Posts Tagged ‘The Fulford Arms’

Christopher Nosnibor

Benefits exploded onto the scene not long after lockdown – and I mean exploded, an atomic detonation of rage. The essence of the setup was pretty simple: angry sociopolitical spoken word delivered with blistering vitriol, backed by a blinding wall of noise. The result could reasonably be described as something in between Whitehouse and Sleaford Mods, but the fact is that from day one, Benefits created their own niche. The live shows were jaw-dropping, and the debut album, Nails captured that raw energy with a rare precision.

The arrival of second album, Constant Noise marked a necessary departure – sonically mellower, far more beat-orientated, a lot less shouty, angry-sounding. My first impression was that it was decent, more produced, but still packed some sting in the lyrics., and will be hard to top in terms of the number of mentions of dogshit in albums of the 2020s. But it’s a fair reflection of post-lockdown Britain: dogs have proliferated exponentially, and concordantly so has the volume of dogshit – and, just as bad, bags of dogshit tied and dropped, piled next to or on top of bins, and hung in trees. What kind of twat does that? A selfish one is the only answer. But as for the album, I kinda let it sit for a while. But over time, with more – and more – listens, the album’s depths reveal themselves. Constant Noise is every bit as angry as Nails, and if anything, the more moderate, tempered delivery hits harder. It just takes a little bit longer to reveal its depths and quality. But how would this translate live, especially now they’ve been stripped back to the founding duo of Kingsley Hall and Robbie Major?

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Benefits

Before we would get to find out, there was the equally intriguing support. The Eighties Matchbox B-Line Disaster are one of those acts who may have only attained cult status during their time together, but it’s one which has expanded since their demise. They were always a band destined to implode, as was apparent when I witnessed a particularly fractious gig here in York circa 2007. But this was always a band which had derangement and volatility wired into their makeup. Guy McKnight formed DSM IV in 2018, and they’re an altogether different proposition, trading in gothy electro with some tidy guitar textures woven into the fabric of the songs, and Guy seems altogether more settled. It’s all relative, of course, and he ventures into the crowd on numerous occasions, and at one point around the middle of the set, tosses mic stand over, drops the mic and busts some tai chi moves. It’s a solid set, both compelling and entertaining, and they’ve got some tunes, too.

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The DSM IV

Benefits don’t really have a great many tunes in the conventional sense. Choruses and hooks aren’t the primary focus of their compositions. Hall’s words range from reflective and ponderous to outright roaring rage, the backing spanning sprawling barrages of obliterative noise to quite chilled dance grooves. But at this volume, and when delivered with this much passion, there’s nothing chilled about this live show.

Here, I find myself returning to the topic of seeing an act you’ve seen before and been blown away by, and going to see them again in the hope of replicating that first time – only it’s a weak hope, because the first time has the element of surprise which is unlikely to be repeated. Yes, a band may be consistently awesome, but that first bombshell experience, that initial high… very few bands have the capacity to have that impact more than once. Benefits, however, hit even harder on this outing than any before.

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Benefits

There was word online that their current tour was as brutal as any they’d ever done. Having seen them three times previously, and never with the same lineup, it seemed like that claim might be a bit of a stretch, particularly without a live drummer. But synthetic beats have a way of bludgeoning and cracking in a way that live drums don’t always, and when paired with gut-churning low-frequencies and ear-bleeding top-end noise, the sonic impact of what blasts from the PA is positively immolating.

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Benefits

Kingsley gets most of the chat out of the way at the start, with a bit at the end: in between, they power through a relentless set uninterrupted. And relentless it is, and not just sonically: with the sole lighting consisting of blinding white strobes for the entire duration of the hour-and-twenty-minute set, the stark, uncompromising nature of the music and lyrics is amplified. They put every ounce of energy into the show, Hall positively streaming with perspiration by a third of the way through. And we feel the passion; the whole room is buzzing and aglow with a sense of unity through a shared experience of catharsis. These are shit times. Dark times, bleak and scary times, domestically and globally. Benefits capture the zeitgeist, and rail against those who will one day be proven to have stood on the wrong side of history – the right-wing, flag-shagging, pro-Brexit, racist, xenophobic, hatemongering, exploitative, manipulative capitalist shits and their supporters and enablers – articulating thoughts and feelings with a unique precision and an intensity which is positively nuclear. The experience is nothing short of mind-blowing.

Christopher Nosnibor

Live music should carry a warning over its addictive properties. Witnessing a band playing a set so good that you’re buzzing for hours, even days afterwards is a unique high, and one that sets a seed of a desperate need to replicate that experience.

I’ve seen a lot of live music since I started going to gigs over thirty years ago, but the number of acts who have ignited that sense of fervent excitement is limited. I’ve seen many, many amazing shows, but few have blown me away to the extent they’ve felt in some way transformative. Dead Space Chamber Music are one of those few, and I left the Cemetery Chapel in York a few months back feeling dazed and exhilarated, my ears whistling despite having worn earplugs. I simply had to see them again, in the hope to experience that same sense of rapture.

Eldermother – consisting of Clare de Lune on harp and vocals and Michalina Rudawska on cello – have no shortage of musical pedigree, and a superabundance of talent which they showcase with their minimal neoclassical works, a mix of covers and original material. They open with Radiohead’s ‘Street Spirit (Fade Out)’ led by harp and with Clare’s soaring vocals, and it’s one of those performances that make the hair stand up on back of your neck with its haunting atmosphere. There’s a rendition of WB Yeats’ poem ‘The Stolen Child’, a work rich with imagery inspired by wild nature and imbued with emotion and drama. The execution is magnificent, and the originals are similarly graceful and majestic. ‘Hurt’ may not be by any stretch representative of Trent Reznor’s career, but it certainly showcases his capacity for powerfully emotive songwriting, and if it’s the song which forms his legacy, it’s all to the good. Yes, Eldermother play a semi-operatic version of ‘Hurt’ with harp and dark, brooding cello, and… woah. It’s almost too much, especially this early in the evening. I find myself dabbing a tear and grateful for the low lighting.

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Eldermother

Lunar Cult Club – featuring Doug Gordon, aka Futures We Lost – as the provider of the instrumental machinations, take the theatricality up several notches to deliver a set of otherworldly cold, cold, darkest electro with glacial synths and funereal forms. The bank of synths swirl and grind, muddy beats thud and pop from amidst a dense sonic fog. Sonically, they’re impressive – in the main, the arrangements are sparse, and overtly analogue in form – but visually, they’re something else. Theirs is a highly theatrical stage show, and this significantly heightens the impact of the songs. The two singers, dressed all in black and with faces obscured by long, black lace veils – Corpse Bride chic, as my notes say – sway and move their arms in an unnerving fashion, as if reanimated, exhumed. I’m reminded of Zola Jesus and of Ladytron, and I’m mesmerised by their facsimile of a Pet Sematary Human League with its spellbinding marionette choreography. The final song, ‘No-Ones Here to Save Her’ is as dark as it gets: the vocals merge and take us to another realm entirely.

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Lunar Cult Club

I’m still floating in a state of mild delirium when Dead Space Chamber Music take to the stage. The atmosphere is thick, tense, hushed… awed. Something about the trio’s presence alone makes you sit up, lean in, eyes wide, ears pricked. There’s a lot of detail here. Their focus is gripping by way of spectacle, and their set is designed as a linear work which evolves and transitions over its duration, in a way which calls to mind when Sunn O))) toured Monoliths and Dimensions, whereby, over the course of the set, Attila Csihar transformed into a tree. There are props and costume embellishments, mostly on the part of Ellen Southern, who performs vocals and various percussion elements and a strange stringed instrument: she brings much drama and theatricality, delivered with a sense of self-possession and deep spirituality which is utterly entrancing.

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Dead Space Music Orchestra

They’re so quiet you can hear matchsticks dropping into a tray. But the fact that these things are audible, amidst cavernous reverb and sepulchral echoes, is a measure of the clarity of the sound and the band’s attention to detail. Ekaterina Samarkina is impressive in the sheer versatility and nuanced approach she takes to the percussion which is truly pivotal to the performance. Her work is so detailed, subtle, the sound so bright and crisp, as she slowly scrapes the edges of her cymbals with a bow. Lurking in the background, Tom Bush – on guitar – plays with restraint, sculpting shapes and textures rather than playing conventional chords and melodies. In combination, they conjure a rarefied atmosphere.

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Dead Space Chamber Music

But towards the end of the set, as if from nowhere, emerge huge cathedrals of sound. The last time around, I compared their climactic crescendos to Swans, and having seen Swans just over a week ago, I very much stand by the parallel called then. And this is not volume for volume’s sake: this is about catharsis, about escape. Dead Space Chamber Music make music which is immense, transcendental. And when they go all-out for the sustained crescendo of the finale, it’s not because of a bank of pedals or a host of gear: they simply play harder, throwing themselves behind their instruments, and full-throttle intensity. It may not be as loud as on that previous outing, or perhaps it’s simply because I’m expecting it, but they nevertheless raise the roof, and fill the space with expansive layers of sound on sound.

The three acts very much compliment one another, making for an event which is more than merely a gig, more than three bands playing some songs: this is an occasion, steeped in theatre and art, performed with a sense of ritual. The experience is all-encompassing, immersive, enveloping; it takes you out of life and suspends time for its duration. It will take some time to return to reality.

Christopher Nosnibor

The Fulford Arms has quite a record for booking bands which are of a significantly larger magnitude than its 125 capacity – Wayne Hussey, and The March Violets are a couple which immediately spring to mind from personal experience, while Utah Saints, Bob Vylan, and Ginger Wildheart are further examples, and there are countless others who played here before going massive. And now Light of Eternity join that list. Formed with legendary drummer Paul Ferguson, whose credits in addition to Killing Joke are a feature in their own right, they’ve released a brace of belting EPs and are now undertaking their first tour, taking in a number of larger venues as a headline act, an even larger venues as support for Ministry. And here we are: the first night of the tour is also their live debut, here in this grassroots venue with its small, low stage, and black walls marked in chalk with the names of the acts who have played previously.

Soma Crew have a knack for landing a fair few of the city’s high profile support slots, and deservedly. Supporting The Fall will likely be a career highlight, but something about tonight is special. The Crew’s ever-shifting lineup sees them packing out the stage as a sextet, and they open with the crawling ‘Dead Insect’. Is it the right choice for this occasion? Do they care? On the second song, ‘Counterfeit’, they hit the motorik groove that’s their strong suite, and from hereon in, they’re away. Broken string? Meh, it’s no issue when you’ve got three guitars (plus a bass), one with an E-bow plugging away at a single chord. With the addition of a throbbing bass, it all makes a magnificent hypnotic drone. This is Soma Crew at their best.

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Soma Crew

The DJ spun Ministry (‘Just One Fix’) and Murder Inc. between bands. Is it the done thing to play tracks by bands related to those about to take the stage? Why not, eh? I’d actually played not only the band’s two EPs but Locate, Subvert, Terminate, just the other day in advance of tonight, and it proved appropriate. There’s an interesting – and perhaps somewhat telling – selection of bands T-shirts on display here: no shortage of Killing Joke, but also The Sisters of Mercy, Paradise Lost, and The KLF… and the near-capacity crowd is suitably rewarded with a belter of a set, with twelve songs in all, which represents both EPs and another EP’s worth of as-yet unreleased material.

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Light of Eternity

Ferguson’s drum kit isn’t only the focal point: it occupies the majority of the little stage, with Fred Schreck (bass and vocals) and Pauly Williams (guitar) positioned either side. It’s perhaps as well they’re not given to ambulating a great deal. In Williams, they’ve found a guitarist with a sound that’s incredibly close to that of the late, great, Geordie Walker, and capable of churning out methodical riffs – and his dense, compression-heavy sheet metal thunder really rings out in a live setting, more so than recorded. He keeps his head down and just keep cracking ‘em out, and it works well alongside sturdy bass grooves, while it’s the busy, full-kit drumming that provides much of the action, the movement, within the songs.

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Light of Eternity

Their presence could be reasonably summarised as unassuming but focussed. They’re not a band for chat: Schreck does begin to speak on the subject of America, and hope, before ‘Dark Hope’, but it’s curtailed by the onset of the next percussive barrage which marks the start of the song. Ferguson not only leads proceedings, but does so in his own world, and that world is the centre of all of this. After the first few songs, he’s one hundred percent in the drum zone, and it’s apparent he doesn’t do breaks, preferring instead to keep that relentless momentum. Some may read it as standoffish, but it’s fairly apparent that it’s about the intensity, the songs slamming in back-to-back, the explosive beats, the churning riffs. Singer may not have Jaz Coleman’s charisma, but his reverb-drenched vocals are crisp and clear and delivered in such a way that the experience is that of an unyielding force.

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Light of Eternity

Checking the setlist encapsulates the mood and subject matter of Light of Eternity: ‘Conformity’, ‘Distraction’, ‘Tipping Point’, ‘Explode’. They may be older (Ferguson is 67 now), but they’re not settling into a comfortable relationship with the status quo, offering a cocktail of anger and disaffection at the state of the world. ‘Dark Hope’ is grungy, built around descending chords played with steely guitars. The unreleased ‘Fascist X’, landing near the end of the set is a full-throttle heavy grinder, while ‘Aftershock’ is an absolute juggernaut. They simply don’t let up: every song is driving, solid, muscular, a wall of leaden density.

There isn’t a weak song in the set, and their live debut more than delivers on the promise of the first studio releases. Most of those present reasonably expected quality, but for a live debut, this was phenomenal. The smaller venue was a test, in a way – and they passed it, and then some. The rest of the tour promises to be fantastic – but those who were here tonight witnessed something special that they won’t forget in a hurry.

Christopher Nosnibor

Last night, I spotted a post on Facebook from the Fulford Arms bearing the caption ‘hot day / sold out show = sweat dripping from the ceiling… f*cling awesome!’

And the gentrification of the grassroots venues we have left mean such occasions are a lot rarer than they used to be. And while for some punters it’s likely seen as a good thing, I personally do miss the sweaty mess aspect of packed-out pub venues, not because I necessarily enjoy being a sweaty mess, but because it was a part of the live experience, and you knew you’d been to a proper show if you came out absolutely drenched and having lost about 3lbs through perspiration.

And so it is that here we are at The Fulford Arms on the hottest day of the year so far. The thermometer in my back yard was showing 34°C earlier in the day. I found myself thinking ‘at least it can’t be as hot as The Mission at The Crescent, right? Or DZ Deathrays at the 50-capacity Woolpack in 2013… Surely?’ And it wasn’t. And not just in terms of temperature.

Cogas are a blackened death metal three-piece, with guitar, drums and vocals, plus face paint, chains, studs and random props. The seven-string guitar brings frenzied fretwork and some solid low end, and rapid fire kick drum action ensures the sound isn’t thin despite that lack of numbers. The singer looks really angry for the entirety of the set, and it works in terms of character, but it may be because of the amount of time he spends adjusting his mic stand. Towards the end of the set he wields an inverted cross of bones. Its relevance is unclear, but it’s an interesting visual.

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Cogas

Blasfeme have more and bigger spikes, more black face paint and more guitars: two plus a five-string bass. This combination ratchets up both the volume and density. They play hard and fast, the vocals are a demonic shriek. By a few songs in, half their makeup has disappeared, and with his office haircut the vocalist is transformed back to a more daytime look, but guitarist Vermin flails his hair furiously and they pound their way through a set of highly structured songs, predominantly culled from their latest album, delivered with a rare tightness, and there’s no denying their quality.

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Blasfeme

Thy Dying Light go darker still, with iron cross patches and black cymbals and shiny Spandex trews – plus a candelabra and a selection of horns and sheep skulls in front of the drum kit. the smoke seems to make the room even hotter, and by the end of the set, even the skulls looks like they’re sweating. The guitar/ drums duo – self-professed purveyors of “Cumbrian Black Metal” – deliver a set that’s raw and murky and true to the principles of black metal, seemingly have spent as long on their makeup as writing the songs. A big bearded guy in a Sunn O))) t-shirt emits a guttural growl between each song instead of applause.

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Thy Dying Light

Burial bring beards and shaved heads, and t-shirts with cut-off sleeves. Their sound is as burly as they look, meaning that sonically they’re solid, but the fact their inter-song chat can be summarised as “how are you doing York, you soft wankers” and “fuck off you sexy cunts”, I’d have preferred more songs and less bantz. There seems to be a lot of in-jokes, which the faithful are in on, calling for them to get their tits out, but it rather falls flat for the casual observer.

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Burial

Perhaps the heat was a factor – certainly, the moshing was minimal and the crowd were keener to rush the bar and get air between the bands than go nuts during their sets – but something about the lineup simply failed to ignite on the night. None of the bands were duds, by any stretch, but there were no explosive cathartic peaks, making for a night that would sit in the ‘middling’ bracket overall. And that’s fine: four bands for a tenner means £2.50 a band, and it’s hard to begrudge that, and as a showcase of a breadth of metal, it delivered.

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s encouraging to arrive twenty minutes before the first band are due on, and, despite it being a pleasant, sunny spring evening in the middle of the week, it’s already busy inside the venue, and not just at the bar. There’s a tangible buzz.

The arrival of the first act, Chefs Kiss, who describe themselves as a ‘comedic food themed slam metal band’, brings a fair few forward, and it’s clear that they’ve brought their mates with them. There was a time when I may have viewed this in a rather sneery way, but what matters, I realise these days, is that if they’ve got people in through the door, then it’s all to the good.

With a wardrobe which included kilts and masks and aprons and chef hats, Chefs Kiss weren’t all that comedic – or at least that funny – a comedy act, nor especially musically accomplished either. Does the world need a joke thrash act? Actually, it probably does, and fair play to them, in that they didn’t take themselves seriously, and largely adhered to their rather daft concept, and were good fun, bringing out a life-size cardboard cut-out of Ainsley Harriot which was passed around the venue above the heads of the audience like some sort of crowd surfing cardboard deity. What’s more, they looked we enjoying themselves, and every young band has to start somewhere. This is once again why we need venues like this.

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Chefs Kiss

Just as Chefs Kiss were a shade shambolic, so Kraken Waker were finely honed performers, clearly with not only hours of rehearsals behind them, but also a lot of gig experience. They seriously were incredibly tight. Their sound is very much classic US rock at the heavier end of the spectrum, with a strong, dirty, stoner leaning. I had afforded myself a chuckle while they checked their mic levels: the three beardy longhairs all came on with affectations as if they were from Texas. But piling into their set, they were instantly impressive, and it soon became apparent that they were unapologetic Geordies, with strong songs about being drunk, smoking weed, and wanting all the billionaires to fuck off to Mars. Quite possibly the band of the night.

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Kraken Waker

If you’re going to pursue a concept – particularly one that’s ridiculous – you really have to go all-in to pull it off. Oh, and Froglord do. The Bristol band’s five – yes, five – albums to date, including the most recent, Metamorphosis, released just a couple of weeks ago, are all preoccupied with expanding the lore of The Frog Lord, centred around the Book of the Amphibian, with swamp rituals and The Wizard Gonk and the like. Behind all this stupidity, there are some fierce riffs, and a fantastically solid doom metal band. I would have been perfectly happy if they turned up in jeans and T-shirts and blasted out the raging riffs. I might even have found it easier to connect with. But this is about performance, theatre. It’s also about doing something different. There is certainly no shortage of serious doom bands. There are considerably fewer doom bands who have devoted their entire careers to a concept as absurd as this.

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Froglord

The more preposterous the concept, the more committed you have to be, and Froglord prove that they’re one hundred per cent committed (or that they perhaps ought to be), with a stage set which has all the props, from a stage backdrop to a lectern on which stands a copy of some esoteric bible, via masks, cloaks, and a giant plastic frog. The set is structured around a swamp ceremony, and there’s no breaking character – apart from when plugging merch, which is done in character while acknowledging it’s a break in character, which offers some postmodern reflexivity, and in the way front man Benjamin ‘Froglord’ Oak will adopt the stance of a high priest before getting down and grooving to the monster riffs, cloak flapping, mask slipping. It’s funny because they clearly know it’s daft but play it with straight faces. That kind of dedication is impressive – as is their shit-your-pants bass sound.

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Froglord

And perhaps this is why it works. There’s a knowingness in the delivery of the performance, but they’re feigning that they don’t know we know it. Or something. And musically, they’re really strong. By the end, there are people traversing the venue, just grazing beneath the room’s low ceiling, in the same fashion as the cardboard Ainsley at the start of the night, and we filter out into the night to a chirping chorus of frogs. No two ways about it, Froglord put on a show.

Christopher Nosnibor

And this is why it’s always worth turning out in time to see the support acts… Just last month, I was in this very same venue to see Feather Trade, a band who pretty much guarantee a quality show. There were three other acts on the bill, all of whom were well worth seeing, but the pick of the crop by some margin were Suspicious Liquid, who, it transpires, won the York Battle of the Bands last year. It wasn’t hard to see why. But has I stood outside chatting, or just rocked up for the headline act I knew, I’d never have seen them. And having seen them play as a support was what compelled me to come and see them headline tonight. And once again, the support acts proved to be good value – especially when you do the sums of three bands for seven quid.

As they took to the stage, I had some initial doubts about Echoviolet: image-wise they look a bit 90s indie, especially the singer / guitarist who’s sporting a bad indie haircut, and they sounded like a band who are still working things out. Sometimes the bass and guitar lines don’t really gel, with one running ascending chords and the other descending and not necessarily in perfect time either, but then suddenly from nowhere they’d land a cracking chorus. The vocals, too, aren’t quite there yet: they sound somewhat tentative, undersung, as if rehearsing quietly in a bedroom rather than going all-out. But, as a power trio, they’re unusual in that the guitar parts favour spindly picking rather than fully-struck chords. It’s certainly distinctive, and they’ve definitely got things going for them.

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Echoviolet

Broadly speaking, their sound could be reasonably described as alterative rock with a 90s flavour and some heavy moments that would have really hammered hard at higher volume. There are hints of Bleach era Nirvana, and a few dashes of dark psych, and at times they call to mind The Horrors.

The punky ‘Micromaniac’ is driven by some foot to the floor bass but dominated by an unexpected drum break near the end. Drummer definitely overplays, but he brings a vibrance, an energy to the stage, and while they’re a bit rough in places, there is clear potential here. Would see again.

Velleity are straight in with a groove, they’re as tight as fuck and the layers of synth add polish. Sure, they’re a bit muso, a bit groggy, there’s a bit too much sexface guitar wankery, but they radiate confidence and it’s forgivable because – and it’s a rare thing – they actually are as good as they think they are, and you could easily envision them going down a storm at festivals, bringing in a range of elements from Pink Floyd to Led Zepp and… Muse.

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Velleity

It’s certainly a remarkable debut even from seasoned musicians, and the quality of the performance and musicianship is impossible to deny. Mid-set they drop a tune that could easily be a Smashing Pumpkins outtake, before going Alice in Chains for the last song. They grew on me as the set progressed, and the bass tone was supreme. During last song, singer popped to the bar and returned with shots which he fed the band before a particularly indulgent instrumental break. I guess you could call that showmanship…

Suspicious Liquid are the reason most of us are here, and while it’s only a third full, it’s not bad for a Thursday night when students are still drifting back after Easter. And they give the show 100% from start to end. It takes some guts to open with a slow, sprawling epic… which is just what they do. Showcasing new material – a lot of new material, for that matter – and some seriously meaty hard rock riffs, they are on fire. The small audience pack forward and close to the stage, things look busy. It must be gratifying for a band to see faces up close instead of playing to a void with lights in their faces. All the elements come together perfectly, with no weak parts. Sound and performance, everything is just superb, and they play with intense focus. They boast powerful vocals with incredible range, especially at the upper end, and collectively they seem so comfortable on stage, too. Yes, this is how it’s done.

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They chuck in a King Gizzard cover mid-set, followed by more new material and some colossal riffery, debuting one nine-minute behemoth near the end of the set. Every second of the set is pure quality, and on the strength of the new songs, you get the sense that the best is yet to come.

Christopher Nosnibor

Ultha have been going for over a decade now, and have amassed an impressive catalogue of releases, but this is the German black metal band’s first UK tour. They’re out with Ante-Inferno as touring buddies, and tonight offers an impressive five-act lineup with early doors. And what could be better than back-to-back blistering metal on a Sunday evening? Some may suggest pretty much anything, but for many metal fans, this is the ultimate escape before the return to work. And with an early start and an early finish, this is gig perfection in terms of planning.

It’s not far off in terms of bands, either. Back-to-back black metal may sound like a slog, but tonight’s showcase presents the full spectrum of an increasingly diverse genre, with much to be excited about.

The venue is pretty busy from the start, and Oneiros make for a solid opening act, with atmospheric passages giving way to big, throbbing riffs. In terms of guitar work, apart from a bit of Brian May flourishing at the start of the second song, there’s nothing particularly flashy on display here, instead focusing on bold heavy chugs, and the songs evolve through movements defined by some deft tempo changes. There are some slower, trudging grooves which work nicely, and the front man doesn’t use his growly singing voice in between songs, which is a bonus. Sometimes, theatre is a stretch too far. They’re decent, for sure.

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Oneiros

Power trio Terra arrive in a wall of feedback and then blast in with some bowel-shredding bass. And they bring power to the max, with dual vocals and a maximalist sound. The bassist has obviously nabbed his stance from Lemmy as he leans back and raises his head up to the elevated mic. This is fierce. These guys have all the hair and all the beards and deliver a devastating wall of noise, with lengthy instrumental passages plugging away at expansive, repetitive riffs: they’re something like a black metal Hawkwind. The set’s five listed songs were performed as a single, continuous thirty-minute piece, and it was truly immense. For a band of this calibre to be so low on the bill speaks volumes about the quality of the lineup here.

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Terra

Wolvencrown are rather more clean-cut, but still bring beards, albeit trimmed ones (apart from the drummer). The quartet also bring the evening’s first synths and a whiff of Deep Heat. Their sound is crisper, cleaner, more cinematic, with rolling piano and soaring strings in the mix amidst their wide-screen compositions, which are overtly more technical in their bent, the lineup boasting seven-string guitar and five-string bass. The vocals hit the higher range, which adds a certain tension. Expansive, emotive, and highly polished, they’re hard to fault technically, and offer some immersive noise, too.

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Wolvencrown

Ante-Inferno bring the face paint. Not corpse paint, but dark smears, extending to arms and chests, too. With imposing candelabras positioned either side of the drum kit and smouldering incense smoke drifting from the stage, we’re in dark pagan territory here, and dressed in black and smeared in black, they’re barely visible in the low-level lighting. The sound is as filthy as their skins, scorched by the flames of hell as they create a sonic blanket that evokes pure purgatory. Heavy isn’t even close. It’s brutal and relentless, and there is no let-up at any point during their forty-five minute set.

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Ante-Inferno

Ultha’s lighting of choice is red, and red only. The stage is bathed in a bloodlike hue as they unleash their relentless fury. Their kit has two bass drums, and they’re blasted hard throughout. The vocals are a rabid squawk, pitching down to a guttural growl, and the interplay between the two vocals is perfect. Apart from the drums, which are up in the mix and clear as day, the instruments mesh into a dense squall of noise. This meshing creates a wall of noise that borders on shoegaze, only with thundering percussion and everything coming at a thousand miles per hour. It’s a full-throttle raging racket and they play primarily under red lighting, but seem remarkably affable between songs, even laid back, unflustered by a bust snare as they borrow one from another band. Theirs is a confidence that only comes from experience, and it shines through in the solidity of the performance.

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Ultha

For anyone who is of the opinion that all black metal sounds the same, tonight’s lineup abundantly disproves such a misconception, and while it may sound perverse to many, there’s something, if not necessarily soothing, then escapist about extreme metal shows. Mostly, the fans immerse themselves in the barrage of noise, nodding along in their own worlds.

Even having worn earplugs, I leave with my ears screaming, but feeling ultimately calm and uplifted.

Christopher Nosnibor

This isn’t one of the three bands for six quid efforts I’ve been raving about, but three bands from out of town for eleven quid is hardly extortion, even on a Tuesday night, and Gans might have much social media presence, but they definitely have some traction building. Bearing in mind that it’s the Easter break and many students at both of the universities have gone home, the place is noticeably busy, and there’s a conspicuous number of really tall bastards in tonight, young and old. And while I’m inching towards being an old bastard myself, I shall never be tall, but will be eternally aggravated by the towering twats who step to the front row in a venue with a stage that’s barely a foot high. That’s just a personal peeve, and there’s not much you can do about biology.

But there is something you can do about being a decent band, and I’ll admit my expectations are pretty low at the start of the set by the Richard Carlson Band, from Sheffield. It’s not the sax per se, but the slightly awkward presentation, the smooth jazzy leanings, my instinct to summarise this as ‘nice; and move on… but while their set is jazzy in part, it’s also varied, in places evoking Ian Dury, in others Duran Duran circa Seven and the Ragged Tiger… ‘Barrymore’s Pool Party’ goes darker and calls to mind Girls Vs Boys and The Fall, only with sax. They’re a five-piece with two – or three guitars, the third guitarist sometimes does keyboard, and they’ve no bass, instead finding the second guitar being run through a pedal that turns it into a bass. It’s unusual, and their set is both interesting and well-played.

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Richard Carlson Band

Mince, from Leeds, are also a quintet, and appropriate for their name, serve up some fairly standard meat and two veg punky fair. In fairness, they do at least do it with some energy. A few songs in the whip out a choppy guitar that’s pure Gang of Four and for a moment they’re ace. Then it’s back to sounding like The Godfathers crossed with generic indie / punk. The pace picks up as the set progresses: the standard doesn’t, descending into shit shouty indie. The last song, their upcoming single, is the best they have by a mile. It’s solid, but they’ve set the bar low.

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Mince

Gans are something else, and that something is superlative. Hard-hitting two-piece acts have become a prominent feature of the rock scene in the last decade, with Royal Blood blowing open a fair few doors before blowing their cool in spectacular fashion. Being rather less preoccupied with classic rock and more about raw punk energy, Gans are more reminiscent of Slaves before they sold out to the Man and became Soft Play. Gans set out to entertain, and absolutely give it their all, making a massive bloody racket in the process, with only bass and drums. I say ‘only’, but that bass sound is immense, and the bassist can’t keep still for a second: he positively vibrates with energy, while the drummer… kicking out rolling rhythms that have the glammy swagger of Adam and the Ants and The Glitter Band, he plays hard and with style: watching him, I continually return to the question ‘how does the man breathe, let alone sing while doing this?’

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Gans

Although they’ve only released five songs to date, they’ve got plenty more in the bag, and there’s no filler to be found here. They are truly a joy to watch, and they maintain the energy from start to finish throughout their high-intensity forty-minute set. Catch them in a small venue while you still can.

Christopher Nosnibor

Ah, Shoe York, indeed… I find some amusement in the fact that the original York feel compelled to reference its later tribute city. I’m not sure if Brew York is just a plain pub or born out of a feeling that punning on New York may be in some way beneficial to their profile – but they do make some great beers and are doing well in terms of distribution and expanding their pub outlets, and this can only be a good thing. Shoe York, meanwhile, offers a nigh of shoegaze courtesy of a trio of local acts.

Some MBV lurches from the PA as I find a surface to lodge my pint of porter, and the place is filling up early doors, which is encouraging, and also heartening. Grassroots venues tend to survive on tribute bands and the bigger visiting bands, so to see a local night so well-attended is significant.

Joseph B Paul does a line in New Order / Joy Division influenced pop that at times sounds more like a darkly spun reimagining of Erasure. The setup is with live guitar, and everything else sequenced, and the drums are way too low in the mix, depriving the songs of the groove that’s clearly integral to their form. In contrast, the vocals are possibly a bit too forward, and devoid of any reverb, they sit on top of, rather than within the arrangements. Joseph does some bouncy dancing and it’s all very 80s, and perhaps there are dreampop elements in the mix, but it doesn’t exactly feel shoesgaze as much as shoehorned.

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Joseph B Paul

Suddenly, it’s absolutely rammed by the time Moongate take the stage. There is a bar queue, too. I don’t simply mean the bar is busy: there is a queue of individuals snaking back halfway into the rows of people facing the stage. This is wrong. It is not how bars work. I circumnavigate the queue. I don’t get served much quicker, but feel some sense of relief in not perpetuating this dismal wrongness, and I do make it back to the front in time for Moongate.

Moongate do a nice line in dreamy indie that jangles, drifts, and washes gently with a hint of melancholy over the ears, and Joseph has a lot to answer for, being the subject of around 75% of the set, the subject matter of which is predominantly heartbreak, breakups and breakdowns. It’s a nice set, and they’ve got clear potential – and more so when the singer moves on from Joseph.

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Moongate

Aiming are three serious, studious, earnest bearded young men. Their drum machine is also low in the mix, but with a crisp, Roland snare sound cutting through the swathes of layering guitar and synths. The live bass has a bouncy groove and is really solid in a 4/4 chuggalong way. In fact, the bassist is excellent, delivering sturdy low-end, and this works: the band have a certain energy and a level of polish that’s slick but nor completely slock or passionless.

The band don’t do chat, but the audience does. This is the most loudly talkative audience I’ve experienced in a while, it’s positively a roar between songs.

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Aiming

The song they announce as a new song is perhaps the strongest of the set, which is encouraging, with a delicate melody and solid guitar and bass fusing together. It works well, but there are no real surges or crescendos, and as much as these may be more overtly shoegaze in forms, on this outing… they could do better. But… they’re tight, melodic, captivating, and go down a storm.

Christopher Nosnibor

This is another of the outstanding ‘four bands for the price of a pint at the O2’ nights that’s become a consistent feature at The Fulford Arms in recent months, and the fact that previous outings have demonstrated that Feather Trade are worth easily double that on their own makes this an absolute must.

Tonight’s outing for post-punk 80s jangle indie five-piece Averno is rough round the edges, with a slightly scronky bass sound, and they sound – and sure, I’m showing my age here – like bands sounded in the 80s and 90s before everything got ultra-polished. Something happened along the way, where nearly every pub band came to display the slickness of arena bands. Historically, even big bands might hit bum notes, sound a bit flat or ropey, and we embraced it because it was liv and it wasn’t expected to sound like the studio version. Averno do sound a shade ramshackle, but the sound improved and their confidence visibly grew as the set progressed, and the appeal here is that they sound… real. They don’t hit any bum notes, and they look and sound stronger this time around.

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Averno

Grunge power trio Different State bring keen melodies and dark undercurrents – there are hints of 8 Storey Window and Bivouac alongside the obvious Nirvana nods, and the riffs are proper chunky. I reckon the drummer thought he got away with dropped stick twizzle in the second song… but he certainly recovered it well. In terms of performance, sound quality, in fact, absolutely everything, although they may not give us anything we haven’t heard before (I had to check to see if I’d seen them before, and I haven’t, and was simply experiencing that deva-vu that reverberates with certain types of bands), they did turn in an outstanding performance that made it feel like we were in a substantially larger venue.

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Different State

And then came Suspicious Liquid, who proved to be the revelation of the night. THIS is a band. And what a band. Unprepared, I wasn’t the only one to stand, jaw ajar, marvelling at the all-round magnificence of this act. Ostensibly, they’re a hard rock act, but they’re so much more, and they do it all so well. The soaring vocals are simply breathtaking – at times verging on the operatic, but also gutsy, and they sit well with the instrumentation, which is dark, with gothic hints, hitting full-on witchy metal and at times bringing big, beefy, Sabbath-esque riffs. At times, I’m reined of The Pretty Reckless, but Suspicious Liquid are way better, and way more dynamic. The vocalist is a strong focal point visually, but it’s her phenomenal vocals which really captivate. Unusually, in context, the front row is predominantly female, and this speaks significantly about not only the band but the fact the venue feels like a safe space – and it’s a space to watch high drama delivered with real weight and a rare assurance. It’s an immensely powerful set, and it’s not a huge stretch to imagine Suspicious Liquid touring nationally or being signed to a label like New Heavy Sounds.

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Suspicious Liquid

Just as some say that everything is better with bacon, it’s a musical fact that everything sounds better with reverb – and when it’s loud. Feather Trade have great songs and great style, but fully appreciate the additional benefits of reverb. They’ve sounded great every time I’ve seen them: they’re simply a quality band, who have survived every single spanner thrown into their works to emerge triumphant. Perhaps were it not for the spanners, they’d be headlining the O2 instead of The Fulford Arms – by rights they should be, because they’re that good, and tonight, the sound and the feel is more like a Brudenell gig than The Fulford Arms. Put simply, Feather Trade sound immense. Dense, layered guitar defines the sound, propelled by sturdy drumming and a tight, throbbing bass. There are no weak elements.

‘Dead Boy’ is a raging celebration of cancer survival which absolutely melts in tsunami of noise, a full on squall akin to The Jesus and Mary Chain, and with motorik drum-pad beats, and a huge squalling mesh of treble-loaded, reverb-drenched, and everything at a hundred decibels is reminiscent of A Place to Bury Strangers.

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Feather Trade

‘Trump hate song’ (as they pitch it) ‘Lord Have Mercy’ is absolutely blistering, while in contrast, penultimate song ‘Hold’ is altogether poppier and ventures into anthemic territory. It’s no criticism when I say it reminds me of Simple Minds but way heavier. It is a brain-meltingly strong performance, yielding a colossal wall of sound, ear-shredding, treble-laden reverb on reverb. Volume is not substitute for skill, of course, but it can optimise the intensity of a strong performance – and this was a strong performance, the kind of experience that leaves you in a headspin, utterly blown away. These guys deserve to be as huge as they sound.