Posts Tagged ‘Live Review’

The March Violets / Heathen Apostles / Mouth Ulcers – The Warehouse, Leeds, 3rd June 2026

Posted: 4 July 2026 in Live, Reviews
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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.

Sunn O))) / Black Mountain – Project House, Leeds, 1st July 2026

Posted: 2 July 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

I can still smell the smoke on my clothes and skin. I can still taste the smoke. Not tobacco smoke, as used to be the case way back (although more recently than seems possible), but smoke machine smoke. Back in the 90s – and no doubt prior – gigs would often leave this lingering residue embedded within the senses. But some time, around the turn of the millennium, perhaps, there seemed to be a change in the formula of smoke used at most live events, in favour of something less dense and noxious, and which didn’t make you sweat so much, with most fog formulas now being advertised as being white, without ‘unpleasant odour’ and ‘leaving no oily residue’. Sunn O))) seem to have managed to hijack an entire tanker’s worth of the old vegetable oil-based stuff and pump it out at a rate of gallons per second during the entirely of their set, which, despite featuring (apparently) five tracks, has a colossal duration in the region of an hour and three quarters.

So much of the Sunn O))) experience is steeped in ritual and ceremony. From the hooded robes, the power of incense drifting in amongst the smoke from the machines, the wielding of the guitars as eternal drones ring in sustain from the amplifiers. Those amplifiers, vintage valve amps, stacked almost to the ceiling my towering monoliths, arranged in such a way as to resemble the interior of a prehistoric monument, bathed, before the show begins, in a celestial blue hue, inviting worship simply by their looming presence, even when silent.

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Black Mountain make for an interesting choice of support, and an appropriate contrast. Initially, they present as a quiet acoustic folk duo. There’s some chat at the side towards the toilets and bar, but the swelling audience is largely quiet and respectful in front of the stage. Their second song introduces drum machine and distortion on the guitar, and while the harmonious form doesn’t change, the texture very much does, with squalling desert rock overtones and bluesy strains and a dash of 70s rock filtering their way into the songs throughout the set, which is pleasant – not in the vague, not much of anything sense, but mellow and melodic and low-key. It’s a most enjoyable half hour which contrasts nicely with the earth-shattering experience which follows.

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Black Mountain

By way of an intro, they play all of the talk from between the songs from an entire live set by Venom, the progenitors of black metal (something Melvins did with their ‘Cowboy’ single, which was equally frustrating). It made for a long and twitchy eight minutes of suspense that felt like an eternity. But this is Sunn O))) all over. Their entire ethos seems to be based on the question of ‘how far can we actually push this?’ – and when they find what must surely be the absolute limit, they nudge it a bit further, and then further still. And as it played on, and on, the stage began to flood with smoke… and more, and more smoke, until it became completely impenetrable. Vertical LED beams along the front of the stage illuminate the smoke in such a way as to create a curtain which renders the stage itself invisible when viewed from the other side.

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Sunn O)))

Anderson and O’Malley are guided onstage with torches, and moments later the first chord strikes. Immediately, everything shudders. The very air quakes as I feel my flesh quiver and my ribs, my lungs tremble. Time immediately stalls. And something strange happens. Perhaps I enter something approximating a trance-like state. Whatever it is, I find myself utterly spellbound, and borderline hypnotised by the combination of the spectacle and the sound. It’s not zoning out, but zoning in, fixated on the tones and textures, and the way the two interact and interweave, catching glimpses of the band in the brief moments when the smog thins.

Stripped down to a two-piece, the volume is typically obliterative, but it’s clear they’re fully immersed in exploring the spaces between the notes, more subtle dynamics of the way certain frequencies resonate. The sound is remarkably clear, and while there are howling walls of feedback, the sonic spectrum is predominantly low-end, meaning that there’s no tinnitus-inducing harsh treble (at least not with earplugs, and everyone I see is suitably equipped), and as a consequence, it’s easier to simply bask in the huge throb which envelops every inch of your being. The first two tracks are run together as one continuous piece, a full hour in duration, and at this point, the smoke reaches a new peak of density. It’s beyond suffocating, you can’t see your own hand let alone the stage, from which emanates the most brutal howl of feedback yet. But there’s no checking your watch to puff that only twenty minutes have elapsed, and they’ve barely played three notes. Some people move further back to escape the full force of the backline, but the majority simply stand, transfixed. This is peak Sunn O))). As much as there’s a sense that they’re testing us, they’re also testing themselves, and revelling in the theatre of it all. It’s high art.

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More smoke blasts across the stage like a tidal wave. Everything is vibrating, from my nostrils to my buttocks. I’m amused to see people nearby attempting to film clips of the show, only for their phones to be completely submerged in billows of smoke – which are an analogue of the billowing rumble radiating from the stacks of speakers, and with the backline alone capable of filling the 1,000 capacity with that organ-bothering low-frequency drone, the fact they’re all in turn mic’d up only adds layers to this oceanic swell of sound. Anderson and O’Malley don’t so much strike chords as mildly stroke a string to set off another devastating avalanche of sound.

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Towards the end of the set, O’Malley lodges his guitar on top of a stack, wedged against the ceiling, before subsequently hanging it by the neck from a power cable above, and letting it swing from the rafters.

And just like that, it stops. The smoke clears, and the two men step forward and receive – humbly, and with gratitude – the most rapturous applause. Because for all of the theatre involved in creating the separation between band and audience, the obstinate absence of engagement, for the pain-threshold volume, the appreciation flows both ways. It’s a joyously respectful experience: no chat (as if!), no heckling, but a symbiotic exchange based on pure immersion in pure art. And tonight, we’ve witnessed an ascendency to a new pinnacle. Pure transcendence.

Papillon De Nuit / The Tengu Taiko Drummers – The National Centre for Early Music, York, 26 June 2026

Posted: 27 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Stephen Kennedy has an outstanding sense of occasion. Having put on grand candlelight shows under the Gothic Moth banner in the Cemetery Chapel in York, there was no way the album launch for his latest project, Papillon De Nuit, was going to be some pub gig with a couple of local rock bands supporting. And so here we are in The National Centre for Early Music, a converted church with a high, twin-vaulted ceiling. It’s an appropriate setting in which to mark the release of Musetta, an ambitious album a year in the making involving a considerable number of collaborators. This also marks their first live performance, and features a necessarily expansive lineup, featuring ‘cello, piano, guitars, drums and percussion, soprano, orators and vocalist’.

It also happens to coincide with the hottest June day in history – the third consecutive record-breaker, no less, so it’s a relief to be seated and in an old church rather than standing in a sweaty bar – much as I love sweaty bars, the humidity of later has been such that we’d have had people passing out left, right, and centre in such a setting. It’s still plenty warm enough, thank you.

The doors open later than advertised, and seeing the amount of gear on stage – and the sheer size of those drums – it’s hardly surprising. Most bands travel by transit van, or even car. The Tengu Taiko Drummers have a removal van parked outside. Once we’re all in, the lights go down, and there is a hush of expectation. And we wait. It’s a good three suspenseful minutes before the ominous drone and trilling pipes begin to creep from the PA and finally, the drummers begin to appear. No wonder they’re starting behind time: the setup for The Tengu Taiko Drummers is mind-blowing. They filter onto the stage in masks and present a piece which offers a narrative alongside the striking visuals and the sonic impact of the barrage of percussion. The logistics of some eight musicians packed onto the stage, bounding and leaping and switching positions, plus changing the configuration of the numerous and large drums between pieces would be challenging any night, but with the heat and humidity it’s little short of an heroic feat. It’s an extremely physical performance, and the players aren’t so much glowing as aflame only halfway through. It’s clearly a battle for breath, but they power through to deliver a spectacular show.

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The Tengu Taiko Drummers

Thank dog there’s a bar with some refrigerated beers: the interval affords a vital opportunity to replenish some fluids before Papillon Du Nuit make their highly anticipated stage debut. And they don’t disappoint. The plan, on paper, is simple: to play the album. But to bring a studio-based project to a live setting is a huge leap, and often, what works on tape doesn’t work so well live. But here, it all works spectacularly, and they sound as if they’ve been rehearsing for months – although the fact of the matter is quite different. Indeed, the fact is they’ve only rehearsed a couple of times, so it’s testament to the musical intuition and the high level of skill of the players that they come together so well. The sound, too, is fantastic. Clearly, the venue is set up for musical performances, but the sound engineer achieves magnificent clarity and separation between the instruments.

They open the set as the album begins, with the brooding ‘Jude’, Kennedy whispering ‘Is it dark or am I blind?’ ‘The Pilgrim’s Arc’ sees the drums leading the mix for the first time, paired chunky five-string bass break from Dominique, and showcasing them at their most expansive and ambitious, with its dual vocals, whereby Karen Amanda O’Brien’s voice provides a counterpoint to Shephen’s on this this sweeping epic of a song.

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Pappilon du Nuit

Images of tombstones and lyrical themes of mortality and loss abound, and these are songs rich in poeticism and steeped in the most beautiful melancholy. ‘I’m in your head / so I’m not dead,’ Kennedy sings on ‘Sister, dear’, and it’s as if he’s speaking from the other side in the future tense. The effect is intensely moving, balancing the darkness of the inevitable with a rare positivity, without ever being cliché. In contrast with the reflective atmosphere, Kennedy is sporting – in addition to his trademark hat – some pretty bold trews, the black and white striped spandex giving more glam metal vibes than soul-bearing introspective gothic drama.

‘Amber’ is sparse and atmospheric, and with its marching boots introduction, its dark, gothy bass and snaking guitar, ‘Frozen Charlotte’ is a real highlight of the set, as it is on the album. It’s sweeping, majestic, grand, the sound crisp and clear and nailed tightly to some tense, metronomic drumming. Mika Rudawska’s brooding cello stands out in shaping its haunting atmosphere.

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Bringing the The Tengu Taiko Drummers back for a collaborative rendition of ‘Ariadne’ makes for an incredible finale: Kennedy vacates the stage to stand in front as soprano vocalist Megan Richardson takes centre position, and he enthusiastically conducts this monumental performance.

Combining an album launch with a debut live outing was an ambitious project, to say the least – but it befits such an ambitious musical project – and not only did it not disappoint, but exceeded even the highest expectations. Nothing short of stunning.

A Void / Mango in Euphoria / Hitlist – Wharf Chambers, Leeds, 19th June 2026

Posted: 21 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

The phrase ‘local band’ still carries negative connotations, despite the fact that practically every band is local to somewhere. Of course, the main criticism when it comes to the application of the term ‘local’ is the implicit issue of their failure to travel further afield to grow their audience. Historically, it carried with it the notion that the band weren’t good enough to get gigs elsewhere. Concurrent with, and somewhat contradictory to, this – and I suppose we’re largely going back to the music press of the 80s and 90s – was the London-centric nature of coverage of live music. Occasionally bands from, say, Manchester, Sheffield, or Leeds would get a rare look-in, but it’s not hard to see why bands who wanted to ‘make it’ would move to London. The north was perceived as quaint, parochial, and peripheral, and largely of less consequence.

It’s quite the paradox that many bands could cultivate a career without ever travelling outside the M25. No-one ever beefed that bands who never, or rarely, played outside London were just ‘local’ bands. Then again, to an extent, it’s a question of scale. It’s possible to play in London four times in a week and still not reach all of the potential fanbase. The same can’t be said of somewhere like, say, Lincoln, or Stoke, or even Nottingham. In this context, it’s understandable why smaller London-based bands don’t feel the need to travel further afield much or often, particularly in the current economic climate, when the cost of fuel alone is likely to outstrip the proceeds of door takings and merch sales, without considering sustenance and accommodation.

As such, we’re incredibly privileged to receive two – two – London-based, French-derived bands hitting Leeds together. Both have been on my wishlist for a while, having followed both online for some years now. The last time A Void played Leeds was 2021, and although they ventured north to play York earlier this year, following the departure of the latest in their ‘rotating cast’ of drummers, they played an acoustic set, and superb as it was, it wasn’t the full-throttle grunge blast I’d spent so long yearning for. And now co-founding bassist Aaron Hartmann has departed (as in left, not died), meaning they’re showcasing a brand new – ‘temporary’ – lineup. Which feels a bit harsh, but we’ll come to all of this presently.

First up, and early doors, Hitlist deliver punchy punky alt-rock songs with solid choruses and strong hooks – and some flamboyant slap bass breaks. They have some really nice melodic guitar parts woven into the songs, and play with confidence. Their set is well-considered, and they get harder and faster towards the end. The drummer moans loudly between songs, as if he’s in serious pain or perturbation. It is absolutely fucking boiling mind. And it only gets hotter as the night progresses.

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Hitlist

Mango in Euphoria are pure class from the very start, and they’re straight in with some big glammy grooves. The new, all-female five-piece lineup is sounding fantastic (the high tom being louder than the rest of the drums notwithstanding, but that’s pedantry on my part) – tight, together, with a bright, metallic guitar sound and the synths adding no small dynamic variation. They’re also fully committed to the image, too – none more so than Mango herself in her strikingly slinky getup, and nothing you may have seen in terms of footage on the Internet fully conveys the wild force of nature she is on stage. Throwing poses galore and chucking herself about all over, you’d think this was a 1,500 capacity arena rather than a 150-capacity indie venue with a worryingly bouncy stage. It’s quite the show, alright.

‘5th Year’ is a straight up power ballad. The set flies in the blink of an eye. ‘Lovestruck’ lands as the penultimate song, and it’s epic – the atmospherics and sultry beats of the studio version switched up to chunky, rockin’ dark pop beast before they close with ‘Hollywood’, and they slay it.

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Mango in Euphoria

A Void power in with a swift one-two of ‘One of a Kind’ and ‘Sick as a Dog’ from their last album, Dissociated. Next up, the first of the new songs is particularly hard and driving, reminiscent in parts of Solar Race, only with some straight up metal riffery. It’s apparent just how much the songwriting – and musical capabilities – of the band have evolved since 2018’s Awkward and Devastated. New drummer Mave is a hard hitter, while bassist Lauren lunges towards the crowd and plays with total commitment. And the rapport and banter between the three is a joy. There’s also some remarkably candid chat, and we learn that the album-in-progress since 2023 has been recorded no fewer than three times due to lineup changes whereby new members have brought something different to the songs.

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A Void

They’re all absolutely melting up there, and Camille laments her choice of a velour tracksuit-type getup which is likely the clothing equivalent of a portable sauna. Because this is A Void, there are elements of chaos throughout – Camille upends her pedal board several times, and the drum kit and stool require constant adjustment, and there’s always a sense that anything could happen at any moment. But they manage to keep it together to the end, closing an hour-long set with a boisterous rendition of ‘Stepping on Snails’, and in typical form, Camille celebrates by lying on her back and waving her legs in the air. I’d have responded in kind if I wasn’t encumbered by a pint and a camera and being of an age where I’d likely struggle to get up again. That said, the number of older blokes in the room – I’m talking 60+, rather than 50+ – is somewhat strange, but bands don’t choose their audiences, and there are also a lot of women under thirty here, too. But I digress as my brain slowly melts and I find myself transitioning to a liquid form… this was one of those crazy, sticky, intense summer gigs that stand out, and those of us who were there will be telling people about it in years to come.

Sewage Farm / Too Late For Gods / Bitchcraft – The Black Horse, York, 4th June 2026

Posted: 5 June 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Alongside the Utterly Fuzzled events, the monthly Horsemusic nights at The Black Horse – a traditional boozer just outside the walls at the north of the city centre – have rapidly become established as not only a showcase for local and regional talent, also a barometer to the health of the music scene in the City of York. While proper dedicated independent / grassroots venues have been whittled to just two, these nights tend to be well attended and the acts received enthusiastically.

Tonight’s lineup is an absolute cracker. Bitchcraft had been scheduled to headline, but switched to go on early doors in order to hotfoot it across town to play a cancer charity gig – that they’re in such demand speaks for itself, as does the fact that they’re keen to honour both bookings. Equally telling is that the organisers have elected to pass any donations from tonight’s Horsemusic event (which is free, donations welcome) on to the charity too. This is what makes a healthy scene, when bands and promoters support one another and work together. And so it is that Jo and Pete Dale are here, clapping the bands as hard as anyone, and flyering for their upcoming weekender in between.

The last time I saw Bitchcraft, they announced their change of name during the set, because some film makers weren’t happy about The Blair Bitch Project. The new name suits, though: the all-female four-piece serve up fierce grungy alt-rock of a very 90s persuasion, and despite some guitar issues later in the set, there’s no sense that they’re holding back and saving themselves for the second set. Oh no. They give a hundred per cent.

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Bitchcraft

The risk of the intended headliners going on first is that things could potentially fall a bit flat after, but the quality across the board is such that all three of tonight’s acts felt like headliners.

Too Late For Gods – who for some reason I’d assumed had travelled from further afield, but are also a York band, and who have brought some very keen mates along, wearing hoodies of their album, Misery Blooms – have a lot going on. A power trio with five-string bass and big amps, their Facebook page describes them as a ‘post-hardcore/emu three piece’, and I worry that Rod Hull’s estate might be wanting a word, but they go far beyond these genre parameters, with some thick, gnarly metal, grunge, nu-metal, at times a bit Fudge Tunnel, a bit metalcore, a bit post hardcore, a bit emo… It’s a matter of taste as to whether all of these different elements have equal appeal, but it’s a matter of fact that they kick up a lot of noise and some hefty, sludgy riffs, beefy bass and roaring vocals. It’s also a matter of fact that they play incredibly well, have their sound absolutely down, and mic stand issues not withstanding, deliver an outstanding set.

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Too Late for Gods

Sewage Farm have no issues. Well, not of a technical nature, although their rampant, riff-blasting rager of a new album, Fuck It, which I reviewed for Whisperin’ and Hollerin’ is positively foaming with piss and vinegar. They play pretty much the entirety of the fifteen track album during their set, which can’t be much over half an hour long. And it’s glorious. No chat. No tuning. No pausing to regain breath, take drinks, towel down. Instead, they power through the songs – short, fast, loud – packed back to back from beginning to end.

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They’re a blur of moppy hair giving the riotous energy of Mudhoney and the US alt scene before it transitioned into grunge proper, and because they’ve all been in countless bands since forever, they play with a proficiency which matches the power, and they’re simply a lot of fun. And fun is important, especially right now.

Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs / Meryl Streek – The Crescent Community Centre, York, 14th May 2026

Posted: 15 May 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Once again, I’ve returned to my home from witnessing fantastic acts performing live with a few photos, and barely any notes. This is what happens when the bands are so good you just spend the entire set, transfixed, and when between acts, when you might otherwise capture a few thoughts, you see people you know, and in between a piss and a fresh pint, the time’s gone. I can’t complain about any of this, of course, and I’m not going to. Because this summarises everything that’s great about going to see live music in grassroots venues – not just seeing great bands in close proximity and being able to afford not only a pint, but more than one (you can buy two decent hand-pulled pints of local / regional beer here for the price of a single pint of mass-produced stuff at The Barbican or Leeds O2), but running into familiar faces and being part of a community of people who support live music and are properly into going to see bands.

I’m writing this up now having just seen that The Crescent in York has been named by Time Out as one of the 42 greatest independent venues in the UK, making the Top 10, no less, sharing a bracket with the likes of The Brudenell, Café Oto, and Glasgow Barrowlands. And the more I reflect, the more I feel it’s more than deserved. It really is that good, in that it has everything you could possibly want from an independent gig venue – and tonight is exemplary. It’s sold out, and the bar’s packed a good half an hour before doors, plus there’s a queue, meaning it’s filled up nicely by the time Meryl Streek takes the stage at 8.

Meryl Streek is a revelation, and a world away from Pigs stylistically, sonically, in terms of performance… and this is a strong positive. For one man with a backing track, he sure does a good job of making up for the absence of a band, constantly pacing back and forth with a frenetic, kinetic, nervous energy. The set is strewn with samples and recordings of news items, predominantly about suicide and murder, prefacing or integrated within songs on the same. Real people are the subjects, and he pours heart and soul into every word. The vocal style is not exactly rapping, and certainly not singing, but essentially agitated ranting over electronic-based tracks with sturdy bass and booming beats. At times it’s near disco, others quite abrasive noise. He apologises for the content, and for – well, I’m not quite sure what for. The crowd’s behind him (even when he’s off the stage and in the middle of them, if you see what I mean) and deservedly so. Musically entertaining, lyrically harrowing, it’s a strong set.

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Meryl Streek

AC/DC’s ‘For Those About to Rock’ is played in full as an intro before Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs – or Pigs x 7 as they tend to be more commonly referred to, for obvious reasons – take to the stage. It’s an apposite choice: we are indeed, about to fucking rock.

Their back line is immense. The sound is beyond immense, and they blast out riff after riff after riff. They roll up all of the best of riff monsters and chuck in some space rock for good measure, resulting in a glorious hybrid of Sabbath, Mötörhead, and Hawkwind. And while on the face of it, there’s nothing unique on offer, when it comes to riffs, size matters, and these guys do riffs on a truly galactic scale. The delivery really makes it, though. The bass and drums are locked in tight, and the two guitarists swap effortlessly between lead and rhythm parts, sometimes both playing both.

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Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs

Matt Baty, in shorts and vest, dripping with sweat (and the copious water he pours over himself) adopts a stance like Henry Rollins as he hollers into a vortex of reverb. But given his build, and tendency to bounce lightfootedly and strike random poses, it’s more like watching Barry McGuigan doing Freddie Mercury on Celebrity Stars in Their Eyes. They’re a band who clearly don’t take themselves too seriously, and every three or four songs – hammered out back to back – there’s a pause for breath, during which he relays a tale in three or four parts which is more or less about the fact that they’ve never been invited to play Download Festival (cue pantomime booing and hissing from the crowd). This is very much Download’s loss. There’s also a reference to ‘The hardest man in Billingham’ – which happens to be a song by fellow northeasters IRKED, who we welcomed to York only last week. There’s some good stuff happening up there right now, and it’s great that we get to share in this. In fact, despite the fact that the world is insane and there’s war everywhere, the cost of living is crippling, and pubs and venues are closing at an alarming rate, this is a good time for new music.

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Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs

As they’re touring to promote their (fairly) recently-released fifth album, it stands to reason that the set should focus on that, opening with ‘The Wyrm’ and playing pretty much the album in its entirety, with occasional delves into the back-catalogue, with ‘Big Rig’, ‘Mr Medicine’ and ‘Ultimate Hammer’ from Land of Sleeper also making an appearance and ‘GNT’ from 2018’s King of Cowards being the oldest song in the set. No-one’s beefing about the setlist: the new album is a corker and live, they slay from start to finish. Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs Pigs = Riffs Riffs Riffs Riffs Riffs Riffs Riffs, and tonight’s show was an absolute rip-snorter.

The 113 / Mince / Disappear – The Fulford Arms, York, 6th May 2026

Posted: 7 May 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

Generally speaking, the role of the journalist is to tell the story while staying out of the picture, although Hunter S. Thompson redefined the role of the journalist when he invented gonzo. In the main, I try to remain in the shadows (quite literally), particularly when it comes to live reviews, but sometimes, there’s a narrative switch that simply could not have been anticipated that drags you into the story as a participant, rather than an observer.

“Last time we were here, we got called ‘shouty shit indie’”, says the main singer from Mince, four songs or so songs into their set. It’s true, that did happen, and I stand by that description, too. Given that the last time they were here was April last year, supporting Gans, it would seem it’s niggled them a bit. But, if you’re going to get up in front of people, don’t expect everyone to love it. At least it was no Dream Nails scenario.

Before we move forward, let’s first go back, back, back. The reason I’m here is because The 113, from Leeds, have just released their second EP, The Hedonist, and it’s nothing short of explosive. The real test of a band is whether they can cut it live, though. So now they’re out on the road, grafting – not grifting – and York on a Wednesday night is always going to be a test for an up-and-coming band working to build their fanbase.

It’s not heaving, but there’s a respectable turnout, and first on are Disappear, who trade in jangly country-flavoured indie with a hint of shoegaze. They don’t use plectrums, and the singer / guitarist demonstrates some interesting playing technique. It doesn’t always hit the mark, and the same is true of the off-key approximation of singing. The drummer keeps having to get out from behind his kit to adjust the guy’s guitar pedals, too, which is just weird. They can play, but the songs are uninspired and uninspiring. Toward the end of the set there’s a song that sounds like The Wedding Present circa Bizarro, but again, it’s let down by the vocals. As a band, they aren’t terrible, but I can’t in all conscience say they were any good. The drummer – who is impressive – needs to be in a better band.

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Disappear

And so Mince inform the crowd – who are largely enthusiastic, in fairness – about the review of the last time they were here. I stand by that description, although in fairness, there’s a bit more to it than that: there’s some 60s psych in the mix, and plenty of energy to the performance, too. They have two vocalists – the first, with mop-top haircut, wigs out while playing guitar, while the second paces petulantly, swaggers, and gives it all that. But after maybe three songs, he mostly sits or squats at the back of the stage beside the drum kit, scratching his forehead with his mic and rubbing his face, looking knackered, and stays largely quiet. After coming hard out of the traps, it’s as if he’s out of energy and given up, while the rest of the band thrash on. It’s a bit odd, and oddest of all is that it’s an exact rerun of their previous show here, and on balance they’re better when he takes a back seat (literally).

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Mince

The 113 have built considerable momentum, and fast. Their debut EP, To Combat Regret was released just over a year ago, and The Hedonist continues that arc of nihilistic post-punk aggro delivered with visceral energy. How would it translate live, and how would they fill a headline slot? It turns out they’ve got a solid album’s worth of material, which comfortably fills an hour with no long-winded waffle. They don’t need to pause for political platforming, or pass sociopolitical comment, since it’s all there in the song, which they pack in tightly. And they do so it a nonchalant confidence, too: they’ve got their sound absolutely nailed, and it’s a thick, dense sound, and crisp drums cut through, punchy percussion played with perfect precision. Much of the guitar work is sculpted feedback, but there are steely chords overlaid with sinewy lead parts, and there are times when I’m reminded of Red Lorry Yellow Lorry, another of Leeds’ finest from when the city was the spawning ground of the goth scene that emerged from post punk.

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The 113

They’re electric from start to finish, slamming in with ‘Leach’, and play with an urgency that’s impossible to manufacture. Each band member brings something specific, the towering bassist lurking in the background hammers out hefty grooves. The guitarist plays so hard he busts his A string four songs in, and because they’re not about to let up the momentum, takes another four songs to finally manage to replace it. They simply don’t pause for breath, they keep their heads down and blast them out. ‘When I Leave’ is a mid-set standout, and ‘Entertainment’ is nothing short of scorching. Set closer ‘Conscience’ is a lacerating blast and bang, that’s it, done. The 113 are a band who have got everything down – they hit hard, clinical, brutal, high impact. They’re already making inroads into Europe, and things will likely be quite different come this time next year…

Utterly Fuzzled 7.5: Bhajan Boy / Lou Richards / Piró / Andrew DR Abbot / Jo Dale – Fulfordgate WMC, York, 23rd April 2026

Posted: 24 April 2026 in Live, Reviews
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Christopher Nosnibor

It may be numbered 7.5 in the Utterly Fuzzled catalogue, but there’s nothing ‘half’ about this event. Showcasing quieter and more acoustic-based acts than usual, it does mark something of a departure from their usual mix of indie / alternative / different / stuff, but this stacked five-act bill still brings variety and quality in equal measure.

The joy of these nights is that you can turn up without knowing anything about the majority of the acts and still know there’ll be plenty of interest, even if it’s not all to your taste. Put another way, an Utterly Fuzzled night is not dissimilar to how it was listening to John Peel: a mixed bag, you might not love all of it, but it would never be dull and you’d always come away with something new that made an impression. And tonight is absolutely no exception.

Jo Dale – event co-organiser and bassist with local favourites Knitting Circle is on early doors, nervous and questioning the wisdom of putting herself on for a solo acoustic set – doesn’t make the obvious choice of playing versions of Knitting Circle songs. Oh no. Instead, it’s a whole new set of songs played on acoustic bass, one of which was penned mere hours before when she realised her set was too short. The combination of nerves and newness make for a slightly shaky start, but she’s a deft tunesmith and the audience is behind her (metaphorically speaking, that is) and she finds her feet and confidence over the course of her handful of songs.

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Jo Dale

Andrew DR Abbot is an old hand, and a longstanding feature of the DIY scene in the North. It was more than a quarter of a century since I first stumbled upon him playing baritone guitar as one half of That Fucking Tank, supporting Whitehouse at The Grapes in Sheffield. Whitehouse were too quiet and rather disappointing on that occasion, and TFT were the act of the night by miles. While now performing – again with James Islip, and still with the baritone guitar – as Lands and Body, he’s also doing solo stuff which is an electroacoustic sort of set up, involving field recordings by way of a backing to guitar that’s looped and layered. He’s at ease on stage, and the set simply flows. Starting with a 12-string guitar and switching to an eight-string, Abbot deploys a bottle, a tiny bow, and various other tools to augment some technically proficient picking and fretwork. Cascading notes create an immersive, atmospheric continuous piece which transitions through a sequence of passages. To say that it’s ‘nice’ may sound weak and noncommittal, but as a listening experience, that’s exactly what it is, and I find myself feeling calm but subtly exhilarated.

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Andrew DR Abbot

Piró – over from Spain and touring alongside Andy Abbott – plays vibrant folksy songs with a Latin flavour, routing an acoustic guitar through some pedals with loops and distortion making for some interesting sounds. His set was marred somewhat by some noisy sods at the back who talked and laughed constantly, and talked and laughed louder during the louder parts. But like a pro, he kept a level head and simply played on, and gave us some nicely worked loops and guitar detail in songs performed with heart.

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Piró

Lou Richards’ set was a compact affair comprising just four songs, the last of which was a John Cale cover performed alongside one of her former bandmates. But less is more, particularly when it comes to poetical words paired with delicately picked clean electric guitar. It’s pleasant, a very different kind of folk, about hedgerows and heritage, nature and nurturing.

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Lou Richards

Bhajan Boy is sporting a Fall T-shirt and brings big drones which form the basis of a set that builds slowly and deliberately, with some clattering and clanking that adds considerable texture. It’s only gradually that the drone evolves into a dense noise, as the set bhuilds subtly in layers and volume. Twenty minutes in and I’m wondering how much further he can take it, how much more he can add. That’s when he starts on the bellows and the sound really swells to a huge swashing sonic tide, rendered all the more full-spectrum by bleeps and crackling distortion, before gradually pulling back through a very long tapering wind down.

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Bhajan Boy

It’s an immersive soundscape, which is very different from the rest of the lineup. This in itself is the quintessence of the Utterly Fuzzled ethos, and in a time where live music is struggling and touring is difficult, a night like tonight stands as a beacon.

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