I recounted of my walk home. I would say it didn’t bother me, since I’m largely immune to it after thirty-five years of it, and the grief I get is fairly low-level in the scheme of things. But of course, whatever my level of immunity, I did bother me. The guys griefing me will have forgotten they even saw me two minutes later. This isn’t about me, but then, in a way, it is. The Sophie Lancaster Foundation exists to educate on the importance of inclusivity, to stimulate conversations about prejudice, and to celebrate difference, and tonight’s event is a fundraiser for the foundation, which was founded after Sophie and her boyfriend were attacked by a gang of five boys in a park in 2007. Sophie lost her life as the result of this attack. The provocation? She dressed alternatively. Although Sophie was labelled a ‘goth’ by the media, this feels both misrepresentative, and reductive (and again, that’s probably another essay), but the thing I will say on this matter is that the goth subculture may have its fair share of posers and musical gatekeepers, but the general ethos of this broad subculture is to live and let live. You won’t find goths knifing one another or brawling in the streets – or at gigs.

Following Doberwoman is Tiny Forehead. Their set could be summarised as ‘started weird, and then the guitarist removed his leg’. They’re a Nottingham six-piece who are visually discombobulating. None of them look like they belong to the same band, and the front man is wearing a chequered full-face balaclava he can’t see out of, which means he has some struggles with the mic stand. And the lack of a face is something I find quite disconcerting – it’s mostly surreal, but also taps into something deeper and more fearful. But he disarms those fears with some affable banter and some spectacularly awful jokes, which he hoots away to, and meanwhile, they serve up some solid 80s alternative rock, and the dual vocals work an absolute treat. They’re by absolutely no means goth in the conventional sense, but they have some songs about vampires, and their entire vibe is very much a celebration of non-norminess. They bring some tidy grooves, too. ‘Keep Dialling’ is a bit All About Eve, only with some trancy synths spun into the mix, while ‘Pogos Wood’ is more uptempo dream pop, and it’s during this that the guitarist removes his artificial leg and hops around at the finale. Zany, unpredictable, and with some solid tunes, they’re a lot of fun.

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Courtesan are the first truly goth-sounding act of the night: their second song sounds very like Skeletal Family’s ‘She Cries Alone’ in the guitar parts in the verse, and this is very much the space they occupy musically – northern goth circa 83/4. The third song is called Incubus Succubus, introduced as a song about ‘ghosts that shag’. Ignore the backwards baseball caps on the drummer and the bassist (who looks a bit like Fred Durst): these guys are proper early goth. New song ‘Sister Crow’ has heavy hints of mid-80s Damned. They close with a cover of Nancy Boy. It’s a bit stodgy, but goes down a storm, and deservedly so.

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Courtesan

This show is well-timed for Machiner, who released their album just over a week ago. The last time I saw them, we were sharing a bill in a cemetery chapel in York, and while tonight’s venue may be less dramatic, their brand of sweeping shoegaze is no less captivating. The drum machine is a little quiet to begin with, as is singer Paul’s guitar, but the mix is soon sorted, and they’re in the zone. The melancholic ‘The Sound of Disappearing’ lands mid-set, which is a heady blend of neo-prog and post rock, with hints of Oceansize, and Vessels but with a vocals. The slow-burning album opener, ‘Silent Running’ arrives as the penultimate song of the set, where dripping synths and layered guitar drift together. They definitely won themselves some new fans tonight.

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Machiner

It’s here that my notes start getting briefer; we’re four bands and four pints in, and it’s getting warm. But more than this, Social Youth Cult are nothing short of mind-blowing, and I find I’m completely gripped. The singer channels Peter Murphy and Ian Curtis in equal measures. Wearing high-waisted boot-cut jeans and a brocade shirt, he’s as white as a sheet and thin as a lath. He’s got the looks and the moves as well as the voice. And hell, yes, he’s got the voice, with all the brooding, the drama, the dynamics. He brings the theatrical, art rock style, and he absolutely fucking owns it. Peter Hook style basslines boom out atop soaring guitar parts, which often switch to a more scratchy, textural approach. At the back, there’s a minimal kit, from which emanates heavy, tom-led drumming. ‘The Lighthouse’ comes with hints of ‘Dark Entries’ and explosive energy. These guys need to sort a double-header tour with Mouth Ulcers as the ultimate new goth showcase. They are an absolute must-see.

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Social Youth Cult

Westenra are playing their latest album, Burn Me Once, in its entirety for the first time. This is a bold move. But they’re a bold band, and the album, as I observed in my review, is well-paced and nicely balanced, and as such, flows well in a live setting. Opener ‘Ghosts in the Machine’ highlights the busy bassline and Luci leaps around and comes on like Siouxsie with dance moves. Bassist Dominique is an imposing presence, but with heels which are practically stilts, Luci really dominates the stage, her voice even stronger as her presence. And despite struggling for breath and sputtering between songs due to the smoke from the previous acts, she doesn’t miss a note, and remains as energetic while performing throughout. Guitarist Karl could be reasonably as a generic goth guitarist, being middle-aged and sporting a hat, but that would be to severely diminish his understated contribution here.

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Westenra

The slower ‘Hold Me Close’ is epic and operatic, so hardly offers the kind of respite the mid-set slowie bands regain their breath during. In fact, this is a set which keeps the energy and high throughout, and it’s without doubt that this is the reason they’ve made swift progress in establishing their place on the scene. ‘Stuck in a Cage’ gets its first live airing, and rocks solidly, before ‘Regret’ brings even heftier riffage and thick, low-end bass tones.

The main set and the (self-imposed) pressure of performing the album out of the way, they get to cut by loose opening encore with ‘Trinity’, and they close with their gothed-up take on Iron Maiden’s ‘The Number of the Beast’.

Not only was there not a duff band on the bill, but everything about this was magnificent – even the cheesy compering. The alternative scene is effervescent, and abrim with exciting new acts. And the hassle on way home notwithstanding, it was as close to perfect as a night gets.

Long held in high regard for a sound that is a modern and unique take on classic goth and post-punk, Swedish trio Then Comes Silence have released a brand new single entitled ‘Judgement Day’. It is the first to be lifted from Requiem Ballroom, their new studio album out on 20th November.

“This song is about failure, bad decisions and poor behaviour – those who will be the first in line on doomsday,” the band explain. Beginning with a catchy Euro techno melody, the surprising intro creates a contrast to the band’s established roots from the outset and serves as a metaphor for the theme of the song. The band itself ‘fails’ by letting something completely unexpected and out of character take over.

A video for ‘Judgement Day’ has been directed by Damon Zurawski of Future Legends Films and can be seen here:

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Requiem Ballroom will be the follow-up to Trickery, the seventh full-length album by Then Comes Silence released in 2024. Collecting accolades galore, the UK’s Classic Rock magazine described it as “the post-punk influence of Bauhaus or Joy Division offset by an ’80s windblown, cinematic sense of drama presented with silky production and confidence.” Vive Le Rock concurred, remarking on its “huge, spectral sound that cascades the post-punk genres seamlessly whilst delivering a unique and compelling sound that is as captivatingly gripping as it is intense.”

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Christopher Nosnibor

By the early 80s, the power of punk had mostly petered out. We were very much in the post-punk era, and most of the first wave of punk acts had called it a day or slunk into obscurity. And yet The Damned, whose debut, ‘New Rose’ was the first single by a British punk band, released their most commercially successful album in 1982 in the form of Strawberries, and their continued success through the 80s was largely attributable to their ongoing evolution, leaning into the gothic – and even the overtly goth – style. It was Strawberries which saw Roman Jugg join their ever-expanding family tree to contribute keyboard solos, and when Captain Sensible left the band a couple of years later, Roman stepped into the role of guitarist. So the pitch that they’re ‘playing songs from the back catalogue as they were originally meant to be performed’ might sound like quite a claim, but since the set does predominantly focus on songs from Phantasmagoria and Anything, which Jugg was involved in writing, he’s certainly got grounds. As for older songs, well he toured with the band long enough to be considered an authority.

Considering Gary Numan is playing the Peace Hall just up the road in Halifax tonight, there’s a respectable turnout, and deservedly so. The question of the impact of these large outdoor summer gigs in addition to festivals and their impact on regular gigs, particularly for those at smaller, and specifically grass roots venues may be one to debate in more detail separately, but so far this year it does feel as if the effect may be tipping towards the negative. These events seem to be as much social as musical, everyone plastering their social media with blurry pica and wobbly videos with shit audio to prove that they were there – that they’d forked out £60 to stand a mile from the stage and listen to people chat while slopping exorbitantly-priced crap lager over their own trainers. And fine, each to their own of course, but there’s no trickle-down here, and they’re not a gateway to grassroots events when people I know would often attend the small-venue gigs can’t make it because they’re either at one of these big gigs, or are tired / skint as a result of having been to one – or three. And again, is a £60 gig six times better than a £10 gig? Obviously it’s impossible to quantify, but I think it’s fair to say there’s a point at which the experience grows incrementally less enjoyable as the scale of the show increases. Somewhat ironically, The Damned, still fronted by Dave Vanian, and with Paul Gray on bass and Rat Scabies behind the kit, are playing at both The Peace Hall and Scarborough Open Air Theatre this summer, the latte as support to American rock supergroup Hollywood Vampires (Alice Coooper and Johnny Depp, with Aerosmith’s Joe Perry), which sounds nothing short of hellish. It highlights just how much the nostalgia market has changed the nature of things: I saw The Damned in the middle of the afternoon at Guilfest circa 2003, and they didn’t even sell out the 200-capacity Fibbers in York in 2005 or 2006. They were great, mind you, but felt like they were a band that worked best in a space with a low ceiling and where the front row is within spitting distance, literally.

Boggis Fringe are up first. Having risen from the ashes of dark post-punk combo Fatherfigures in 2024, following the death of their guitarist, Boggis Fringe straddle the space between old-school punks playing old-school punk, and some quite taut post-punk action. Tonight, the power trio are once again expanded to a four-piece, with the addition of Erin on second guitar, who also provides backing vocals and covers drumming duties for a few songs in the middle of the set. As we soon learn, this is because drummer Chris is still recovering from a knee injury, and isn’t yet back to strength to manage the entirety of the set. Add to the instrument swapping some guitar cut outs (pesky pedals and leads), the feel is a shade chaotic, but it in no way detracts, and if anything, makes it feel more authentically punk. Singer Doug plays like he hates his guitar even more than life itself, and gets bonus points for the most audaciously bad wordplay joke I’ve heard in a while.

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Boggis Fringe

I was rather underwhelmed the last time I saw Moose Knuckle in York at the back end of 2024. They felt sluggish and low-energy, and worst of all, entitled, as if they believed the audience should put in more work, despite their own apparent lack of effort. It seems I caught them on an off night. They really give it some on this hometown outing, powering through nine songs on half an hour. New song ‘Hard to Kill’, which lands mid-set, has strong hints of The Ramones. Their cover of The Prodigy’s ‘Breathe’ (mistitled on the setlist as Breath) is still the best thing in the set, mind, and of the originals, the squelchy funk rage of ‘Old Flame’ is a clear standout, although another new song, a grungy beast that’s called ‘Do It On My Own’ is a close second.

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Moose Knuckle

Roman Jugg has assembled quite a band for this latest tour centered around the songs he wrote while with The Damned in the 80s, notably absorbing garage duo Dave and Fi Dukale, aka The Tuppenny Bunters (interchangeably) on drums, keyboards, and vocals. They’ve been on my radar for a while, and although this doesn’t strictly qualify as seeing them as such, it does still sort of count as a twofer. Pat MacNamara is rocking turnups worthy of Kirk Brandon and sideburns that would impress Neil Young, and does a mean bass face throughout the set. Meanwhile Roman himself and guitarist Paul Bedford keep things low-key and keep the focus on the songs, which they bang out with admirable proficiency.

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Roman Jugg Band

The setlist is superb, and apart from ‘Elouise’ not featuring, is more or less a selection of my favourite Damned songs. ‘I Just Can’t be Happy Today’ drops fourth in a rammed set. ‘Edward the Bear’ goes down a storm before they’re back to plundering from Strawberries.

Dave and Fiona switch drums and keyboards for a bit, and they blast through a high-octane rendition of ‘Ignite’. Their styles are quite different, with Fiona bringing more swing and a fluid stroke that contrasts with Dave’s method, and this shift gives the set a certain dynamic. ‘Grimly Fiendish’ – probably the first song by The Damned I heard growing up still sounds ace – as if The Kinks had penned a cabaret goth tune. Dark but poppy and great fun. As the set moves into its final stages around the hour mark, they kick it up a couple of gears and raid the early singles for blistering takes on ‘Smash it Up’ and ‘Neat Neat Neat’. There’s barely a minute’s pause, during which only half the band actually vacate the stage before they encore with a hundred-mile-an hour ‘New Rose’ which delivers a final injection of adrenaline for the night.

Sod your social media ‘I was there’ big-names-in-massive-venues shows: this is still, and will forever be, what live music is really about.

3rd July 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

For so, so long, the UK music industry was so London-centric that it actually hurt. The music press would flock to all the regular London haunts within spitting distance of their offices and declare that they’d just witnessed the next big thing. often, it became a self-fulfilling prophecy, because said bands found themselves in the national press, but because London is so huge, they rarely needed to venture beyond the M25. There were moments in time when cities in the North spawned scenes which were simply impossible to ignore – Manchester in the late 70s and again in he 90s, Sheffield in the 80s, and Leeds, also in the 80s – as much as the press tried to look the other way there. But over the last fifteen years or so, Leeds has consistently birthed acts of a remarkable quality.

It’s true that, living in York, I may be prone to a certain Leeds bias of the kind which tinged the London-based press historically, but I still have to travel to the next county to see shows in Leeds, which requires both time, effort, and expenditure. In short, the quality has to be there to motivate me to go. But more to the point, this is not a matter of settling for what’s accessible. In the late 80s and early 90s, I yearned to live in London because it seemed that’s where I needed to be to discover the most happening music. This is not the case anymore: the Leeds scene is positively foaming with exciting acts, more than I can even keep pace with.

During this time of new band emerging on a weekly basis, Kath and the Kicks have been beavering away, building a following through a steady live schedule and a flow of exhilarating releases, the latest of which is ‘Sleep’.

Pitched as being for fans of Skunk Anansie, Siouxsie Sioux, Muse, Guano Apes, No Doubt, and The Runaways, ‘Sleep’ brings together slugging grunge riffery and doomy / goth vocals with a subtle pop edge – that is to say, amidst the ethereality and posed drama, there’s a melodic accessibility. Here, they bring the kind of guitar-driven heft, blended with soaring melody, that invites comparisons to heavier contemporary acts like Cwfen (and given that Sorrows was one of my top albums of 2025, that’s no small compliment).

Their name may carry connotations of a middling, middle-aged pub-rock band, but Kath & The Kicks bring full-throttle power, and properly kick arse with gutsy guitars and a distinctive dynamism, and with ‘Sleep’ they bring it all together into a densely-packed guitar-driven blast. Top drawer.

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Kath & The Kicks Promo shot 2

22nd July 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

‘At Last, I Found You’ arrives as a standalone single to bookend the releases from their album, F.I.V.E. (Fear Increases Violent Emotions), released in January, ahead of a two-month tour of Europe, including some UK venues that are some way off the beaten track (which is a bummer for those on the regular circuit stop-offs, but a boon for those in neglected places like Whitchurch and Morecambe. The song was written during the F.I.V.E. sessions but intentionally held back until listeners had time to fully absorb the album, before emerging as its final companion piece, and it says something of the standard of material – as well as the level of confidence in said material – when a band are comfortable leaving what they know to be one of their strongest cuts off the main release.

But, as guitarist and bandleader Fabrizio Giampietro explains, “‘At Last, I Found You’ was always the most immediate and instinctive song we wrote during the F.I.V.E. sessions. We deliberately left it off the album because we wanted listeners to experience that record’s emotional arc without this song becoming its centre of gravity. Six months later, it

felt like the right moment to finally share it.” There’s a logic to this: so many albums are dominated by THE single, and in the age of streaming, where people tend to play tracks rather than albums (apparently – I personally shun streaming as a medium, and make a point of listening to vinyl and CD albums in full, from end to end, both when reviewing and also while cooking) it’s a decent strategy to encourage – by any means – listeners to focus on the body of work that is the album, over individual tracks.

‘At Last, I Found You’ is an obvious single cut, being a classic slice of dark synth pop with a distinctly European feel, and in drawing comparisons with early A-Ha I’m paying a strong compliment (I will forever maintain that the darker currents in their music are severely underappreciated, and songs like ‘I’ve Been Losing You’ and ‘Manhattan Skyline’ have ben wrongly eclipsed by ‘Take On Me’, because the Internet and compilation album compilers have a tendency to reduce acts with many, many hits down to one song to be endlessly repeated… don’t believe me? Duran Duran’s ‘The Reflex’ spent six weeks at number one in the UK, but you could be forgiven for thinking that ‘Rio’ was their only hit, and likewise that The Cult only had ‘She Sells Sanctuary’ as a charting single. We can learn from this just how history gets twisted, not primarily by the dissemination of false information, but by omission. Of course, I’ve digressed – that’s what I do, and I also strongly believe that the narrative of real life isn’t to be found in the main thread, but in the digressions. It’s not about the career or the landmark events, it’s about the weird detours and the dirt that falls between the cracks along the way, the stuff you don’t even notice while you’re looking at the next thing, the goals.

‘At Last, I Found You’ is dark but positive: Massimo Ciampani’s baritone vocal  leaps upwards for the soaring choruses. An insistent beat and throbbing bass drive the song, which draws together elements of 80s synth pop, 90s goth and contemporary darkwave with a crisp precision.

What goes around certainly comes around: Christine Plays Viola formed in 2008, which was certainly a lull time for the popularity of goth and adjacent music. The present is another world, not just with heritage bands like Corpus Delicti and Red Lorry Yellow Lorry and The March Violets releasing new material and / or touring, but new acts like Mouth Ulcers and Just Mustard bursting onto the scene. These are exciting times, and ‘At Last, I Found You’ is an exciting release. And while I rarely give advice, I would strongly recommend checking out the album.

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Christopher Nosnibor

Active since the mid-nineties, Chicago’s TATV GRAL (tätü ’gräl) are an industrial-leaning dark synth act, the vehicle of Allen Addington, and one very much represents the seedy, sleazier, grindier aspect of the scene. As they put it, ‘Forged in shadow, shaped by archetypal psychology, the gay male gaze, and the ritual power of containment’, and the songs in their catalogue are abrim with hints of fleshly sensuousness and dark desires pitched alongside pulsating beats.

The Treachery EP offers four versions of ‘Treachery’ – the original, plus remixes by DSTR (Daniel Myer of Haujobb), Tweaker (Chris Vrenna of NIN), and fellow Chicago industrial outfit [melter]. These are some names to be reckoned with, making this a significant release for TATV GRAL, making several steps up the ladder, so to speak. And it flexes some muscles, too.

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In terms of context, there’s a fair bit to this, from Hellenistic astrology to the psychology of James Hillman, we learn that ‘the song places these symbolic forces in dialogue with Coil’s ritual electronics, Kenneth Anger’s astrologically timed film work, and the Jungian tradition that informs them.’ Thankfully, knowledge of all of this is not a requirement when it comes to appreciating the song or the EP. But add to this the fact that Addington requested the project’s collaborators to not simply remix the track, but to draw out an emotional aspect not present – or at least, not explicitly conveyed – in the original, and it’s yielded some interesting results, which take it beyond the standard remix EP – thankfully. It’s a format that tends to feel lazy, delegating creative responsibility to others and milking material for all its worth and more, and more often than not I find I’m bored shitless of hearing the same song back to back to back with bigger beats or more bass or synth and stretched out over double the duration of the original… after Nine Inch Nails released Fixed, the remix EP had reached not only its peak, but its limit, as far as I’m concerned.

There are, of course, some exceptions, and this is one of them.

In its initial iteration, ‘Treachery’ grinds along, breathy, suggestive, with a pumping groove and with hints of DAF and Man 2 Man and Depeche Mode circa Black Celebration in the mix, and as when listening to ‘Stripped’, it’s hard to decide of you need a wank or a shower most.

The DSTR Remix is the longest of the three, adding almost a whole minute to the running time, and accentuating the heavy grinding bass synth and altering the vocals by downtuning them. The effect is weird, filthy, and vaguely menacing. The [melter] mix is all about the stomping beat and feels more aggressive, sweatier, more muscle-flexing. The arrival of the Tweaker Remix is well-timed, being altogether sparser, more minimal, and more expansive, picking apart the components and introducing significant space. You might say it’s less techno and more industrial, but whatever you say, it’s a dramatic shift in interpretation, and it works well.

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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.

27th March 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

The two single cuts from this eponymous debut couldn’t have been much more different, with ‘No one home but me’ taking the form of an epic, fuzzed out stomper that straddled authentic post-punk and second- or third-wave goth, while ‘Just Begun’ ventured into more epic, emotive territory.

I was intrigued as to the extent to which they represented the album as a whole – while at the same time harbouring certain misgivings over the use of AI for the videos and graphics. It was immediately obvious that the lyrics on the lyric video for ‘No one home but me’ weren’t entirely accurate, and while visually striking, the vid for ‘Just Begun’ was a bit ‘off’, straying into the same territory as the comeback by SPK / SPKtR. I get the appeal, particularly for self-releasing artists with no budget who can’t afford to pay professionals to do artwork and make videos… The spirit of DIY was always to find a workaround, to make something crappy yourself and be proud of the often amateurish results, whether it was a record sleeve made with a pencil sketch and stencils or a video shot in the back alleys near your house. There’s the argument that no artists are losing out, since no artists would have been employed anyway, but as much as AI stuff looks slicker, at the same time, it’s also lacking in soul and in that respect looks no more pro than the self-made work that accepts individual limitations. And that’s before we consider the environmental impact.

It may sound like it, but I’m not judging Ryan Michalski here – he’s only doing what everyone else is doing, and musically, he’s doing a lot more than most, covering quite literally everything: voice, guitar, synth, bass, drum, programming. Apart from the intro and outro, which take the form of dark rumbling noise courtesy of Clint Listing, aka The Slumbering. And he does a decent job of it, too.

The pitch for Sinister Shadows is as a ‘Gothic Death Rocker meets Post Punk project .Think Bauhaus , The Mission, Sisters of Mercy meets Wire and Killing Joke’, and there’s plenty of all that in the mix – as well as something quite unique – and much of the appeal is in the homespun and raw nature of the recordings. The songs don’t so much end as simply cut off and slam into the next one – no fade-outs or full stops – and it’s kinda cool in its primitivism. Similarly, the sound and mixing is a bit more advanced than the four-track tape recoding of old, but not much, and again, this is integral to the sound. The guitars are gritty, the drums / drum machine crisp but often partially submerged bar the crack of the snare which cuts through the welter of thick distortion.

‘Kiss the Dead Gothic Girl’ is expansive, emotive, with the layers of synth often washed away by a tsunami of overdriven guitar. ‘Day go by’ very much showcases the same sound as ‘No one home but me’, Michalski’s baritone vocal bathed in reverb, low in the mix amidst a tumult of fuzz and a soaring lead line, as he intimates dark thoughts. ‘I’ll make you suffer / I’ll make you bleed…’ he croons menacingly.

The guitars dominate, and showcase a distinctive sound that suits the material well, and the album favours mid-pace brooding. As such, the variety comes not from variations in pace but mood. ‘Lost My Mind’ is sparse in its arrangement but dense in its sound, and it finds Michalski pouring anguish, sounding brittle and vulnerable amidst a deluge of distortion, through which cheap synths blip and bleep through on occasion. This is the prelude to ‘No one here but me’, a song that reminds me of how desperate I was for a few minutes with the house to myself during lockdown. Yes – I was waiting for no-one home but me. It also reminds me that you should be careful what you wish for. It’s a killer tune, six minutes of relentlessly grinding away at a maxed-out riff while Michalski growls amidst cavernous reverb about waiting like a disease. The album’s worthwhile just for this.

The last couple of ‘proper’ songs, ‘Waiting here alone’ and ‘Your Breath’ round the album off nicely: the former is particularly dark, dense and sludgy, and arguably the album’s most Killing Joke / late 90s goth moment, the latter brings a lighter sensation, before another abrupt cut, and we’re thrown into the dolorous doom of ‘Outro’.

Sinister Shadows is everything the singles promised – bold, dark, guitar-driven, textured, deep. Exciting. The videos and cover art do the album a disservice. Raw, immediate, driving, this is killer.

AA

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1st May 2026

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s a strange world. Especially the one of music, where, residing in York, I receive a promo pitch from a PR in Madison County, Illinois, for an artist based in Sheffield, where I studied for my PhD and worked for some time after. It’s about an hour away by train, yet the music of IAmImperfect had to travel halfway across the planet and back to land in my inbox.

Their latest offering is sold as being for fans of Solar Fake, The Birthday Massacre, Faderhead, Depeche Mode, ‘and just a little bit of Iron Maiden’. How’s that for a hybrid, eh? There’s certainly a fair bit going on across the EP’s five tracks. ‘Surviving Is Not Living’ makes for a bold opener, spanning almost seven minutes and riding in on an atmospheric intro which brings together electronica and prog with sweeping synths, stuttering beats and – wait for it – a soaring guitar solo, before getting down to more conventional darkwave with an anthemic pop leaning.

‘The Fallen’ manages to perfectly balance driving beats and pumping pop form with a sense of deep melancholy, and this, in many ways, encapsulates the essence of the work. As they explain it, ‘Ghosts represents the awful feelings nagging at you, never leaving you a moment of peace. Whether it’s the pressure to make yourself fit in with your peers, the competitor who is always doing it better, or the constant reminder of how everyone else is coping and you really can’t… Ghosts is about trying to live your life while everything else fights for your attention. It pulls you down, pushes you to conform, and drags you back into the dark. It is about what it takes to keep going anyway, as the world around us continues to spiral. Ghosts represents moments of quiet introspection along with flashes of hope and bursts of frustration’.

These are complex and conflicting emotions, not easily articulable. And what Ghosts does is navigate these nuances from a range of angles, but wrapped in an accessible pop-tinged package. The stomping beats of ‘Conversion Therapy’ are very much late 80s disco, while the synth lead is more 90s dance in origin, and if ‘Solitary Shell’ is sonically euphoric, lyrically it’s altogether darker.

A part of me struggles to reconcile these paradoxical positions, in that I expect dark emotional states to be paired with dark musical accompaniment. I acknowledge that there’s no real reason for this. Sure, when experiencing a dark mood, I will delve into overtly dark music, but it’s very much my own short-circuiting which finds if difficult to extrapolate dark moods from more uptempo tunes, despite being abundantly aware that ‘Emma’ by Hot Chocolate is one of the bleakest songs lyrically, in contrast to the slick disco groove of the backing.

The EP’s final track, ‘Ghosts of the Past’, is evocative, brooding, the lyrics dark, anguished, and the slow- to mid-tempo and rippling synth backing reflects the mood perfectly. And just as we’re plodding along, heads down, a blistering guitar solo break out. It’s a different kind of mood articulation, a fleeting moment of escapism, even. But this is the beauty of Ghosts. Just like moods, it switches unexpectedly, in an instant. One moment you’re laughing uncontrollably, the next the tears are flowing, almost inexplicably. IAmImperfect have forged a suite of songs which capture this contradictory psychological conundrum.

AA

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