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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
