Christopher Nosnibor
It’s encouraging to arrive twenty minutes before the first band are due on, and, despite it being a pleasant, sunny spring evening in the middle of the week, it’s already busy inside the venue, and not just at the bar. There’s a tangible buzz.
The arrival of the first act, Chefs Kiss, who describe themselves as a ‘comedic food themed slam metal band’, brings a fair few forward, and it’s clear that they’ve brought their mates with them. There was a time when I may have viewed this in a rather sneery way, but what matters, I realise these days, is that if they’ve got people in through the door, then it’s all to the good.
With a wardrobe which included kilts and masks and aprons and chef hats, Chefs Kiss weren’t all that comedic – or at least that funny – a comedy act, nor especially musically accomplished either. Does the world need a joke thrash act? Actually, it probably does, and fair play to them, in that they didn’t take themselves seriously, and largely adhered to their rather daft concept, and were good fun, bringing out a life-size cardboard cut-out of Ainsley Harriot which was passed around the venue above the heads of the audience like some sort of crowd surfing cardboard deity. What’s more, they looked we enjoying themselves, and every young band has to start somewhere. This is once again why we need venues like this.
Chefs Kiss
Just as Chefs Kiss were a shade shambolic, so Kraken Waker were finely honed performers, clearly with not only hours of rehearsals behind them, but also a lot of gig experience. They seriously were incredibly tight. Their sound is very much classic US rock at the heavier end of the spectrum, with a strong, dirty, stoner leaning. I had afforded myself a chuckle while they checked their mic levels: the three beardy longhairs all came on with affectations as if they were from Texas. But piling into their set, they were instantly impressive, and it soon became apparent that they were unapologetic Geordies, with strong songs about being drunk, smoking weed, and wanting all the billionaires to fuck off to Mars. Quite possibly the band of the night.
Kraken Waker
If you’re going to pursue a concept – particularly one that’s ridiculous – you really have to go all-in to pull it off. Oh, and Froglord do. The Bristol band’s five – yes, five – albums to date, including the most recent, Metamorphosis, released just a couple of weeks ago, are all preoccupied with expanding the lore of The Frog Lord, centred around the Book of the Amphibian, with swamp rituals and The Wizard Gonk and the like. Behind all this stupidity, there are some fierce riffs, and a fantastically solid doom metal band. I would have been perfectly happy if they turned up in jeans and T-shirts and blasted out the raging riffs. I might even have found it easier to connect with. But this is about performance, theatre. It’s also about doing something different. There is certainly no shortage of serious doom bands. There are considerably fewer doom bands who have devoted their entire careers to a concept as absurd as this.
Froglord
The more preposterous the concept, the more committed you have to be, and Froglord prove that they’re one hundred per cent committed (or that they perhaps ought to be), with a stage set which has all the props, from a stage backdrop to a lectern on which stands a copy of some esoteric bible, via masks, cloaks, and a giant plastic frog. The set is structured around a swamp ceremony, and there’s no breaking character – apart from when plugging merch, which is done in character while acknowledging it’s a break in character, which offers some postmodern reflexivity, and in the way front man Benjamin ‘Froglord’ Oak will adopt the stance of a high priest before getting down and grooving to the monster riffs, cloak flapping, mask slipping. It’s funny because they clearly know it’s daft but play it with straight faces. That kind of dedication is impressive – as is their shit-your-pants bass sound.
Froglord
And perhaps this is why it works. There’s a knowingness in the delivery of the performance, but they’re feigning that they don’t know we know it. Or something. And musically, they’re really strong. By the end, there are people traversing the venue, just grazing beneath the room’s low ceiling, in the same fashion as the cardboard Ainsley at the start of the night, and we filter out into the night to a chirping chorus of frogs. No two ways about it, Froglord put on a show.
Aural Aggravation 