Posts Tagged ‘Leeds’

Irk / Algernon Cornelius / Care Home – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 24th January 2025

Posted: 25 January 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Irk (not to be mistaken for Lancastrian newcomers Irked) certainly took their time over their second album, so the fact their playing its launch gig four months after its release is fitting.

The last time I saw them would have been 2018, in the now-defunct CHUNK, alongside Britney and Beige Palace (also now sadly departed), at the launch of debut album. Back then, CHUNK – a fairly basic rehearsal space which also hosted gigs – was the hub of an emerging DIY scene which spawned a bunch of noisy bands who emerged in the wake of the likes of Blacklisters, Hawk Eyes, That Fucking Tank. Fortunately, the Leeds scene is resilient and continues to thrive with new spaces and new bands popping up – and Irk are still here, despite geographical dispersal and general life stuff like jobs and families doing little to boost the time and energy available for creative work.

One of the new bands to have emerged more recently is Care Home. Care Home no doubt won themselves some new fans when they landed the coveted slot of supporting the Jesus Lizard last January. Tonight they’re a late substitute for Blacklisters, who were admittedly, an additional draw for tonight, but it’s hard to be too disappointed with the choice of replacement, kicking the night off in suitably noisy fashion. The interplay between the guitar and synths works well and affords them a greater range when it comes to the arrangements. The bass work alternates between a stop/start jolting and insistent solid four-four groove, and when paired with some busy, beat on every beat drumming, they’ve got a sturdy spine around which everything else hangs nicely. The vocals are straight-up, unpretty (post) hardcore shouting, an effluence of nihilism in t vein of Kowloon Walled City.

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Care Home

Algernon Cornelius proved to be an inspired choice, breaking up a rock-orientated bill with some highly inventive and energetic hip-hop. Pulling together a truly visionary array of sources, spanning jazz, punk, and metal and even sampling a Beige Palace song, it’s all going on during his lively set.

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Algernon Cornelius

Irk’s set is a squalling blast of noise from beginning to end. The bass is simply immense. Recorded, it’s not immediately apparent that the sole instrumentation is drums and bass – and not only because various guests add additional detail in various form, but this means that on stage, the fact they blast out such a dense racket with so little only accentuates the impact. But that bass… the sound is pretty varied and big on texture, from the rib-rattling mid-range, compressed sound which resembled tearing cardboard to the bowel-quivering low-end, there’s substantial range. Meanwhile, Jack Gordon hollers and howls through a host of effects and distortion, and this show – like the album itself – was worth the wait.

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Irk

With ‘The Seeing House’, they’ve really honed things and learned the benefits of shifting tempo and tone: ‘Eating All of the Apple’ is the perfect example of how they’ve absorbed the sparser, joltier aspects of Shellac’s output on board. Gordon’s vocal has more range, too, veering toward more gothic territory. And still they slam forth colossal riffs, paired with meaty beats and rabid yowling.

But for a serious band, they just can’t do serious when it comes to their shows: there’s a comedic elements to Gordon’s delivery and postures, not to mention the chat between songs, where he would take time to share wisdom he had discovered on that Internet from the mini-ons, printouts of which he would hand out to members of the audience.

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Irk

There’s something so, so quintessentially Leeds about Irk – quirky, self-effacing, a disparity between the abrasive noise and the affable nature of the people themselves – and they are genuinely nice guys. But this is so often the case: the music is the outlet. And the atmosphere tonight is one of warmth, of camaraderie. A lot of people know one another. This isn’t a scene in the sense of posing, self-importance or smugness, but one defined by camaraderie and mutual appreciation.

Irk’s set was punchy and abrasive, delivering fifty minutes of intensity interspersed with comedy, making for an event which felt like the perfect launch for the album. And I shall treasure my numbered, annotated minion forever.

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The 113 – Leach

Posted: 21 January 2026 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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Christopher Nosnibor

I find it most disconcerting shopping in my local Co-op. The self-service checkouts film you, and you can see yourself on the screen above your head while you scan your items. Surveillance and facial recognition is everywhere now. The other day, I passed a venue where a guy in a flat cap was ordered my security to remove his hat and “look into that camera” before being told he could replace his cap and enter the venue. We really have come to this: you can’t go shopping or go for a drink without a capture of your visage ‘for security’. I appreciate that shoplifting is at a record high and violent crime is rife, but is this really the solution? How about asking why we have these issues? And what happens with these captured images? Who views them? How long are they stored, and where? Are they being passed off to train AI?

The ‘if you’ve got nothing to hide, you’ve got nothing to worry about’ argument is missing the point, and no longer holds water. The state of things in America with brutal ICE raids where countless American citizens have been mauled, detained, and even murdered (because regardless of the official line, Renee Nicole Good was murdered: those shots were not fired in self-defence, and we live in a horrible, brutal, fucked-up world). And this shit affects you. Well, it certainly affects me, and I know I’m not alone in feeling jumpy, on edge, endlessly anxietised by the prospect of what may happen next, the prospect of waking up to discover that WWIII has broken out while asleep.

This new single by 311 touches on this, significantly, as it happens. as their bio notes summarise: ‘Propelled by discordant guitars and thunderous offbeat rhythms, ‘Leach’ is an abrasive dystopian statement on surveillance, data harvesting and the quiet unease of modern digital life; both a rallying cry against the advancement and negative impacts of big tech, and an honest admission of powerlessness and inevitability in the face of it all.’

It’s a killer single and yet again evidence of just how fertile Leeds is as a spawning ground for fantastic bands. London, Manchester, even Sheffield receive so much hype, but despite being the epicentre of goth in the early 80s and the place for post-rock in the mid 2000s, Leeds seems to be criminally lacking in recognition for its contribution to music, despite Blacklisters, despite Pulled Apart by Horses… and 311 are another bands that should be flagging the city on the national – and international – radar. Because ‘Leach’ brings it all, from churning math-rock, angularity and anguish, colliding post-rock with post-punk and huge energy, they pack menacing and searing riff energy and… and… yeah. This is good.

It’s worth remembering punk and post-punk emerged from terrible times, where it felt like music offered a rare escape, both for those who created it and attended shows. And here we are again.

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Cwfen / Helve / Acceptance – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 17th January 2026

Posted: 18 January 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

That a quarter of the tickets sold in 48 hours, and the show was sold out a full three months in advance speaks for itself. It’s been a huge twelve months for Glasgow purveyors of epic goth-tinged doom, Cwfen. It was only last February that they played their first show south of the border. Since then, they’ve toured supporting Faetooth and released their monumental and widely-acclaimed debut album, Sorrows, which has had Kerrang! positively frothing with enthusiasm. And they deserve all of this. There’s something quite special about Cwfen: they’re in a league of their own, and certainly not simply your run-of-the-mill doom band. Make no mistake, they’re full-on and heavy – in places gut-churningly so – but they have so much more going on, especially in terms of melody and dynamics.

This is an outstanding lineup. All three acts are heavier than lead, but each offers something quite different. This matters, because however much you may love a headline act, its tiresome and takes the zip out of an event if the supports are lesser versions of the headliners. I’m reminded of the mid 2000s, when you’d get four instrumental post rock acts on a bill, and I’d find myself crescendo’d out by the end of the second set and be falling asleep on my feet during the headline set, and also the time industrial noise duo Broken Bone supported Whitehouse at the Brudenell. Nothing like having a third-rate tribute act who think they’re amazing as a support.

Leeds is a significant spawning ground for metal acts of all shades, and both Acceptance and Helve showcase the depth of quality on offer. First up, Acceptance bring the weight with some heavy tom-led drumming behind the blanket of guitar. Theirs is a dense wall of screaming anguish, with billowing smoke often obscuring the stage. For all that, there’s remarkable separation between the instruments, and the remarkably thick but clean bass cuts through nicely. By the end of the set, the vocalist is crawling on his hands and knees, drained, having poured every last drop of emotion and energy into a blistering performance. When the opening act could easily be headlining, you know you’re in for a good night.

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Acceptance

Helve’s bassist is wearing a Swans Filth T-shirt. This is something I would consider a recommendation. As it happens, they sound absolutely nothing like Swans, being a full-on metal act, but they are as heavy as hell. With two guitars and bass and massive amps and piles of pedals, there’s no room for the lead vocalist on the small stage. Compared to Acceptance, who play everything at breakneck pace, Helve’s songs slower, more atmospheric, offering a sound that’s more post metal. Applying a screwdriver to his guitar strings, the first guitarist conjures some strange droning sounds at the start of their set. Their riffs are slow and dense, and whole there’s some nice mathy detail along the way, the end of the set brings a full-on chug-blast in the vein of Amenra.

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Helve

While Helve clear out and Cwfen set up, we’re treated to Shellac’s first album by way of entertainment, and when Cwfen hit the stage, opening with ‘Bodies’, it’s like a bolt of lightening. More powerful than even the volume is the stunning clarity of the sound, replicating all the detail of the studio recordings but with the added potency of the immediacy of being in the room and mere feet from the band. The song’s nagging lead guitar part is an instant, hypnotic hook.

Perhaps recognising that Sorrows is perfectly sequenced, the set is, essentially, the album played in order – with the addition of a new and unreleased song, ‘Revenge’, which is inserted – most comfortably – in between ‘Reliks’ and ‘Whispers’.

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Cwfen

For such a dark band, they seem pretty happy on stage, Agnes in particular beaming throughout the set. She’s every reason to: they’re on immaculate form, and the entire room is captivated and shows its appreciation. Each member brings something quite particular to the table: gum chewing barefoot bassist Mary Thomas Baker doesn’t simply play, but becomes the groove, a solid foot-to-the-floor low-end thud that’s more goth than anything else; drummer Rös is pure precision, while Guy deNuit manages to sound like he’s playing multiple parts at once, creating a magnificently textured, layered sound. Agnes, for her part, in addition to some tidy guitar work, is a formidable vocalist with immense presence, effortlessly shifting between commanding clean vocals to a banshee howl in a breath.

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Cwfen

The screaming metal verses of ‘Penance’ give way to a sweeping , majestic chorus, and I find myself blown away in the same way I was the first time I saw them. This is indeed a rare feat. But then, if anything, they’re even better now than a year ago, even more powerful.

Talk about an early peak. I may well see other gigs which equal this one, but the chances of a night which surpasses this before the year is out are, frankly, slim. Bad Owl have done an outstanding job in curating this lineup, and Cwfen are as good a live act as you’re going to find.

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Swans / Jessica Moss – Project House, Leeds, 7th November 2025

Posted: 8 November 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The last tour of Swans’ current iteration, drawing the curtain on a succession of albums – and tours – which have been truly immense in every way: the build-up felt like the end of an era. The event itself, perhaps less so. At one point, someone calls out a request. “We don’t do that,” Gira explains, in a kindly manner. He seems pretty relaxed tonight, and smiles a fair bit. No-one in the band gets bollocked or scowled at, and they all seem to be having a pretty good time.

But no, they certainly don’t do ‘that’. You don’t go to see Swans expecting to hear choice guts from their extensive back catalogue. You don’t even go expecting to hear songs, at least not in any recognisable form. The versions of recorded songs bear only limited resemblance to their studio counterparts, twisted, stretched, and otherwise evolved while on the road to a point whereby they’re almost new songs entirely. Recent shows have seen the band playing sets spanning a full two and a half hours, while only featuring six songs.

Before we come to Swans, Jessica Moss, who, amidst an extensive catalogue of work over the course of a lengthy career, is best known for her contribution to Thee Silver Mt. Zion Memorial Orchestra and being part of the whole Godspeed You! Black Emperor milieu. Tonight, she plays a rendition of her latest album, An Unfolding, in its entirety, and it’s breathtaking. Her nuanced violin and vocal work is augmented with booming, resonant bass tones. There’s a lot of yakking at the bar and further back in the 1,000 capacity, sold-out venue, where the house light stay up toward the rear of the room for the duration of the night, but for those of us in the front two-thirds, it’s a spellbinding experience, which perfectly sets the tone for the main event.

Moss’ half-hour set is over by around 8:40, and Swans, after a few brief checks, take to the stage around ten minutes later. Gira politely asks that there are no cell phones – “at least not where I can see them”, before he begins strumming a monotonous at two strings. He does so for what feels like an eternity. Or perhaps not. When Swans play, time takes on a different meaning, and it’s been a feature of this current iteration that the songs evolve and elongate over the course of the extensive tours, transforming and transmogrifying over the weeks and months on the road. They’ve been touring Birthing and this ‘farewell’ for a fair while now, although the set on the most recent leg has only featured ‘The Merge’ from said album. With ‘Paradise is Mine’, from The Beggar, and ‘A Little God in My Hands’, from To Be Kind, this is as close to a retrospective set as you’re likely to get, but none of these songs much like the studio versions, and half the set therefore features material which is either new or so far removed that it’s been retitled as well as restructured. But as I say, you don’t come to a Swans show for the songs. You come for the experience. And what an experience it is.

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It’s fair to say that there is simply no other band like Swans. Their reputation for extreme volume is only part of the story, a piece of the equation. Older fans who saw them in the 80s love to regale with tales of people throwing up, passing out, and so on, and that they’re pretty tame these days, and I have no reason to believe that these are purely apocryphal. Gira just can’t do quiet: even his solo acoustic sets playing smaller venues circa 2003 / 2004 were fucking punishing.

Some time in, Gira downs his guitar and stands up, turning to face the band, and flails his arms as if experiencing some kind of rapture or episode. But every gesture is a signal, from which the band members – there are six of them, plus Gira – and his near-psychotic choreography guides them through ebbs and flows, to ever greater, more intense crescendos. It’s maybe half an hour before the full drum kit kicks in, and I feel my nostrils vibrate with the sheer quantity of air displaced from the speakers. It’s transcendental, euphoric.

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A number of people who had started the set near me in the front row dissolved. I didn’t really notice when: like almost everyone else, I was simply transfixed. And yet, this was by no means loud by Swans standards: while I can’t claim to have witnessed the nauseating brutality of their early years, or the notorious punishment of the Burning World tour (ironic that their gentlest album, released on a major label, should have been served by a tour of such infamous volume… or perhaps not, perhaps it was a statement to prove that they hadn’t sold out), their shows at Leeds Stylus in 2016 and 2017 were something else – something so intensely physical, it hard to find the words. Then again, on their last visit to Leeds, playing at The Belgrave, I found myself thinking ‘this isn’t so loud’ but before long finding myself dizzy and wondering quitter where that immense noise had grown from. And this is perhaps an indication of how they’ve evolved. The bludgeoning force is still very much present, not least of all with two basses and the return of Norman Westberg to the lineup – surely one of the world’s most patient and understated guitarists, content to stand, not playing for ten to fifteen minutes, before battering away at one or two chords and thirty BPM for the next fifteen minutes, creating noise and texture rather than doing the conventional ‘guitarist’ thing – but now it’s more subtle, growing building, slowly, so slowly. A tweak here and there, another player adds a later, and while you’ve been watching the dynamics of the two bassist and Gira’s windmilling, the volume has increased threefold and your ribcage is rattling and your brain is slowly scrambling. Kristof Hahn does things with lap-steel that is beyond comprehension, cranking out squalling, screaming walls of noise – but there isn’t a weak element in the lineup. They each bring something unique, and the collective output is something else.

If this is the end of Swans doing big band, big noise stuff, then they have certainly delivered a finale of spectacular proportions. And whatever comes next, we look forward with bated breath.

Jackie-O Motherfucker / Lo Egin / Sour Faced Lil – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 23rd August 2025

Posted: 24 August 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

It’s good to be back at Wharf Chambers. Personal circumstances have meant that the trip to Leeds has been largely beyond me, but stepping into the place felt like coming home. It’s unassuming, some may even basic, but it’s got a unique – and accommodating – vibe. There aren’t many small independent venues that can keep going by sticking to a programme of leftfield live music, or being explicit in a keen leaning towards inclusivity for LGBTQIA+ and anyone else who stands outside the fence of the normies, but Leeds is a big enough, and diverse enough, city for a place like this to not only survive, but thrive. It’s kinda quirky, a bit shabby chic, and it works: the beers – local – are cheap, the sound in the venue space is good, and it’s all cool, and tonight’s advertised lineup is a cracker. Diverse, but solid quality of an international reach.

Before we come to that, it’s a strange and rare occurrence to arrive at a venue to discover that there is an additional, unadvertised, band on the bill, and even more so when the band in question has effectively gatecrashed the event without prior arrangement with the promoter, but by dint of deception. But the first band on tonight have done just that. Perhaps it’s the only way they can get gigs. Because they sure do suck, and it was obvious that they’d never have been booked for this lineup in a million years. I head back to the bar after a couple of songs, having heard enough. When they’re done, promoter and sound man (in both senses), Theo takes the mic to explain that he hadn’t booked them and that they didn’t espouse the experimental ethos of the acts Heinous Whining exists to promote. The band did not respond well to this, validating the opinion a number of us had already formed, and they fucked off in a huff. Dicks.

Thankfully, normality – of the kind we’re here for – resumed with the arrival of Sour Faced Lil, the solo project of Hilary from Cowtown. Her set starts – somewhat incongruously – with a quirky electropop cover of Bright Eyes. I just about manage not to cry. Then she swerves into swooshing space rock noise galore, and she explores the weird and wibbly, and it’s everything you’d expect from a Heinous Whining night. Live drums, looped, live guitar, and warped, undulating synths create a cacophony of sound in layers. The performance is a little tentative in places, but the audience is behind her all the way. There’s something quite enthralling about seeing a solo artist juggling myriad musical elements and instruments, knowing what a balancing act, how much effort it is to remember everything and keep the flow, and the fact she manages it is impressive.

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Sour Face Lil

Also impressive are Lo Egin, but for quite different reasons. I feel I owe Lo Egin an apology, as it happens. When I reviewed their split release with Beige Palace a little while ago, I misspelled their name as Lo Elgin, more than once (although I managed to get it right when covering Volumancer in 2013) Hammering out reviews on a daily basis means I slip up sometimes. It’s not great, and I do try, to do better but… I did really rate that release, though, and I’ll admit that they were as much a draw for me as the headliners. And the fact is, they were worth the entry fee alone. On paper, they’re perhaps not the easiest sell, bring atmospheric post rock in the vein of early Her Name is Calla, with brass – sax and trombone – crossed with elements of doom – with the addition of screaming black metal vocals. They do epic. They do crescendos. They also do ultra-slow drumming, something I am invariably transfixed by having first become fixated during my first time seeing Earth live. The drummer raised his arms to fill extension above his head, before smashing down with explosive force.

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Lo Egin

Dolorous droning horns create a heavy atmosphere. Then, out of nowhere, from the delicately woven sonic tapestry they’ve been weaving, things turn Sunn O))) and the skinny baggy jeans wearing trombone guy who looks like a young Steve Albini delivers cavernous doomy vocals as he contorts and the mic stand and then all hell breaks loose. When they go heavy, they go heavy – and I mean HEAVY, the drummer smashing every beat so it hits like a nuclear bomb. To arrive with high hopes for a band, and to still be absolutely blown away is a truly wonderful experience, and one that stays with you.

I feel I should perhaps take this opportunity to apologise to Jackie-O Motherfucker, too: in my review of Bloom, I described them as a country band. And while there are without question country elements, they’re really not a country band. They’re not really a psychedelic band, either, or any other one thing. Instead, they’re a hypnotic hybrid, and they’re deceptively loud considering how mellow everything is. What they do is simple in many respects, but in terms of genre, it’s rather more complicated, not readily pigeonholed. I’d clocked them about the venue beforehand, and they seemed like really chilled folks, and while they’re not exactly chatty during their performance, it’s apparent that they’re humble, and simply really chuffed to be playing here. The room is pretty full, too. Tom Greenwood looks like he’s just taken some time out from doing some decorating to play. He’s got paint on his trousers, and is as unassuming as they come.

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Jackie-O Motherfuker

The current lineup consists of three guitars, synth, and some electronic stuff including subtle percussion. No bass, no drums. There are, however, many pedals and much pedal fiddling throughout the set, as they sculpt a wall of reverb and feedback and a whole lot more from this hefty – but ultimately portable – setup.

The resultant sound is detailed, but at the same time a hazy blur. Picked notes – and much of the sound is clean, with next to no distortion, but with all the reverb – bounce off one another here and there, creating ever greater cathedrals of sound. I find myself utterly transfixed. Their hour-and-a-bit long set features just seven songs, and they are completely immersive. There’s no real action to speak of, just an ever-growing shimmer which envelops your entire being. In some respects, their extended instrumental passages invite comparisons to the current incarnations of Swans, only without the evangelically charismatic stage presence or crescendos. In other words, they conjure atmosphere over some extended timeframes, but keep things simmering on a low burner, without any volcanic eruptions. The end result is a performance which is hypnotic, gripping because of, rather than in spite of the absence of drama. Low-key, but loud: absolute gold.

Listen: ‘…(something) ruined’ by Foldhead vs Christopher Nosnibor

Posted: 6 July 2025 in Recommended Streams and Videos, Singles and EPs
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Foldhead had making noise for some time. Nosnibor had spent the last few months taking steps beyond the staid spoken word scene via a series of ‘versus’ collaborations with experimental artists in and around York. So when Foldhead put out a shout out on Facebook for a collaborator to provide vocals for a set he was booked for, Nosnibor’s name cropped up.

The pair met for the first time on the day. Consequently, no one knew what the fuck to expect, least of all the two guys plugging into the PA. In an instant, a ‘third mind’ moment occurred, yielding noise terror which was infinitely greater than the sum of the parts. In that moment, they knew that this had to be the start of something. And so it was that …(something) ruined was born.

This is a document of that first explosive coming together.

Recorded live at Chunk, Leeds, 1st March 2019.

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Red Lorry Yellow Lorry – Strange Kind of Paradise

Posted: 5 July 2025 in Albums, Reviews
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10th July 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

The band’s Bandcamp page describe it as ‘the final chapter of a legendary journey’. David Wolfenden, who joined on guitar in 1982 after the release of their first single expands on this, writing that ‘40 years on and the guitars still try to strangle each other, the words still struggle to make sense of chaos and the rhythms drive us to a glorious destination.’

To describe Strange Kind of Paradise as ‘long-awaited’ would be an understatement: it’s an album practically no-one expected. Emerging that the murky milieu of the Leeds scene which was the spawning ground for all things dark and post-punk (and long before ‘goth was even a thing), Red Lorry Yellow Lorry’s early releases soundtracked the grim North in Thatcher’s Britain. They weren’t overtly political but they were clearly pissed off, and along with The Sisters of Mercy, Skeletal Family, and The March Violets (among others), they followed Gang of Four in capturing the zeitgeist.

During the 80s, they put out a solid string of albums and remained firm favourites on the alternative scene, and while they may have mellowed a shade over that time, with Blow (1989) being notable for making a departure towards more melodic territories, there was always a fire that burned through everything they did, and seeing them in 2015 at The Brudenell in Leeds reminded me on a personal level that the dark, brooding currents ran as strong as when I’d seen The Lorries play the Off The Streets benefit alongside the likes of The Mission and La Costa Rasa (and Utah Saints, where Andrew Eldritch joined them for a couple of songs) in August 1993, and they sounded exactly as they had in all the video footage I’d seen before and since.

It had looked for all the world that Blasting Off (1992) would be their final statement, and while the 2015 shows had seen the sale of limited CDs which mentioned the ‘forthcoming album’ Strange Kind of Paradise, almost twenty years on with no further movement, it seemed to be more of a mythical projection than a reality, as likely as a new Sisters album.

But last autumn, all that changed with the arrival of the Driving Black EP and the announcement that the album would follow shortly. And at long last, here it is. And yes, it was worth the wait.

The title track opens the album with the driving guitar and solid bass/drum pairing that is quintessential Lorries, the sound and mix reminiscent of Blasting Off – in particular ‘This is Energy’, but with the pace and determination stepped up several notches. Reed’s vocal is strong – in fact, it sounds the same as it did 30 years ago, although perhaps now, there are additional levels of nuance to his delivery, and it suits the songs well.

‘Chicken Feed’ (a mix of which appeared on the EP) is more melodic, even a shade groovy in a sort of 90s indie sense, the guitars chiming over layers of vocal harmony, and providing a hint of the diversity and expansion of songwriting which sets Strange Kind of Paradise apart from anything in their catalogue.

The acoustic-led ‘As Long as We’re Breathing’ is perhaps one of the most ‘different’ songs not only on the album, but in the entirety of their career, revealing an altogether softer, mellower side, while at the same time hinting at country and desert rock, Reed’s gravelly baritone reminiscent of Mark Lanegan. It’s a beautiful moment, and a truly moving song. ‘Nothing seems quite right / I’ve got a feeling we’re over the hill, but I don’t know because my chest is pretty tight / As long as we’re still breathing’, Reed sings with a palpable air of melancholy.

Then again, ‘Walking on Air’ brings a glammy swagger, but played almost in the rockabilly style of The Fall, marking another unexpected departure from the steely grey confines usually constructed by The Lorries. The same is true of the post-grunge ‘Killing Time,’ which again, is strong on melody, and big on emotional ache, riven with pining, yearning, sadness.

Side two opens with ‘Driving Black’, which, as I outlined in my review of the EP, is vintage Lorries all the way. Driving black, and driving hard. Easing off the gas a bit, ‘Shooting Stars Only’ returns to the vibe of Blasting Off, before ‘Many Trapped Tears’ goes for mid-tempo anthemic, with a solid riff. To clarify, we’re talking more Iggy Pop than Oasis in execution here. ‘The Only Language’ takes the tempo right up again, and is one of the most forceful sonic expressions they’ve made in a long time (even by their standards). Everything is firing on all cylinders as Reed snarls with total conviction ‘The only language I speak is the truth’. It’s one of those songs that gets you really pumped up, and the message has never felt more relevant.

And so it is that as this band – true stalwarts of the 80s alternative scene – finally sign off, we can reflect on how much we have to be grateful for. And as a final document, Strange Kind of Paradise sees them go off with a bang. It’s not a tired rehash, a limp collection of offcuts or unfinished works in progress, but an album that stands out as being quality all the way.

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The March Violets / Vision Video – The Warehouse, Leeds, 1st July 2025

Posted: 2 July 2025 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

In terms of goth history, The Warehouse is pretty much ground zero. Synonymous in particular with The Sisters of Mercy in their early days, it was this milieu which also spawned The March Violets, making their return to the venue for the first time since 1983. I missed that one myself, having been seven at the time, but a fair few of the songs played that night are in tonight’s set list, too, and one suspects they probably sounded better this time around.

Early doors, there’s an almost 50/50 split of old goths and twenty-somethings, who really do seem to have embraced the original 80s dark punk look (as opposed to the ersatz emo stylings that passed as goth in the 90s). The Psychedelic Furs and Christian Death and Strawberry Switchblade are blasting over the PA as we wait for Vision Video, and I make myself comfortable with a pint of Weston’s Vintage at a reasonable £5.80 for a pint.

Vision Video have a long-established relationship with the Violets, with Tom Ashton having produced their first two albums. Stylistically, they’re at the rocky, post-punk end of the goth spectrum, who clearly take their cues more from ‘our’ brand of goth rather than the US ‘death rock’ scene (a mid-set cover of The Comsat Angels’ ‘You Move Me’ is illustrative).

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Vision Video

A three-piece with guitar, synths and live drums, the sequenced bass is really solid and sounds… real, with proper low-end frequencies delivered at appropriate volume that make your nostrils vibrate. They’re over here from Athens, Georgia, with a message: they’re anti-fascist, anti-war, anti-capitalist, anti-Trump and anti-dickhead. And as guitarist / vocalist Dusty Gannon is a veteran and ex-firefighter, this is a message that’s delivered with sincerity from a place of experience, and a message which informs the songwriting as much as a vintage record collection. He speaks at length in between songs: none of is it preachy, but it is passionate, and the crowd warms to them (and judging by the clamour front centre, a fair few had warmed to them and learned the words in advance).

The March Violets take the stage as The Sisters’ ‘Marian’ comes on, and it’s a swift fade as they’re straight in with ‘Long Pig’, with a barrage of squalling guitars and stuttering beats. It’s immediately apparent that they’ve still got it, and pleasingly, they haven’t faffed about with the arrangements of the old songs, right down to the hyperactive drum machine programming which defined their early sound. ‘Crow Baby’, dispatched near the top of the set is still wild and sounds like nothing else.

Reminding us that they didn’t release their first album proper until after their post-millennium return, they give us ‘Made Glorious’, from their epic 2014 debut, followed by ‘Hammer the Last Nail’, lead single from recently-released follow-up Crocodile Promises.

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The March Violets

Playing ‘Grooving in Green’ and then ‘Steam’ replicates the running order of their 1982 single, and the interplay between the different elements comes through clearly: first, there’s that unique Leeds sound, with a thick, chunky bass welded to a thunderous drum machine, juxtaposed with a guitar style that draws at least a certain degree of influence from Gang of Four – scratchy, trebly, choppy, with some unconventional use of harmonics – and then there are the songs themselves, which are the product of distinct personalities. Bassist Mat Thorpe, who joined for the new album provides the more shouty male vocal counterpoint to Rosie Garland’s clean, theatrical enunciations, and as such, the essence (no, they don’t play that) of the old classics is retained. Meanwhile, ‘Kraken Awakes’ and ‘Crocodile Teeth’, lifted from the new album from new album sits comfortably alongside the older material.

The sound seems to get louder and brighter (and probably purpler) about halfway through the set, and they take things up a notch, Rosie confessing that they’re having a blast up there – although, truth be told, it’s pretty obvious: she’s in fine voice, and busting moves all over, and Tom spends half the set with a massive smile on his face. They know they’re sounding good, and they know we’re loving it, too.

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The March Violets

Towards the end of the set, ‘Strangehead’ is particularly wild and wonderful. They encore with a blistering ‘Fodder’, and there is simply no way they could leave without giving us ‘Snake Dance’, which is one of the definitive anthems of goth – the Violets’ ‘Temple of Love’, if you will.

Tonight, we’ve seen a band on peak form, and proving that they’re a lot more than simply a heritage act, too. Long may they continue.

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Beige Palace / Lo Egin – Beige Palace / Lo Egin

Posted: 14 May 2025 in Reviews, Singles and EPs
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Cruel Nature Records – 30th May 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

First things first: Beige Palace were ace, and their departure has left a gap in the musical world, especially in Leeds. In a comparatively short timespan, the trio produced a respectably body of work, evolving from their minimal lo-fi beginnings to explore musical territories far and wide, and this final release, split with another Leeds act, Lo Elgin, who, in contrast, have released precious little.

The accompanying notes provide valuable context for the final recordings laid down by Beige Palace, recorded at Wharf Chambers, one of Leeds’ finest DIY venues by Freddy Vinehill-Cliffe (guitar/keys/vocals)… and now helming the mighty Thank.

Taking a step back from the discordant post hardcore of ‘Making Sounds For Andy’ and the freewheeling experimentation of ‘Leg’, Beige Palace’s side largely favours the repetition and extreme dynamic shifts found on their 2016 EP ‘Gravel Time’. The production here also returns to the lo-fi, DIY approach from that EP, eschewing the more polished sound of their two full-length albums. Through returning to their roots, Beige Palace manages to drag their sound to new extremes, with these three tracks bringing to mind artists as disparate as US Maple and Sunn O))).

‘Wellness Retreat’ is dense and discordant, low-end synth drone and bass coalescing to a eardrum-quivering thrum over which scratchy guitars and vocals come in from all sides to forge a magnificently disjointed and angular two minutes and twenty seconds. Too chaotic to really be math-rock, it’s a squirming can of worms, a melting pot where Shellac meets Captain Beefhart at a crossroads with Trumans Water. Or something.

Bringing hints of Silver Jews, the lo-fi crawler ‘Good Shit Fizzy Orange’ does math-rock but with an experimental jazz element, the sparse picked guitar and slow-rolling cymbal work juxtaposed with what sounds like the strumming of an egg slicer before sad strings start to weave their way over it all. The lyrics are, frivolous and stupid, and we wouldn’t want things any other way. Because much as one may value well-crafted, poetical lyrics, sometimes dumb, trashy, meaningless words work just fine. Better than fine, even.

There’s a hint of later Earth about the spartan folksiness of ‘Update Hello Blue Bag Black Bag’ – a song which sounds serious but as the title suggests, isn’t quite so much, but around the midpoint, all the pedals are slammed into overdrive and suddenly there’s a tidal wave of distortion, a speaker-busting cascade of heavy doom-laden drone. And as it tapers to fade, while we mourn the departure of a truly great band, we get to rejoice that during the span of their career, Beige Palace did everything. It’s a solid legacy they’re leaving, and one which may well expand in the years to come. There will be people in five, ten, fifteen years asking ‘remember Beige Palace?’, and other people will be replying ‘Yes! I saw them at CHUNK!’. Well, I will be, anyway. And we still have Thank to be thankful for.

The two pieces which represent Lo Elgin’s contribution mark a sharp contrast to those of Beige Palace. The first, the eleven-minute monster that is ‘Beneath the Clock’, is a thunderous blast of doom-laden rage and anguish. The barking, howling vocals are low in the mix of droning, lurching, lumbering noise, through which strings poke and burst, and as the noise sways and sloshes like a boat tossed hither and thither on waves in a storm as it attempts to guide its way through the entrance to the harbour, the listener finds themselves almost seasick with the unpredictable movement. Around seven minutes in, the tempest abates and the piece meanders into altogether mellower territory, where again I’m reminded of Earth circa Angels of Darkness, Demons of Light. And then, right at the end, there’s a massive jazz segment, backed with crushing guitars. I did not see that coming. And then ‘Abomination’ is different again- a gritty, gnarly, gut-spewing blast of noise that is simply too much…. But too much is never enough as we’re led through a racketacious swamp that starts out Motorhead and toboggans down to a crazed morass of manic jazz.

The two very different sides belong to completely different worlds, at least on the surface. But they are both staunchly strange, keenly experimental, and dedicated to inventive noisemaking, and as such, compliment one another well. And this also perfectly encapsulates the essence of the Leeds scene: diverse, noisy, weird, and wonderful.

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