It’s been over four years since …(something) ruined unleashed their debut EP, bearing the utilitarian self-explanatory title of EP.
Absent from the live circuit, one may be forgiven for thinking that that was it. But no.
Seemingly out of nowhere, today sees the arrival of a new release, a AA-sided single, containing two slabs of truly brutal anti-corporate, antagonistic, antisocial, annihilative noise.
Prepare to be ruined.
AA
Human Worth – 19th June 2023
Christopher Nosnibor
I’d love to avoid tedious repetition but it’s hard to review yet another Human Worth release without mentioning just how fucking great this label is, because the name means what it says – it’s a label of rare integrity, which always donates a percentage of proceeds to charitable causes, more often than not one local to the artist, and for this release by ‘shape shifting south London noise rock outfit Thee Alcoholics’, 10% of proceeds from this record will be donated to the south London based charity The Lewisham Primary Care Recovery Service.
They’re also outstanding with their radar for quality noise, and Thee Alcoholics sit comfortably on the label’s roster, delivering ‘songs that rail against injustice, intolerance and institutionalised Great British apathy – neatly wrapped around screeching, trash guitar riffs and blast beat driven bass synths. Mixing the gnarly, outsider big muff energy of early Tad and Mudhoney with the industrial crush repetition of Godflesh. Ugly vocals are buried somewhere between the Brainbombs and Girls Against Boys.’
Could it get any better? Well, actually, yes! The EP’s artwork, by Tony Mountford, tips a hat to Therapy?’s live 7inch ‘Opal Mantra’, while the recording itself is pitched as ‘a document of the journey so far – 30 minutes of agro [sic] drunk rock n roll. In the red sizzle of a load of broken equipment. The band barely holding it together in their chaotic element.’ Oh, and it’s mastered by Jon Hamilton of Part Chimp.
Human Worth may be a young label, but the sense of musical history and heritage that informs their choices is remarkable, and all of the references trace a solid lineage to the early 90s – and it’s hard to overstate just how exciting those short few years were. Because as much as it was about Nirvana and Pearl Jam and Soundgarden and Rage Against the Machine breaking the mainstream, it was about a current of alternative guitar-based music which occupied John Peel’s playlists and infinite column inches in Melody Maker (if not so much the NME). And the live ‘Opal Mantra’ EP is absolutely fucking blinder and makes for an admirable reference point, packing as it does raw and ripping renditions of ‘Innocent X’ and ‘Potato Junkie’ alongside one of the best non-album tracks ever. That a band could chuck a song like that out in such a fashion was a revelation at the time and it’s interesting to see all of these references come together here.
For me, Tad was always way more the quintessence of grunge than, say, Pearl Jam, the gritty, sweaty metal heft of songs about farming and manual labour really getting to grips with the reason the Seattle scene emerged representing the blue-collar – or perhaps more accurately the plaid-collar demographic who needed to vent after several hours of slog and grind. And Thee Alcoholics really capture that mood, often at a frantic pace that suggests a strong influence from mid- to late-eighties hardcore melded with nineties noise and grunge.
Live recordings can be difficult: too crisp and clean and so polished and overdubbed it doesn’t sound live, or otherwise just dingy and shit; this one is great because it’s not dingy and shit, but isn’t exactly ‘produced’ either: it’s dense and you can hear the audience – sometimes shouting to one another during the songs, because they’re tossers – and it all makes for a document that’s perhaps flawed to some ears, but is, as a document, absolutely perfect because you really do feel like you’re there.
Live At The Piper features live renditions of songs from their debut album released on cassette, and seven-inch releases, and it’s warts-and-all in the vein of The Fall’s Totale’s Turns – and it needs to be: it’s a proper live document rather than some polished-up, super-dubbed-up, hyper-clean fictionalised reimagination of events, as they power through eight songs in twenty-four minutes.
‘A Ghetto Thing’ is two minutes of throbbing, thrashing fury, rushing its way to the safety of a pub car park in blitzkrieg of noise, while ‘Turn on the Radio’ is built around a driving riff which switches up a key for the chorus; the vocals are half buried and the drums dominate everything and it’s all over in less than two minutes, which is time enough to do the job of grabbing you by the throat and kneeing you in the nuts several times. It’s a hell of a racket, but amidst the frenetic crashing of cymbals and general murk is a song that’s strong enough to lodge in your brain, and it’s rare for bands this noisy, this messy, to incorporate ‘catchy’ elements, favouring instead sheer force and sonic impact – which they do elsewhere, not least of all with the high-impact forty-one second detonation that is ‘Sweetheart’. Then again. ‘She’s the Man’ is built around a nagging locked-in industrial groove, but it’s also scuzzy as hell, and it’s not hard to see where the Godflesh and Girls Against Boys references come in, and it’s arguably the strongest song on the set, a low-sling grinding wheeze emerging from shards of feedback.
Six-and-a-half-minute set closer ‘Politicians’ is low, slow, and grimy – which is extremely fitting, really, and the booming, sludgy bass is just magnificent.
As with the B E L K release, Human Worth have adhered with the old hardcore ethic of releasing a band in its rawest, most unadulterated form, and it works because it preserves the energy and integrity of the moment. It ain’t pretty, but it’s real.
AA
19th May 2023
Christopher Nosnibor
A couple of months after the epic grind-influenced outing that was ‘I Am Weak’, Bournemouth-based quartet Solcura return with their fourth single since their debut album, Serotonin, released in 2021, ‘Imposter Syndrome’. They describe it as an ‘absolute rager’ and ‘a result of the miasma of deceit and media tyranny we are all forced to swallow every single day of our lives.’
Music that was so angry and overtly political was rare only a year or so back. Practically every other release was a lockdown project, or addressed the challenges and traumas of lockdown; the isolation, the depression, and it was only natural that that would be the case. Not everyone is over lockdown or has recovered from the impacts of the pandemic and its handling, not by a long shot. Many suffer from levels of anxiety – particularly social anxiety – not experienced before, and many still haven’t got back on track financially, either. So many people got fucked in so many ways, and the likelihood is that it will take years – and years – before people are back to themselves again.
But the mood has definitely shifted, at least here in the UK, and particularly in England. The zeitgeist is no longer one of reflection, and if the mood remains on the downside, it’s no longer directed inward, as the fallout of the Johnson administration has ignited an incendiary rage that eclipses any inward-looking darkness. As the corruption of our government becomes exposed with new revelations practically by the day, from the billions tossed to mega-rich buddies for PPE that either never materialised or was otherwise unfit for purpose, to the crumbling NHS and public network system, while top execs and shareholders gouge immense profits while workers – now striking en mass – are being told there’s no spare cash for wages because of inflation, the swell of anger at the sense not only have we all been had, but that we’re being utterly screwed and lied to, brazenly, has built from a mutter of dissent to a scream of rage.
For a time, Sleaford Mods and Killing Joke were pretty much the only acts telling it like it is, but the explosive rise of Benefits, on paper the band least likely to go massive and hit the festival circuit of all time tells you precisely where we’re at now as a nation. And this is where Solcura are at: they’re pissed off and are going to shout about it.
‘Imposter Syndrome’ finds Solcura exploring some richly atmospheric vibes at the start, with spaced-out, slightly trippy, stumbling guitar and mystical wordless vocals that radiate spiritualism. Then, thirty-odd seconds in, the guitar slams in on hard overdrive and bangs into Soundgarden territory, with a beefy riff. The drums really stand out among it all, the snare a sharp crack that cuts through the thick distortion, with a hint of Therapy? pulling through it all.
The commination of melodic, reverby vocals and chunky riffage also reminds me of early Amplifier, but then there are some dark overtones and screamy backing vocals that are more nu-metal than neo-prog, and the two elements combine to optimal effect. This is some savvy musical alchemy here, and ‘Imposter Syndrome’ is a dense work with depth and dynamics. Yes, it harks back to the early 90s, but that’s another reflection of the time we live in. Recycling is good, especially when it’s done this well. Believe the hype. Believe in Solcura.
2nd April 2021
Christopher Nosnibor
Hot on the heels of February’s ‘Sabotage’, rock duo Arcade Fortress return with ‘Uppercut (Pembroke Boxing Club Tribute)’. Celebrating the club, which is run by Christopher McEwan, who’s the chairman of Great Britain Disability Boxing, and as such, it’s a celebration of triumph in the face of adversity, of the power of perseverance and the strength of the human spirit. Uplifting and lively in its lyrics, ‘Uppercut’ showcases a much more hard-edged sound than its predecessor, it’s also a full-on TUNE that comes blasting out with real attack from the very first bar. It’s less Survivor and more Therapy? The guitar buzzes hard and is driven by a relentless percussion that pummels away, and hard, with an adrenalizing effect that really grabs you. For all its edge, though, ‘Uppercut’ still boasts a solid hook (sorry, unintentional).
Clocking in at under three-and-a-half minutes, ‘Uppercut’ packs a punch (and I’m happy to own that pun) and raises the expectations for the forthcoming album.
AA
Christopher Nosnibor
It’s been nine months since Therapy’s set at the Brudenell was halted abruptly by an altercation at the back of the venue. They promised they’d come back and finish the set, and before tonight’s show proper, they made good on that promise with a matinee that picked up where they’d left off.
![DSC_2446[1]](https://auralaggravation.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/dsc_24461.jpg "DSC_2446[1]")
So, before playing a regular evening show, they opened the doors early for those who’d had tickets for the abridged show to play the remaining twelve songs on the set for free. And there was a more than respectable turnout, and it seems a fair few had purchased tickets for the gig proper, too: almost 30 years into their career, Therapy? still inspire real devotion and enthusiasm. Sometimes I forget just how big a deal they were to me back in the early 90s, but live they remind us just how many songs – bloody brilliant songs – hey have in their catalogue, and they don’t by any means all belong to their 90s heyday.
My mate joked that with just over nine months between the set’s start and finish – during which time children alive now have gone from conception to birth – it’s the longest set he’s ever seen (although neither of us have seen Bob Dylan, and I haven’t seen any recent Cure gigs). In exchange, I tell him about the new desk I’ve bought for my office at home, at which point I start to feel like the kind of old bastard who first saw Therapy? back in March ’94 while still in 6th form. But there’s a reason fans have stuck with Therapy? even after Semi-Detached. Not only did they rediscover their form and have spent almost two decades dispatching solid albums brimming with energy, sincerity and decent tunes, but they’re as passionate, enthusiastic and enjoyable live act as you’re likely to see.
![DSC_2451[1]](https://auralaggravation.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/09/dsc_24511.jpg "DSC_2451[1]")
Therapy?
It did feel a little strange arriving at the Brudenell for 6pm doors and a 6:30 prompt start, with time for only one pint and no support, and it also felt a little odd to see a band launch straight into a set that had been building in the first half to a climactic second half. But the fact they came on positively bursting with energy and enthusiasm and blasted through ‘Screamager’ as if they hadn’t started cold was enough to completely blow away any awkwardness. They followed with a swift one-two of a positively throbbing ‘Teethgrinder’ and a rip-snorting ‘Potato Junky’, and this opening trio alone justifies turning out for.
Despite having dispatched ‘Turn’, ‘Opal Mantra’, and ‘Trigger Inside’ in November, they’ve an embarrassment of riches in the major tunes stakes. ‘Stories’ and ‘Nowhere’, the former of which sees Andy spontaneously try out a new pedal combo to replicate the horn section on his guitar with a pleasing degree of success, are single cut highlights, but on a par are killer back-catalogue album selections ‘Stop it You’re Killing Me’, ‘Unbeliever’, and a furious rendition of ‘Knives’.
‘Crutch’ and set closer ‘Success? Success is Survival’ stand up well against the older material and show they’ve lost none of their knack for combining hefty riffs with magnificent melodies.
But Therapy? are so much more than the music in a live setting: they could have so easily played this as an obligation fulfilment, but no: bassist Michael Keegan grins from ear to ear and pogos for the duration and they make no concession to conserving energy for the full set to follow. Cairns is so affable he’s almost cuddly with between-song chat that rangers from bantz to rants, and as it’s drummer Neil’s birthday, leads the audience through some chants of ‘drum like a motherfucker’. He signs off with a sincere call for everyone to look after one another, and it’s a heart-warming, life-affirming experience. In dark days like these, we need good people, and Therapy’s unique brand of poppunknoise. And this time, no-one got hurt.
Christopher Nosnibor
Earlier in the day, my wife had recounted how a friend of hers had attended a show at The Brudenell for the first time earlier in the month. He’d been intimidated by the ‘roughness’ of the area and people setting fireworks off in the direction of people sitting at the tables outside the venue. I defended the venue and surrounding area: it may well be pretty down-market, having largely escaped gentrification and regeneration, I’d never once felt threatened or unsafe, and moreover, found the city centre of York on a Friday or Saturday night a more hostile environment than anywhere in Leeds.
I’d left York at 6pm with a sense of relief: the train station was teeming with large groups of drunk people shouting, and the Station Tap had been incredibly loud: again, I noticed it was single-sex groups who were the loudest and rowdiest. It’s not that I don’t like people, so much as I don’t like people. I particularly find herd mentality difficult to deal with, and crowds generally. Yet gigs, I can manage. In fact, I feel at home watching live music: in my head, the crowds consist of individuals with a commonality, sharing a space. This was certainly the vibe down the front here.
Admittedly, I’d felt awkward and on edge on arrival after witnessing a massive brawl outside The Dry Dock on the way to The Brudenell. On approach, I’d clocked maybe five or six guys leathering the crap out of one another with full fist blows being thrown just outside the doors. As I’d passed, on the other side of the road, five had become fifteen, twenty. Call it a scuffle, a scrap, a skirmish, a ruckus… call me a bad Samaritan for not calling the cops, but it was 6:40 in the evening, and the sound of breaking glass and witnessing a tumult of flailing limbs and people falling backwards over the ropes that line the walkway to the doors, and it was horrible. People were caught in the crossfire. The speed of the escalation, and the scale left me prickling with the realisation that shit can go down unexpectedly, and fast.
Arriving at the Brudenell, via Abu Bakir, where I picked up a couple of whopping and delicious vegetable samosas for a quid, and getting a round of Three Swords – two pints for £6.40 – I felt like I was coming home.
King Creature might not have been my first choice of home listening, but as a live warm-up, they were hard to fault. The Cornish foursome brought forth all the trappings of early 90s metal-edged rock, with heavy hints of the likes of Alice in Chains and slew upon slew of bands now dissipating in the mists of time who collectively forged the sonic backdrop to what you might call the grunge years. Combining melody and hefty riffs, and throwing on some audience participation for good measure, they play hard, and most importantly, they entertain.
King Creature
And Therapy?… Therapy? Are perhaps unexpected survivors of the early 90s ‘alternative’ explosion. Having endured the turbulence of rising from indie success to chart success on a major-label (and breakthrough single ‘Teethgrinder was hardly the most commercial of efforts) to being dropped and tossed into potential oblivion, they’ve continued to produce quality albums and to raw crowds with cracking live shows – although having first caught them touring Troublegum, it’s been 14 years since I last saw them live. They’re a band I’ve always gone back to over time, and the fact I’m here as a paying punter tonight is perhaps an indicator: I’m present as a fan rather than a reviewer, and in the event, I didn’t take a single note. Like those around me, I’m in the moment.
The set features a generous smattering of songs lifted from their attest album, and a fair array from their extensive back-catalogue – which means there are classic from through the years peppered liberally throughout. ‘Die Laughing’ makes an early appearance, as does ‘Turn’, and with ‘Opal Mantra’ crashing in hard and fast in the first half of the set. Feeble as it may be, and even feebler to admit, I found myself shedding a tear of nostalgia, as well as of joy: the band are clearly passionate about mental health and people coming together to take care of one another in these difficult and divisive times, and I was strangely touched when the woman in front of me apologised for knocking me wile dancing. It was, after all, a sold-out show (three months in advance, no less) and one expect occasional contact – and there’s a reason I wear boots with steel toecaps. The vibe was positive, and there was a lot of love and camaraderie in the room, and I make no bones about how so many shared common ground bouncing to a thumping rendition of ‘Trigger Inside.’ We probably all have a hint of knowing how Jeffrey Dahmer felt, too, and we’re all feeling it together, euphorically. Best of all, it’s clear that despite two of the band having dodgy post-kebab guts and Andy warning up front that the show could be performed in the style of GG Allin, they’re still loving what they do, and play with an energy and enthusiasm that’s infectious and impossible to fake.
Therapy?
But two bars into ‘Screamager’, everything ground to a halt: apparently there’d been an altercation at the back; someone was on the floor and paramedics had been called. The mood dropped, fell tense. Yet people remained calm, remained respectful. Strangers chatted. People looked concerned. From the stage the band looked concerned. The details of what actually happened are still emerging, but in many ways, the details are unimportant. The outline is that a disagreement got heated, fists were thrown, someone got hurt. Who the aggressors were, the whys and wherefores of the escalation, are unimportant: there is no justification for violence. Ultimately, someone got hurt, and the actions of a very small minority spoiled what had been a great evening for many. In context, on a personal level, it’s not been easy to process. It’s not that I feel less safe, and my general feelings toward humanity remain fundamentally unchanged: it’s just saddening, and sickening, that a place of safety and enjoyment should be tainted in this way.
Half an hour later, with paramedics and police in attendance, the band called it a night, and fair play. And respect to the band, the venue, and everyone else in attendance for handling the situation so well, and so respectfully.
Overthinking as I do, I’m still cogitating some 24 and then almost 48 hours later – back in my office, with a vodka, the time ticking down towards the alarm tomorrow morning. There’s a bad taste in my mouth that the Russian Standard can’t wash away, and I can’t settle with the sense that the world is getting darker, more divided, spinning into a freefall of chaos chewing at my psyche. Trump, Brexit, anarchy, a descent into a more primitive state… But then the context matters. There are lots of great people out there, and I get to spend time with them often at live music shows. And I remember, ultimately, that it’s wrong to base a judgement of the whole on a very small fraction, and you can’t let the bastards grind you down. It’s precisely the attitude that’s kept Therapy? going for nigh on thirty years, and it’s why when they do reschedule and return, I’ll be down the front once more.
Aural Aggravation 