Posts Tagged ‘Punk’

28th March 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

In the early days of the Internet, although graphics were basic and the majority of sites were predominantly text, weird shit proliferated in a different way from the way it does now. Sites like rotten.com, active from 1996 to 2012, homed the kind of gruesome, graphic, morbid stuff that had the potential to traumatise a person for life, although there were very few videos online in the late 90s. However, one video which achieved notoriety was the ‘Traingirl’ footage, in which a woman is seen stepping onto a train track directly in front of a speeding train. And yes, on seeing the title of this new release from Hull noisemongers Bug Facer, that was almost immediately where my mind went.

The EP’s title perfectly encapsulates the unstoppable sonic squall of the music it contains: three wild, jolting, jarring sonic blasts that hit hard.

The band say of the release: “On this EP, we tried to emulate the energy we have at our live shows – like a big wall of noise and chaos. By recording everything in one room, all playing together at the same time, you can capture that energy of a live show & the chemistry unlike when you’re getting into overdubs. Compared to our 1st EP Triple Death, we’ve changed a lot as a band & finally we feel people can experience the energy of our live shows on record”.

Having witnessed one of their live performances late last year, I can vouch for this. The production is unpolished, bringing the immediacy of the live show, and the volume, too. Man Killed by Train FEELS loud.

They’ve certainly had an eventful journey to arrive at this point: starting out in 2022 as a duo, they subsequently expanded to a quartet, yielding the Triple Death EP and Lord of the Rings-inspired single cut ‘Fiery Demon Attacks Old Man on Bridge’ – and now they’re down to a three-piece following the departure of co-founder James Cooper. But this has seemingly resulted in a newfound focus, and as is often the case with the power trio format, the individual members play harder and louder to compensate the absence of that second guitar or whatever it may be.

‘Coke Cola Shop’ tears out of the speakers to deliver two minutes of discordant sonic chaos with crunchy bass, screaming guitar, and frenetic percussion. There’s some shouting going on in the middle of all of it, too.

‘Spinosaurus’ may be mellower at first, hinting at a swirling psychedelic space-rock groove, but it never really settles, instead lurching restlessly here and there and ultimately coming on more like Fugazi than Hawkwind. And then they really let fly for the finale: ‘Sweat Pea’ is simply explosive, with tom-heavy rolling drums driving a serrated buzz of guitar. The bass is so immense, so dense, it makes your stomach lurch. It’s a full-on pileup where punk, noise rock, sludge, and dirty metal collide, and petrol tanks explode and there’s broken glass and broken bodies and carnage all over. It’s raw, savage, completely without compromise – or a chorus in sight – and without question their strongest statement to date.

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28th February 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

It seems that the world is devolving, and that stupidity is not only rewarded, but aspired to. It’s been a decline we’ve been witnessing for some time now, and seems to have really become popular currency at an accelerating pace since the advent of ‘reality’ TV. Jade Goody’s career was founded on her complete lack of knowledge of anything, paired with her superabundant willingness to spout her ignorance to the world with pride. The fact she was also an obnoxious racist seems to have been forgiven with her dying young after something of a media rehabilitation. Then we had to endure the moronic pronouncements of Joey Essex, who apparently believed that a turtle’s beak was made of wood, and while some laughed at him and some laughed with him, people lapped up the hilarity of his idiocy and in less than a decade, we ended up in a place where being a fuckwit was cool, and, more significantly, bankable. Because that’s what it all boils down to, ultimately. If you’re wealthy and famous, or infamous, who cares why or how, an if you can get rich and famous simply for being a fuckwit, you’re made. The tide of anti-intellectualism has soared to attain a truly unprecedented peak in the last couple of months, with the drivelling orange imbecile deciding that the way to improve education in the USA – already low-ranking globally – is to shut down the Department of Education and withdraw funding for libraries and anything that may actually enrich and educate the lives of citizens.

And yet, for all this, sometimes, you need music that’s kinda dumb, straightforward, catchy, energetic. This was always the appeal of punk, I suppose. It was rousing, got people pumped up, provided a focus and an outlet for anger and frustration, articulating those feelings in simple and relatable terms. Enter gritty Australian quartet Citizen Rat, who combine dirty punk in the vein of Anti-Nowhere League with a dash of metal rowdy rap and cite The Bronx, Turnstile, and Fugazi as reference points. Australia seems to be particularly good for producing energetic punky grungy acts, from DZ Deathrays to Mannequin Death Squad, and you can add Citizen Rat to the list now.

They describe ‘Shut My Mouth’ as ‘a gut-punching anthem about losing yourself in the struggle to please others, battling self-doubt, and fighting to be heard’, and its power lies in its simplicity and directness. And it’s not an exercise in self-pity, either – more a case of self-realisation, self-loathing, and a desire to do better: ‘I’m a piece of shit / I can’t shut my mouth / seems my life is heading south’, the front rat rants.

Stylistically, it compresses a surprising array into its full-throttle three minutes, going from The Beastie Boys to Motorhead, and packing some heavy-duty riffery, too. Its appeal is twofold: first, there’s a compelling sense of humanity here, the torture of self-flagellation over misspeaks and simply talking bollocks because anxiety or beer or brain disconnect, and second, it’s got a monster chorus and some strong hooks. Yes, it’s brash, it’s dumb, but it’s ballsy and it’s entertaining. And that’s a win.

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New York Sharkcore punks ChumHuffer are back with a new track, ‘Burning,’ from their highly anticipated 7” release, Slaughterhouse Five. Fueled by raw energy and an unrelenting sonic assault, ‘Burning’ is a relentless dive into the struggles of stagnation and the battle for clarity in a chaotic world.

With lyrics that cut deep—“Burning in my head / Voices take control”—the song encapsulates the frustration of being stuck in a cycle of repetition, yearning for progress but feeling the weight of the past. The band’s signature mix of searing riffs, pounding drums, and anthemic vocal delivery make ‘Burning’ a must-hear for punk fans stuck in a rut or recently escaped from one.

“The song is about fighting the loop of insanity, realizing when you’re stuck in the same patterns and the frustration of breaking free,” says Shawn Refuse, singer. “It’s a reflection of personal battles but also speaks to the collective experience of anyone who feels trapped by their circumstances.”

ChumHuffer has built a reputation for delivering aggressive, thought-provoking punk anthems, and Slaughterhouse Five promises to be no exception. The 7” release will feature tracks that capture the band’s hardcore punk sound infused with metal and surf riffs.

Slaughterhouse Five will be available May, 2025 via their personal label DWY Records, and fans can get their first taste with ‘Burning’ streaming March 28th now on all streaming platforms.

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Nordic noise-rockers Barren Womb are back with a brand-new video for ‘Bug Out Bag,’ taken from their critically acclaimed fifth album Chemical Tardigrade, which got a  thumbs up from us here at Aural Aggravation.

The video premiered at Decibel Magazine, who praised the band’s sound as “angular and pulsating electronic rock/noise/hardcore that lands somewhere between Refused, Daughters, and NoMeansNo on one end, and the ‘Bigs’ (Business and Black) on the other.”

A chaotic burst of gritty visuals and manic energy, the video perfectly mirrors the band’s twisted blend of punk defiance, sludgy grooves, and raw minimalism. Watch it now here:

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Their latest LP, Chemical Tardigrade (Fucking North Pole Records / Blues For The Red Sun), dives deeper into melodic and emotional territories without losing their unhinged core. Tracks like ‘Campfire Chemist’ and ‘Dung Lung’ showcase their evolution while retaining the band’s punchy edge and signature offbeat humor (‘D-Beatles,’ anyone?).

And they’re taking it back on the road with the newly announced More Chemicals 2025 European tour, check out the confirmed dates below.

MORE CHEMICALS 2025
01.05 – CZ Pilsen, Družba
02.05 – DE Leipzig, Zwille
03.05 – DE Bielefeld, Drum Hard
04.05 – BE Licthervelde, PrintbaAr
05.05 – FR Strasbourg, Le Local
06.05 – BE Antwerp, Antwerp Music City
07.05 – DE Osnabrück, Bastard Club
08.05 – DE Braunschweig, Spunk
09.05 – DK Odense, Ilter Festival
10.05 – NO Oslo, Desertfest Oslo
16.05 – NO Trondheim, Pøbelrock
26.07 – NO Hønefoss, Malstrømfestivalen
01.08 – NO Horten, Kanalrock
03–06.09 – SE Örebro, Live at Heart
18.09 – FI Turku, TBA
19.09 – FI Tampere, TBA
20.09 – FI Helsinki, TBA

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Christopher Nosnibor

One might feel that naming an event after yourself is a bit of an egofest, but when the event in question is, essentially, the organiser’s birthday party, well, fair enough. And Mr Pasky has been putting on decent gigs for a while now, boasting eclectic lineups, and if live music is your thing, is there a better way of celebrating a birthday than putting on a bunch of bands you like and opening the venue doors to see them free of charge?

With doors being at 3pm, I missed the first couple of acts, and arrived in time for Pat Butcher, who I’ve not seen in an age, and all I can remember about them is carrots. They deliver a confident set of aggressive punk rock, with angry-sounding songs about- kidney stones, IBS, and raceday wankers – relatable to anyone who resides in York. And late on, they land the comical, gimmicky ‘Carrot in a Minute’, whereby they distribute raw carrots among the audience and challenge them to eat them within the song’s minute-long duration… just for shits an’ giggles. There’s something quite uplifting and entertaining witnessing a bunch of guys getting worked up about mundane stuff like neighbours who vacuum clean at all hours.

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Pat Butcher

Fat Spatula are up next, and I find I like them more each time I see them. Did I write that about them last time, too? Quite possibly, but then it’s true. They really seems to be hitting new peaks and seem more confident, too. ‘Benefits Tourist’ goes uptempo and shoutier amidst energetic but affable US indie style. There are hints of Pixies and Pavement, and some country leanings, too. A lot of the verses are delivered rapidfire like REM It’s the End of the World as We Know It’, but later on, experimental spoken word gives way to kinetic space rock with blasting motorik drums on the penultimate song. I’’s only three or four minutes long, but with that locked-in groove, they could do a half-hour long version and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

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Fat Spatula

As I mentioned, eclectic lineups are Pasky’s thing, and OG3 are a power trio who start out like Beastie Boys circa ‘83, but the rest of the set is a melding of punk and emo and some weird hybrid efforts that are like Eminem fronting a grunge act. And then they cover ‘Fight for Your Right’… and do a top job of it. There’s a bit of nu-metal going on, too, and the overall vibe is kinda Judgement Night soundtrack. It shouldn’t work, but it actually does.

Illegal Fireworks take to the stage sporting quite spectacular gold brocade jackets… Yes, plural: the bassist, guitarist, and drummer are all decked out in these quite remarkable garments, while the singer is all the sequins. It’s a bold look, and no mistake. The trouble is, it’s not an ironic gesture, and in the first minute I find myself absolutely detesting their smug, smooth, funky jazz. Not that I’m judgemental or anything… I just detest smug, smooth, funky jazz. But then they get a bit prog, a bit post rock, and show some potential. But thereafter they stick to smug, soul-infused smooth, funky jazz. Technically, they’re faultless, objectively they’re outstanding, and they go down a storm. But subjectively, I absolutely fucking hate it all, but especially the gurning bassist. It’s the kind of thing that would have been massive in the 80s, they’d have been all over Top of the Pops with glitterballs and dry ice and balloons bobbing about, and I’d have fucking hated it then, too. I know, I know, it’s a question of taste, but seriously, they should be illegal.

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Illegal Fireworks

I have reservations about Flat Moon at first, coming on like Glasto-loving middle-class hippies with their brand of parping sax-heavy jazz space rock. But there’s something compelling about their style and the delivery. I’m reminded in some way of Gong, and that trippy, whimsical strain of psychedelia, and they’ve got some riffs, and shit. are they tight. It’s no small feat considering there are six of them. They work seriously hard and bring entertainment to the max – and ultimately this is what tonight is all about.

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Flat Moon

There will be very few who loved every band on the bill, but that’s kind of the point of a lineup like this: you’ll get to see bands you might not have otherwise gone to see, you might like some and not others, and that’s fine. For a long, long time, the best thing about York was its proximity to Leeds, but now, even while there’s a dearth of venues, the city is throwing up a remarkable number of quality acts – for all tastes. And that is something to celebrate.

Cruel Nature Records – 21st February 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

This split release has a lengthy backstory, which is given in full on the label’s Bandcamp page – but the short version is that when York’s Neon Kittens (how had I not heard (of) them, given that they appear to be from round my way and absolutely my bag? I feel ashamed, and fear I cannot even remotely claim to have the finger on the pulse of my local scene right now – but still, better late than never, right?) approached The Bordellos about a collaboration, the latter, having taken an eternity to only half-finish their current album-in-progress, some ten years after the release of will.i.am, you’re really nothing, offered everything they had for a split release. And lo, this is it.

I suppose the eight songs Neon Kittens have contributed here provide a solid starting point to their rapidly-expanding catalogue, and being paired with The Bordellos works a treat. Both espouse the same lo-fi DIY ethic, with a certain leaning toward indie with a trashy punk aesthetic.

That the cassette edition sold out on advance orders hints at the anticipation for the release: for, as The Bordellos describe themselves as being ‘ignored by millions, loathed by some, loved by a select few’, when you’ve got a small but devoted following, they get pretty excited for new material.

‘Set Your Heart to the Sun’ is perfectly representative of their scratchy, harmony-filled indie – kinda jangly, a tad ramshackle, but direct, immediate. Dee Claw’s airy vocal contributions really lift the sound and raise the melodic aspects of the songs. Not all of the songs have full drum-kit percussion, often favouring tambourine or bongos or seemingly whatever comes to hand, and more than any other acts, I’m reminded of Silver Jews or really, really early Pavement – those EPs that sounded like they were recorded on a condenser mic from the next room with more tape hiss than music, but still undeniably great tunes. And yes, they really do have great tunes – overall, they’re pretty laid-back in their approach to, well, everything: remember when ‘slacker; was a thing? Yeah. In place of polish, they have reverb, and these songs tickle the ears with joy.

Neon Kittens bring a rather denser sound and a greater sense of urgency with the buzzy, scuzzy ‘Better Stronger Faster’. A hyperactive drum machine stutters and flickers away beneath a sonic haze of fuzzy guitar: there are hints of Metal Urbain crossed with The Fall and Flying Lizards in the mix, while ‘All Done by Numbers’ brings Shellac and Trumans Water together in a head-on collision – and one suspects any similarity to Shellac’s ‘New Number Order’ is entirely intentional from a band who recently featured on a Jesus Lizard tribute. ‘Cold Leather’ presents a spoken word narrative over a lurching, lumbering morass of discord, held together by the whip crack of the snare of a vintage-sounding drum machine.

The majority of their songs are around the two-minute mark, and crash in, slap you round the chops, and are done before you really know what’s hit you. ‘Deaf Metal’ is a work of beautiful chaos, constructed around a thick, rumbling bass and rolling drums., while the rather longer ‘White Flag’ is almost a stab at a grunge-pop song, while the discordant clang of ‘Sailing in a Paper Boat’ is absolutely The Fall circa Hex Enduction Hour: lo-fi post-punk racket doesn’t get much better than this.

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Inedible Records – 14th February 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

This album seems to have had a long build-up, as well as being some time in the coming. After all, it’s been six tears since Stairgazing, which yielded the instant perennial classic, ‘Advent Beard’. Glam stomper ‘Mirror Shoes’, the first new material after Stairgazing, arrived in September 2023. Since then, we’ve had a couple more singles, in the form of ‘Idiot’ and ‘Triage’,

The title track provides the album’s opening gambit, and it’s an uptempo, upbeat affair. ‘Things are getting better all the time / You have to crush some grapes to make the wine’, Edible sings encouragingly in the first chorus – and it’s a chorus that’s irrefutably catchy, and this is an unashamedly accessible classic rock tune, with a dash of punk energy to push it along. And when I say ‘classic rock’, my first reaction to the guitar in the opening bars was ‘Summer of ‘69’. The fact I appear to have two copies of Reckless on vinyl, while my wife had a copy on CD for the car says this is not a criticism.

Listening to The Optometrist is rather like going round to someone’s house for some beers and they keep remembering songs from their collection that they simply have to play, making for an eclectic playlist spanning a host of genres and decades: the aforementioned glam monster that is ‘Mirror Shoes’ blams along with a stonking beat propelling a big, fizzy guitar and brings hooks galore, while ‘Idiot’ sounds like Nathan Barley for the 2020s yapping over a rhythm that’s got a strong Adam and the Ants vibe, where The Glitter Band glam meets punk, courtesy of former Kingmaker skin slapper, John Andrew.

Despite having the hallmarks of a sad anthem, ‘Cancelled’ is a snappy post-breakup song that reflects on a relationship that was doomed from the start, while ‘Better than Oasis’ is a factually accurate title for this Beatles-esque indie-pop love song which takes a run through ‘classic’ bands and makes nods to their styles, too. Sure, the ‘Queen’ segment may be a bit novelty, but it works in context.

The CD artwork notably splits the tracks into Side A and Side B, corresponding with the vinyl, and it’s clear that despite its constant style-hopping, The Optometrist is structured as an album in the classic style, with both sides culminating in a big, long statement song: for side A, it’s the eight-minute ‘Cat Piss,’ while side B winds up with the immense, nine-minute ‘The Big Reveal’. The former is a piano-led downer while spirals into Muse-like arena-prog territory about three minutes in that seems to offer something of a companion piece to ‘Cancelled’, while the latter slides into a far darker space.

Elsewhere, ‘Dog Dirt’ – thematically connected to ‘Cat Piss’ by more than just the title – is a quintessential indie cut with fire in its belly, and third single ‘Triage’ takes a slower, more reflective turn.

For all its range, The Optometrist works as an album, thanks to some savvy sequencing, which brings the changes in mood and pace at exactly the right points. Above all, the quality of the songwriting is right there throughout.

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31st January 2025

Christopher Nosnibor

Whether they like to admit it or not everyone likes to have the opportunity to say ‘I told you’. And so Leeds feminist punk four piece Helle, who describe themselves as ‘a flurry of blistering riffs, unflinching lyrics and explosive live intensity’ and ‘an irresistible firestorm of grit and glamour that takes no prisoners’ drop their fifth single at the end of the longest month in history. And while revelling over witnessing one of their first gigs, supporting Weekend Recovery three years ago, and being blown away, leaving absolutely convinced – and rightly so – that this was a band to watch, I find myself wondering where the fuck has the time gone?

But there’s no time to wallow, and ‘Hyper Bitch’ goes a few steps beyond merely blowing away the cobwebs.

It starts with some dialogue, some chatter, it’s probably staged, but is the perfect representation of the superior music snob wanker who lectures at gigs, not only between bands, but talks over them because his opinion is so much more important. And yes, it’s always a him and it’s always some middle-class white twat who knows he knows best and could do far better. And then – BAM!

This is punk done proper: guitars, bass, drums all going all out – nothing fancy, just full-tilt, four-chord aggression, providing the perfect foil for vocals which bring that same, angry energy.

There’s some sass in the lyric department, too, constructing lines with a patchwork of movie titles in a fashion that we might have nodded to as an example of postmodern referencing and intertext not so long ago: the chorus hits with ‘I don’t wanna be a Mean Girl / I don’t wanna be Clueless like you’ as their tear into the object of antagonism.

It could be that I’m simply more aware now than before, but it seems that masculinity got even more toxic of late, that the shittiest, twattiest representations of the males of the species are pushing back against all of the progress made by feminism in preceding decades, presumably because the idea of strong women makes them feel somehow emasculated, or, put straight, scares them and wounds their pathetic egos and deflates their pathetic dicks. But what’s not necessarily worse, but harder to fathom, are women who are complicit in this, and who go out of their way to undermine others. I suppose this song is for them. But as a package – and a fiery one at that – Helle are part of a new wave of strong female bands who rock harder and rage harder than almost any of their male peers and are all about taking no shit, shouting up, and kicking ass.

‘Hyper Bitch’ encapsulates all of this perfectly.

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5th December 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

Growing up in the 80s, when Wide Awake Club, and subsequently Wacaday was a huge thing, ‘Mallett’s Mallet’ engrained word association as a lifelong mental exercise. And of course, the rules “you mustn’t pause, hesitate, repeat a word, or say a word I don’t like… The one with the most bruises loses!” are indelibly etched in my mind.

Lemon Power reminded me of this, inadvertently, and certainly not by their own design, by triggering my brain to recall The Mighty Lemon Drops, Lemon Jelly, The Lemonheads, and Cat Power, for no reason other than spontaneous word association. I guess alternative music is packed out with lemons. The London-based duo, fronted by vocalist and guitarist Sere, with Ale on bass, bear precisely nil resemblance on any level, but I felt a compulsion to share my workings, so to speak.

‘I’m An Animal’ is pitched as ‘a stirring, introspective anthem exploring themes of escape and self-discovery, so the fact my mind escapes and ventured on a circuitous voyage of self-discovery before I even hit ‘play’ feel like reasonable preparation.

Although ostensibly the same song, ‘I’m An Animal’ is significantly different from ‘Animal’, which featured on their 2022 EP release A Ghastly Meaningless Aggregate. Over a minute shorter, it’s faster, more stripped back and at the same time, punkier, with more edge and more guts and drive.

It’s fascinating to observe just how a change of treatment can alter a song, and it’s evolved from a slow-burner with a nagging groove and ‘big’ chorus to a proper eye-opening slap. It shows that a good song is a good song however you spin it, but it does feel like they’ve really nailed it with this version, with its bold energy and sense of self-liberation. It’s time to let the animal inside loose.

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Christopher Nosnibor

My review of JUKU’s debut, at a Sunday matinee show last summer, continues to receive significant hits, and while they have played only a limited number of shows in the interim, it seems their reputation has been growing without their needing to take to the stage. It does mean that, personally, I’m keen to see them whenever the rare opportunity arises, and April seems like a long time ago.

They don’t disappoint: this is one tight, loud, band, and they pack the songs in back to back, no chat, no pissing about tuning up, no stalling to mop brows or regain breath. There isn’t a weak song in their half-hour set, but there are some standouts: ‘Pressure’ has the gritty drive of Motorhead and ‘No Fun’ is, actually, much fun. The set packs riffs and hooks like The Ramones on steroids… the lead guitarist is understated, focused, while on the other side of the stage, Dan is going ballistic, stomping and thrashing every ounce from his guitar like a man possessed. Sonically, they create contrast, too, with crisp, twangy tones cut through the huge, distorted roar blasting from Dan’s amp. They’re practically faultless, and the set ends in a ragged howl of feedback.

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JUKU

When the opening act is this strong, it’s a guaranteed good night either way: the rest of the acts are going to have to be bloody good to top them, in which case you’ve got a run of belters, or if they don’t match up, you can go home early knowing you’ve seen the best band of the night by getting down early. Tonight proves to be a bit of both.

New England trio Perennial – comprising guitar, synth, and drums, with dual vocals, are here on their first UK tour in support their third album, Art History, released over here by York-based label Safe Suburban Home Records. Sporting matching striped tops, they look vaguely nerdy, and unless you’ve heard or seen them before, nothing can quite prepare you for their wild stage act. Chelsea (keyboards, vocals) windmills and bounces all over, hyper as hell, and Chad Jewett, who’s a big fella, is a blur of movement, jumping and lurching and hurling himself and his guitar around, almost toppling his cabs just a couple of songs in. They positively crackle with energy, and are clearly absolutely loving every second of what is a remarkably well-conceived and structured set. They play US punk rock – or ‘modernist punk’ as they call it – with wit, and a keen sense of humour, delivering entertainment amped to the max. They clearly had a fair few fans in, and there was some exuberant dancing down the front. Definitely one of those bands that, if you get the chance, you should see.

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Perennial

Moose Knuckle showcase a solid sound, and some swagger, but the bar has been set incredibly high. They don’t have nearly as much energy as either of the two previous acts (although more every than Perennial would probably cause a power cut across the entire city), and they’re simply not quite loud enough or otherwise sonically powerful to get away with such a static performance. On another night, or had the bill been reversed, they’d have been decent enough, but they’re very much a meat and two veg rendition of punk, with most of the songs’ lyrics involving the repetition of a single line about forty times. And they’re not exactly inspired lines, either: ‘I need my dope, dope, dope, dope, dope,’ and ‘Dead! Beat! Daddy!’ is about the level of lyrical quality, the level of the lyrical quality, the level of the lyrical quality, the level of the lyrical quality.

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Moose Knuckle

Starting the set by calling everyone forward, only for them to all have to step back again to make way for the videographer prowling back and forth the full width of the stage a t least twice every song kinda backfired a bit, too.

Ultimately, there was nothing really ban about their set, it just lacked inspiration and energy in contrast to the previous acts.

The format of the night worked well, though: three bands, half an hour each, fifteen-minute interludes, 10:20 finish. Bish, bash, bosh. Perfect for midweek, and y’know, two outta three ain’t bad.