Posts Tagged ‘grassroots’

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.

DSC06915DSC06927

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.

DSC06954DSC06948

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.

DSC06963DSC06978DSC06990

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.

DSC07013DSC07033DSC07034

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.

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.

DSC06603DSC06596DSC06626

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.

DSC06674DSC06685DSC06697

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.

DSC06706DSC06710DSC06712

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.

DSC06729DSC06782

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.

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.

DSC05267DSC05261

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.

DSC05313DSC05323DSC05335

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.

DSC05344DSC05357DSC05355DSC05367

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.

Christopher Nosnibor

This is a very different kind of gig vibe. I arrive way before there’s any music due on with a view to giving my brain a rest from stress with a book and a few beers. The Duck and Drake is a cracking boozer which boasts no fewer than fifteen cask ales. There are three gluten free offerings, for those who need to know these things, and several vegan brews. The Wensleydale Fire It Up IPA at 5% is a particular standout, but they’re all well-kept and the Old Peculier is superb.

Personal disclosure: I wasn’t feeling like turning out tonight. My motivation and confidence were through the floor this morning, and the prospect of heading off to Leeds on my own to an unfamiliar venue while the reliability of the trains, particularly getting home, was in question, had done little to compel me to venture out. But since Noisepicker – whose last two albums, both released via Exile on Mainstream – I had reviewed and enjoyed, had made the effort to come up from London to play a free show, and labelmates Might had made the effort to come from bloody Hanover, I knew I’d regret it if I yielded to my urge to retreat.

Shortly after my arrival, the pub’s invaded by a board of corporate tossers on a treasure hunt by way of a works night out, but they fuck off before too long, and I get to sup my pint while listening to the soundchecks, and it becomes increasingly apparent that I’ve made the right decision. Around nine, a cluster of beardies, hairies, and folks in black filter in and take up around the bar. And then the music starts.

Noisepicker are an intermittent band, and a classic example of a band who fit making music around dayjobs and whatnot. There was a seven-year gap between Peace Off and the latest, The Earth Will Swallow the Sun, and they’re not a big touring band. But on stage, they present an almost telepathic cohesion from the outset. ‘No Man Lies Blameless’ lands second as they fire up the heavy blues riffery after a slow, drawling start. Harry Armstrong’s phlegm and whiskey (or Newcastle Brown) vocals growl and howl all the pain, anguish, and anger at the state of humanity, and there are times in the set where he and drummer Kieran Murphy articulate this with raw primal screams, and it’s magnificently cathartic. ‘Chew’ starts almost jazzy before hitting its stride with a thick riff. When they slow it down and strip it back, as on ‘A Taste of My Dying’, it’s got a hefty swagger. ‘The Earth Will Swallow the Sun’ brings a barrage of percussion, Armstrong playing drum and guitar at the same time. There’s a cover of ‘War’ which kicks ass, delivered with guts and gusto, and landing between Motorhead and ZZ Top. They go low and slow for the set closer, and they kill it. The rapport between the two players is apparent, as is the fact they’re clearly loving doing what they do.

DSC04854DSC04901DSC04867

Noisepicker

Making their UK debut, Might start their performance off the stage, with flashing lights, smoke and dark atmospherics, before a piano backing track starts… And then the drums kick in, followed by the and guitars. The sound is nothing short of mind shattering in its density. It’s hardly surprising with that towering backline which dominates the stage and this small room. They’ve not travelled light. On record, they sound immense. Live… they take the sound to a whole other dimension.

They way they’ve worked the sound – and the visuals – is remarkable. I’d been curious as to how the duo of Ana Muhi (vocals and bass) and Sven Missullis (guitar, vocals, drums) would contrive to multi-task, and what I first thought was a drum machine actually appears to be a recording of a live drum track, which is up in the mix at a volume which corresponds with a live drum kit. Consequently, it feels like there are three people on stage – and what’s more, it almost looks that way, too, as there’s a silhouette of the drums being played which – unless my eyes deceive me – is in perfect sync with the audio. And with Nosepicker’s kit on stage behind them, and an abundance of smoke, you actually get a sense of their being an extra body up there.

DSC04953DSC04958DSC04975

Might

They churn out some monster riffs, which churn and grind, but there’s more than brute force and brutal volume happening here – there’s texture and layering, and what I can only describe as sonic alchemy. And what they conjure is something which renders the cover art for their second album, Abyss, as an aural experience, and it’s one in which time is suspended and you find yourself completely immersed and on another plane.

Stripping it back to a drone on Mrs Poise, the percussion comes from Sven striking the back of his guitar while it’s laid across his knees. The acoustic-led penultimate song ‘Tightrope Walk’ is almost folky, but nevertheless intense, Ana’s vocal delivery delicate and utterly captivating, before they close with ‘Zero’ – the final track on their eponymous debut – and it’s immense.

DSC05005DSC05016DSC05012DSC05055

Might

On the face of it, this – the first night of a little low-key package tour –was a pretty ordinary event. A couple of bands playing in a pub in a corner of Leeds. But, pitched on the premise of being 100% DIY, with free entry and serving to provide a drop of an antidote to the relentless shitness of the world, it proved to be so much more. The bands both gave it their all. The audience was small, but appreciative. They chatted with the bands, and bought T-shirts. They bought beer. And ultimately, it was pretty damn special. No corporate shit, no pissy lager in plastic cups. Grassroots music at its very best. No-one’s getting rich off this financially, but in terms of the humanity, the life-enrichment, and the inspiriting qualities of a night like this, we all end the night with wealth beyond measure.

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s sometimes – often – difficult to balance objectivity with subjectivity when it comes to writing about music. We don’t experience music or relative to it objectively, so to critique it objectively is to strip out what really matters. What does it matter how technically competent an act is if they don’t touch you in some way? No, not like that…

This is even more so the case when it comes to experiencing music live. Yes, a weak performance or poor sound can ruin a night, but equally, some nights are amazing however rough the sound and however ropey the playing. The experience is a holistic thing which is the coalescence of multitudinous factors.

And because the experience is unique and personal, ultimately, I can only speak from a personal perspective and write from a personal context. The context for tonight’s outing is that this is my first time listening to live music since mid-December, and the last three months or so have been tough. I’m out of the habit, and you realise just how quickly you can lose levels of comfort and confidence – as we learned during lockdown.

Sitting in a dark corner with a pint of Brass Castle Misfit with The Fall, Killing Joke, and Iggy Pop blasting over the PA felt good. The people started arriving, and one reason I felt ok about coming down is because it’s very much a local bands, local people event, and this is where local scenes and grassroots venues really do prove their worth: the sense of community and simply feeling safe and comfortable is not something that can ever bee said of bigger places. You just don’t run into people at an O2, have a blether and get a round in, and you sure as hell won’t get decent hand-pulled pints in a glass for £4.40.

Captain Starlet I’d been informed were young but really good. Their set exploded with some high-octane hillbilly shit that perhaps wasn’t so good. Technically, yes, but… Things improved, though, and swiftly. ‘Love is a Pet’ has a nice, dark, strolling bassline and lands between post-punk and country. With 60s vocal harmonies, hints of The Kinks and a whole lot of jangle in the mix, they really can play. I’m just not quite sure what they’re about or if they’ve even decided for themselves yet. The guitarist and bassist look like they’re a different band from the second guitarist and drummer, but credit where it’s due, they’re tight and together, but they’re just not my bag.

DSC_5760

Captain Starlet

The Bricks are one hundred percent my bag and half the reason I’m here. They are solid as ever, channelling Siouxsie and X-Mal Deutschland. And they’re seriously loud, and it suits them well. Between songs, Gemma Hartshorn is affable and unashamedly Northern and flogging bananas (with EP download codes attached since they’re launching their Reverse Alchemy EP, which is absolutely bloody great and you need to hear it) but when singing she’s intense and absolutely fucking terrifying, staring out the crowd as she belts the lyrics full lung. The new songs are ace and tonight demonstrates all the reasons why they’re my favourite active York band right now. During the last song some retiree in a massive jumper made her way to the front to dance six inches in front of me and remind me why I always wear steel-toed boots.

DSC_5768

The Bricks

There probably isn’t much to say about Percy I haven’t said several times before since I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve written about them, and I’ve seen them even more. To describe them as workmanlike is no criticism here: you know what you’re going to get: grouchy northern post-punk racket from Yorkshire’s answer to The Fall.

Tonight, Percy are sounding dense, tight, and full of piss and vinegar for their first headlining slot of the year. Colin’s guitar is nearly in tune for most of the set as they blast through songs from way back and as yet unreleased. Unashamedly northern and uncompromising in their angularity and attitude, there’s nothing fancy here but it’s delivered with zeal and petulance – the musical equivalent of pie and mash served up piping hot. They only have three effects pedals between them. There’s something to be said for a band that have touched on bigger things in the past who are content playing small local venues and not giving a fuck and simply enjoying making a racket twenty years into their career. ‘Will of the People’ is pure vitriol and it’s magic.

DSC_5779

Percy

They resurrect the plodding ‘Seaside Donkey’ as the penultimate track before ploughing through a blistering rendition of ‘Chunks’ to close.

I’ve had perhaps a pint more than I ought and despite earplugs, by ears are fizzing, and you know what? It’s all good – great, even. This is what live music is all about.