Posts Tagged ‘Live Review’

Christopher Nosnibor

Sheffield (and Totnes) shoegaze quartet Pale Blue Eyes may not have had the kind of meteoric ascent to the stratospheres enjoyed by The Last Dinner Party, but they’ve certainly come a long way in a short time for such a young band. Following a similar trajectory to Hull’s BDRMM, they started out in 2021, as we were emerging from lockdown, as a geographically distanced duo, expanding to a three- and then four-piece, releasing their debut album in 2022. No-one would likely have foreseen that two years on, they’d be opening for Slowdive. And now, here they are, on their own headline tour, playing to substantial crowds in 300+ capacity venues in places they’ve never been before. Small wonder they spend the set beaming at simply being here.

To revisit a favourite topic of late, this is why we need grassroots venues. I first saw BDRMM at the Fulford Ams (capacity c. 125), then a year or so later here at The Crescent. Now they’re headlining at the 1,000-capacity Stylus at Leeds Uni, where I’ve seen Swans and Dinosaur Jr. And on the strength of tonight’s performance, I could imagine Pale Blue Eyes there after the release of their forthcoming second album. But, even if not, it’s clear they can’t quite believe they are where they are at this moment in time.

British Birds are a sound choice of support act. There’s next to no sonic resemblance, and visually, presentationally, they’re worlds apart, too, and it’s appreciated. It gets boring watching bands who are too alike back-to-back, and there’s always the risk the support will steal the headliners’ thunder.

They seem to have had about a dozen different lineups already, and while the music press have seemingly struggled to categorise them, with descriptions ranging from ‘indie’ to ‘psychedelic’ with ‘rock’ and ‘garage’ and ‘pop’ all being lobbed their way, but it’s not prevented them getting airplay on 6Music.

Their female singer / keyboardist, centre stage, first gives us first cowbell, then tambourine during first song. Throughout the set, she seems to spend more time bouncing around with the tambourine than playing the keyboard, and behind her, some dynamic and enthusiastic drumming defines their sound, which is a bit Dandy Warhols at times. I have never seen anyone attack a cowbell with so much force, but it makes them absolutely great to watch, being a band positively radiating energy centre stage. Stage left and right, the guitarist / lead singer and bassist are rather more static, focused on their instruments rather than presentation, but this dynamic works well. The three-way vocals add some really sweet harmonies to some lovely indie pop tunes in a varied and entertaining set, where the penultimate song goes a bit rockabilly. Definitely worth seeing.

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British Birds

Pale Blue Eyes take the sound up a notch, not only in volume but quality. It’s clear, crisp, dense, with good separation and clarity, particularly in the drums and vocals, while they crank out dreamy shoegaze tunes with some rippling keyboards and lots of heavy tremolo. ‘TV Flicker’ landing second in the set provides an early highlight in a set that builds nicely, and it’s clear they’ve put some thought into this.

Early Ride make for an obvious comparison, but there’s more to it than that. The drummer plays motorik rhythms focused around the centre of the kit (incomplete contrast to the rolling, expansive style of British Birds’ drummer), barely bending an elbow, confirming movement largely to the wrists and just holding tight, steady beats.

Laser synths and repetitive riffs edge into space rock territory, locking into mesmeric grooved with Hawkwind vibes. In this combination of shoegaze and psych, I’m reminded if second-wave shoegaze act The Early Years circa 2005.

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Pale Blue Eyes

The audience demographic is split largely into two camps: twenty-somethings – the band’s peers, as you’d likely expect – and middle-agers who came to this stuff when they themselves were in their teen and early twenties. I have to confess to falling into the latter bracket, having discovered Ride and Slowdive via John Peel and Melody Maker, and seeing the former at Wembley at BBC Radio 1’s ‘Great British Music Weekend’ supporting The Cure in January 1991 (which I’d have enjoyed more if I hadn’t been coming down with flu, and the three-mile walk home from the coach drop-off back in Lincoln at 2am, in sub-zero temperatures did me for a week). But, consequently, lots of insanely tall middle aged blokes swarmed to the front, busting moves, lofting their arms, and dancing like they’re swimming with their hands behind their backs (or in their pockets) while simultaneously shooting shaky videos on their phones like wankers. I mean, who’s going to want to watch those?

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Pale Blue Eyes

Most of the between-song dialogue was about how awed the band were to be playing the city and venue for the first time, and judging by their expressions, this was a genuine sentiment. But rather than allow that awe to overcome them, they fed off the exuberance of the substantial crowd and amplified it back. The bassist in particular looked like he was having the time of his life.

Their hour-long set culminates in blistering climactic sustained crescendo. There doesn’t need to be more, and there’s nowhere to go beyond this point for an encore. It’s a satisfying and natural-feeling conclusion to a joyous performance.

Christopher Nosnibor

There tend not to be many good news stories about grassroots venues in circulation, so to be able to present one feels like a big, big deal: tonight’s gig marks ten years since The Fulford Arms, previously a pub that put on some gigs, came under new ownership and became a dedicated grassroots venue.

I’ve lost count of the number of shows I’ve attended, and even the number of times I’ve performed, during those years. I’ve also lost count of the number of times I’ve raved about just how brilliant a venue it is. Over the years, for a small venue, it’s pulled some big names, from Wayne Hussey and The March Violets, to Ginger Wildheart, as well as bands on the cusp, notably, in the past couple of years, Benefits and BDRMM – which perfectly illustrates the need for grassroots venues. The bands on the cusp cut their teeth in venues like this, and without them… well, so much has been said already on the detriment to the industry, the economy, to bands… but also, the community. One thing I’ve oft repeated is that where The Fulford Arms is concerned, much as important as the sound and the bands are, the sense of community is absolutely the thing that makes it. That community centres around disparate groups and individuals, who are all welcomed equally, regardless of commercial draw. The big gigs fund the tiny local events, the noise nights, anti-racism poetry and spoken-word nights. You name it, it happens here.

And sure enough, on arrival, there are people I know – plenty of people – and as always, it feels like coming home. Not quite a gig in your living room, unless you have a massive living room with a bar and friendly bar staff, but certainly a home from home.

Tonight’s lineup is very much a celebration of the diversity of acts they putt on here, and also, significantly, focuses on the local. While many have elected to see John Otway and Wild Willy Barret on the other side of town, it’s significant that we actually have choice of live music to see in smaller venues on any given evening.

It’s a shame that the hefty guitar-wielding noise juggernaut JUKU have had to pull out at short notice due to COVID, but what’s on offer is still diverse and enjoyable.

First up, No Como Crees – a trio reduced to a 2-piece due to their drummer having food poisoning – or ‘food poisoning’ – and so they’re playing acoustic for the first time, with two guitars. It’s a good thing the bassist can actually play guitar. The change in lineup has dictated a change in sound, meaning that instead of roustabout ska-punk we get acoustic Americana, and serves as a reminder of the York scene before The Fulford Arms became a venue proper, when every other pub would host some singer-songwriter solo or duo playing blues / Americana. Some acts were better than others, but ultimately the lack of variety was pretty grim.

Credit to them for the effort they’ve put into the set and how well they pull it off. Their second song reminds me rather of ‘Horse with No Name’ by America. Another song is supposed to be uptempo ska-punk in its usual format, but it too comes out as Springsteenish Americana. Then there’s a song with some rapped verses which really don’t work in an acoustic setting. I do feel sorry for them performing under difficult circumstances and it’s a decent effort but on balance, I probably wouldn’t have dug their standard set any more. Sporting flat caps, custom-printed basketball vests, and beards, and swaying around airily, they’re vaguely irritating, and paired with some repetitive, unfunny banter, I find them hard to take to… and then they chuck in a cover of Jessie J’s ‘Price Tag’. But… they play well and have good voices. and variety is the key to tonight’s lineup.

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No Como Crees

Speedreaders are certainly a contrast. Although a relatively new act, they feature some longstanding faces from the city’s scene. There’s something quintessentially York about their brand of ponderous indie straddling 80s and 90s, with jangling guitar and tempo changes and buildups galore, and style of jumpers and jeans, open shirts over t-shirts indie. In the main, it’s understated, somewhat slowcore. “We’re not cocky, we’re just awkward” David Mudie (guitars and vocals) says, breaking one of the lengthy silences between songs while tunes up. Plugging away at a handful of chords, pushed along by simple, uncluttered drumming, the songs shine with all three band members’ vocals blending to later the sound. They really cut loose on final song, ‘Down-Round’, which lands in the territory of Pavement and Dinosaur Jr circa You’re Living All Over Me, with some gloriously wistful minor chords, before hitting an epic kraut groove workout that brings the set to a sustained climax.

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Speedreaders

Percy have been going for twenty-eight years now, and while they may have undergone a few lineup changes, through the years, the current one is solid, and they’ve been prolific, both in terms of recorded output and gigs. They’re certainly worthy headliners for tonight’s show – a band who’ve trodden the boards at the Fully Arms countless times, and a band who have spent their career pedalling their wares round the grassroots circuit.

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Percy

Spells of raised profile have come and gone, and they’re still doing what they do. As York’s answer to The Fall, they’ll keep on doing it, too. As such, tonight’s outing is business as usual for Percy, and in typical style as learned from The Fall, they play their forthcoming album, which currently has no release date, in its entirety. Awkward Northern buggers. Then again, like the bands who in many respects define that Northern attitude – I’m thinking not only The Fall, but The Wedding Present,

Christopher Nosnibor

To observe that my quota of nights off for beer and live music has been subject to a dramatic cut in 2023 would be an understatement, and any ambition I may have had of becoming York’s answer to JG Ballard as a stay-at-home dad cranking out novels has been rather stifled by the dayjob. But, it pays the bills and I have achieved a writing space that resembles Ballard’s mighty shit-tip of books and all kinds of odds and sods, of which I am rather proud.

Having just the other day stumbled upon Ooberfuse’s latest single, ‘Hard Times’ in one of my virtual submission piles, and having felt compelled to write about it, spotting that they were playing for free at a venue ten minutes’ walk from my house seemed like an opportunity not to be missed, particularly after I’d given Shine Path a bit of a listen on SoundCloud.

Matt B pitches his project as ‘Leeds Based Surf Punk Goth Pop noise’, and it’s a solo thing with ‘Drums and Beats’ provided by sidekick Bruvver Boom. He’s up first and he’s sporting a Sonic Youth T-shirt and some sturdy hiking boots, which he used to stomp on his not insubstantial array of pedals. The pairing of guitar and drum machine is a quintessentially Leeds sound. He appears to use the same rhythm throughout his set, and with no fills or fancy stuff, he seems to be from the Andrew Eldritch post-1997 school of programming. The set consists mostly of tracks from his eponymous EP that’s on SoundCloud, with a few covers thrown in to pack things out. There’s a bit of Bizarro-era Wedding Present jangle in places, too, and when it comes to northern indie, ‘workmanlike’ isn’t a sleight. He delivers a hefty rendition of REM’s ‘The One I Love’, and a sparse echoey swampy, even vaguely gothy drum-free rendition of ‘Where Did You Sleep Last Night?’ before wrapping up with a stompin’ take of ‘20th Century Boy.’ I’m assuming he’s friends with a fair few people who are in tonight, but the warm reception is deserved.

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ShinePath

The event listing had led me to expect Ooberfuse to be headlining as part of the promotion for the new single, bit they’re up next, and I’m immediately struck by Cherrie Anderson’s bright yellow puffa jacket and her superbly melodic vocals. The pair bring a tidy set of pop tunes with a fairly minimal setup of synth drums and acoustic guitar, with urban beats and sequenced bass grooves. The songs are quality pop with positive energy and outstanding musicianship. ‘Go’ brings both in spades, with a Latin flavour. Rounding off a short but perfectly-formed set, ‘Hard Times’ marks a bit of a shift stylistically and it’s not only well placed but incredibly effective and moving. Snoop Dogg’s vocal sits as a sample in the mix with the dramatic piano and it’s a strong way to close the set.

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Ooberfuse

As there’s little mention of faith on Ooberfuse’s social, it’s something which seems to have bypassed Tom Robinson and The Guardian alike in their rave reviews, but there is – reflecting on Shine Path’s logo taped to his amp – very much a Christian thread running through tonight’s acts. But then, in the main, they seem more concerned with esposing Christian values than preaching Christianity. As these are values which are sadly absent from our abhorrent government who seem incapable of even espousing the most basic and fundamental human values, it can’t really be grounds for criticism.

Hibari, however, I might sleight for false advertising. He’s certainly a lot less mean-looking and mean-sounding than the poster had led me to expect. Heavily tattooed and billed as ‘ONE MAN POST BLACK METAL BAND STRAIGHT EDGE/CHIPTUNE/RAP PUNK’, when Hibari bounds on with some buoyant bit-tune rap that’s so, so ultra-poppy it makes so much J-Pop sound like the most brutal doom, it is something of a surprise. The thin sound is sort of part of the chiptune schtick. He’s a showman, and no mistake, windmilling the mic and bounding and leaping with limitless energy. The crowd is comparatively small, but there are a lot of phones out for pics, suggesting that many of the crowd know the man and his work. Given how difficult it is to track him or his music down online, there must be some Christian channels or something. It’s fun enough and all and the numbers dancing down the front increases with every number, but there isn’t the vaguest hint of black metal or punk in evidence here: this is super-clean Japanese electropop at its absolute cleanest and most minimal and most effervescent: it’s almost as dazzling as his very yellow trainers. After a few songs it becomes abundantly clear that anything remotely metal is off the table and the relentlessly upbeat and uptempo energy begins to sap the life from my limbs. It’s always a good idea to monitor and limit your sugar intake, and following the skyward-facing positivity of Ooberfuse, Hibari hits with enough positive froth as to induce a hyperglycaemic coma.

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Hibari

The stylistic differentials between the three acts isn’t easy to assimilate, but it makes for a dynamic lineup – perhaps a shade too dynamic even for my tastes, but the floor’s getting progressively busier with each song, which says loud and clear that this is Hibari’s crowd.

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s been quite a week for Benefits. Kicking off an extensive UK tour in the same week as the release of their debut album, which has landed to universal critical acclaim, they’ve come a long way, and they know it better than anyone. It’s small wonder they’re fired up for this return to Leeds, which is where it all started in terms of their journey as a live act, and which has seen them transition from a homespun lockdown project into a national act with a following that’s growing by the day, due in no small part to their formidable live performances.

But to step back a moment and consider the album, of which myself I wrote a suitably efficiently enthusiastic review of just the other day: ‘universal critical acclaim’ is no mere hyperbole. Sometimes, a release by a major artist will receive a set of (very similar) reviews in the major press which almost feel like there’s been some kind of advance agreement on a consensus that this is one of their ‘good’ albums or a ‘return to form’ or whatever, with only one or two outliers, more often than not in more alternative channels. These moments strike as somewhat suspicious, since you clearly can’t please all of the people, even some of the time when it comes to something as subjective as music.

And yet Benefits have defied all of everything with the reception for Nails. Sure, an interviewer for Louder Than War suggested that the album was ‘depressing; and admitted it wasn’t something he envisaged listening to much, but the site’s review was roundly positive.

This unanimity is testament to the band’s unifying message: while some may find the barrages of noise challenging, there is absolutely no denying their sincerity, passion, or the power of the truth spoken in the lyrics, making Benefits THE voice of the disaffected here in Shit Britain. You might think that having just expended nearly a thousand words on the album the other day I’d be all out of words for benefits, but I’m just warming up, because the more I see and hear them, the more I have to say.

As the place packs out and the queue at the bar packs as deep as the clamour for the front, guitar / drums duo Scrounge entertain us with a vigorous set. They’re a pleasant surprise who start out suggesting that they’re ramshackle punkers with a murky distorted guitar sound, before, over the course of their set, revealing that they’re so much more. Unexpectedly melodic, with some chiming guitar tones, they deliver some proper songs with tunes and choruses, and incorporating both acoustic drums and drum pads, they vary the sound and style throughout the set. They’re indie, but with guts, and remind me in places of A Band of Susans.

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Scrounge

Something has changed since Benefits last came to Leeds, and it’s not just the drummer – although Cat Myers is stunning, and her contribution can’t be overstated. This is my third time seeing the band, and the third drummer I’ve seen them with, and Cat really brings a rare level of sonic articulation to the dynamic of the sound. She doesn’t just drum: she drives the colossal walls of noise blasted out by the Major brothers. They’ve never sounded better: the dual-synth noise assault is crisps and clear and subject to perfect separation tonight, meaning the tones and frequencies really hit hard; the bass shakes the bowels while the treble vibrates the nostrils (I take it’s that’s not something only I experience) as they blast through ‘Marlboro Hundreds’: just as it’s the perfect album opener, it’s the perfect set-opener, too, and following with ‘Empire’ again delivers that antagonistic blast of noise and rage that’s utterly flooring.

But as I said, something has changed. They seem more confident – not cocky by any stretch, still as humble as ever – but assured, while the crowd – perhaps there are more here who’ve been swayed by the acclaim – is a but chattier in pockets, which is irritating, but contrasted by the number of people who are shouting the lines back to the stage. There are more calls out, too – not heckling, per se as it’s not critical, but a keenness to engage, bantz (perhaps not best recommended, but indicative of the level of exuberance in the room) and even hands out for high fives (perhaps not best recommended, but indicative of the level of exuberance in the room).

‘Divide and Be Conquered’ delivers a deep dance groove while Kingsley throws rockist mic stand poses, before they take it down a notch with ‘Shit Britain’ with its shuffling beats and splashes of samples.

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Benefts

As I said, the more you listen, the more you discover: they’re not just shouting and walls of noise, and the set’s variety is something that stands to the fore, perhaps more so with the benefit (boom) of familiarity: ‘Warhorse’ is a raw punk, while ‘Council Rust’ is sparse; ‘Thump’ brings a white noise blitzkrieg ahead of a muscular rendition of fan-favourite ‘Flag’, which is utterly devastating.

Kingsley sits, slumped on the drum riser or on all fours between songs later in the set: he pours every ounce of energy and emotion into every line, and while there is clearly an element of performance about a Benefits show, more than anything, it’s about giving it all to every show, every song, every line, every word. This is fucking real. And that’s what people respond to. The music may be aggressive, harsh, delivered right in your face, but it’s unifying.

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Benefits

Hall can barely stand after an extended and ultra-intense rendition of ‘Traitors’, but still just finds the juice for the (not really) encore of ‘Taking Us Back’, which swings into arena rock and which shouldn’t work, but does in fact provide the perfect finish to a set which eschews genre limitations and showcases a band channelling by whatever means, and doing so with colossal force. The experience leaves me too socked in the mouth to wrap up with a pithy one liner or anything smart. Just… fuck, yeah.

Christopher Nosnibor

Kirk Brandon has to be one of the hardest-working men in British music: if he’s not touring with Spear of Destiny, it’s Theatre of Hate or Dead Men Walking or otherwise recording new albums or rerecording old ones with either SoD or TOH. You’d think he’d be knackered, but he’s got no shortage of energy and is in good voice – he sounds absolutely no different – as he leads the band through a career-spanning set.

They don’t ease in gently, either, storming through an opening clutch of songs beginning with ‘Rainmaker’, followed by ‘Radio Radio’, ‘Young Men’ and the rabble-rousing ‘Liberator’. On a personal level, I’m particularly happy with this, as One Eyed Jacks is a particularly favourite album of mine.

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‘Pilgrim’, from last year’s Ghost Population breaks the run, but sits well in the set, built around a beefy guitar chug. It also shows how, as much as they’re a ‘heritage’ band – Kirk jokingly comments on how many of their more recent songs are twenty-five years old now – who are more than happy to crank out the oldies for the fans who grew up with these songs, they’re also very much a going concern and an active, writing and recording band with something still to say and a knack for big, anthemic tunes. They’re great to watch, too: the guitarist plays his solos with his face – it’s particularly fun to watch him mouth the long bendy notes, and the drummer’s a face-player, too. Flippancy aside, though, there’s a lot to be said for the pleasure of watching a band who are into what they’re doing performing, especially when it’s a band who’ve got a wealth of live experience under their belts and they’re just really good, it’s a source of joy. The joy among the crowd is self-evident: it may be toward the older demographic, but they’re here to have a good time and to get moving down the front.

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It’s the first night of the tour, and the intro to ‘So in Love with You’ sounds a shade rough but once they’re through it, it’s belting, and keeping the energy up, they follow up immediately after with ‘Never Take Me Alive’ immediately after – and it’s only mid-set. There are people at the bar singing along while ordering pints, and it’s a heartwarming experience all round.

If the main set is perhaps shorter than expected, it leaves time for a lot of encore, where ‘Judas’, from 2000’s Volunteers proves to be a standout as they wrap up a cracking set.

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With no support, they’re on early and off early, and it’s not simply age that makes a 10:30 finish a welcome thing: with public transport in the state it’s in, with busses stopping early and trains being utterly fucked and often replaced by busses or nothing at all, it makes travelling even locally to gigs difficult at a time when the night-time economy is struggling. It’s good, then, to see venues adapt to cater for the punters – and judging by how packed the bar was an hour before the show (and the fact one of the hand-pulled beers ran out by 9pm), there’s a fair chance they sold a decent amount of beer on top of the tickets.

For all the crap in the world, good bands and good venues are still thriving. And it seems York is finally on the gig circuit proper. Yusss!

Christopher Nosnibor

The best local bands tends not to stay local, so for RSJ to play a one-off reunion show seven years after calling it a day and singer Dan Cook replacing John Loughlin in Raging Speedhorn in their hometown is a big deal. Precisely what prompted this return isn’t clear, but it’s extremely welcome, as the near-sellout crowd indicates.

It’s busy early doors, and those who are present are rewarded with a killer set from York / Leeds metal act Disnfo. They’re young, loud, attacking and abrasive, pissed off and raging -against the government, society, the world. And too fucking right: there’s much to rage against, and it’s uplifting to see a band channelling that rage creatively, especially via thick, chunky low end riffs powered by some five—string bass action. The singer makes the most use of the floor in front of the stage. They lob in a Deftones cover about two-thirds of the way through the set, which gets progressively more melodic and overtly nu-metal toward the end of the set, but it’s supremely executed, and the interplay between the dual vocals is really strong and tightly woven.

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Disinfo

Beyond All Reason are also tight and proficient, but also quite cringeworthy in their straight-faced and immensely earnest performance of some epic but highly predictable hair metal with all the fretwork. They’ve been going for almost twenty years now and clearly have a substantial fanbase, meaning that I’m in the minority when I say I just can’t get onto it. Combining the po-faced thrash of Metallica with the vocal histrionics of Rob Halford, they’re every inch the band who did the ‘Shepherd’s piiiiiiiiieeeee!!!!’ Oxo ad from 2004. There is, however, something amusing about a support act playing a 350-capacity venue like they’re headlining Knebworth.

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Beyond All Reason

RSJ don’t look or sound like a band who haven’t played a gig together in donkeys and it’s full-throttle high-octane stuff from the second they hit the stage. There’s a lot of love for RSJ, and rightly so. Active between 2002 and 2017, they garnered significant acclaim in Kerrang and elsewhere, and knocked out four albums, while playing festivals such as Bloodstock and Sonisphere, as well as playing support slots for Slayer, Funeral for a Friend, Raging Speedhorn and Orange Goblin.

The band took their name from the construction term Rolled Steel Joist, and yes, they play some ultra-solid metalcore with no letup, whipping up a mega moshpit, but one that’s friendly – shaved heads and long beards hugging.

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RSJ

Leaning forward, bass dragging on the floor, the bassist hits all the lows and underpins a harsh, heavy guitar assault that just keeps on coming.

They switch to their original drummer halfway through the set for a handful of songs, and things get even heavier and more brutal: ‘Gordon’s Alive’ is a hundred-mile-an-hour frenzy.

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RSJ

It’s probably about half a dozen songs in that Dan announces that the next song is the last, which seems unfeasible. But if he announces it once, he announces it a dozen times over the next half hour, and it feels like a running joke in a good-natured set which reminds me why metal gigs are so often the best and the more brutal the music, the more docile and community-minded the band and crowd alike. The songs are all-out, but in between, the rapport between the band and their fans is heart-warming and a truly life-affirming scene.

In times of deep social division and shit on shit, we need more of this. And we certainly need more RSJ. Let’s hope this reunion isn’t the last.

Christopher Nosnibor

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

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

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

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

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

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Captain Starlet

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

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The Bricks

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

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

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Percy

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

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