Posts Tagged ‘York’

Christopher Nosnibor

However well you plan, things just happen that are beyond your control. It’s how you deal with these problems that present themselves which counts. In pulling off ‘Blowing Up the House II’ a punk and post-punk half-dayer with half a dozen bands for free / donations, Andy Wiles has performed little short of a miracle. Looking at the poster for the event on the venue wall, with a hand-written A4 sheet stuck in the middle with the stage times, it’s apparent that only three of the acts from the original advertised lineup are actually on the bill. Losing one key act due to diary mismanagement on their part must have been frustrating, but to lose the headliners on the day due to the drummer having broken his arm surely felt like a message from the gods, and not a kind one.

Still, the replacements could not have been better; the addition of JUKU on an already solid bill proved to be both inspired and fortunate, and then for Soma Crew to step into the headline slot, hot on the heels of the release of their new album made for a fitting switch.

Among the lower orders, Saliva Birds had some steely post-punk moments that reminded me of later Red Lorry Yellow Lorry with driving bass and solid drumming, and overall, they were pretty decent, and went down well.

As was the case with Saliva Birds, I had zero expectations of Zero Cost, up from Hull. They play some perfectly passable hard, fast three-chord punk marred somewhat by excessive guitar solos. They were at their best when they went even harder and even faster for some back-to-back explosive 30-second blasts. They only half-cleared the room, and they got some old people dancing very vigorously.

It’s getting to the point where Percy are likely in the top three or four bands I’ve seen the most times, partly because they’ve been playing gigs locally since before the dawn of time, but mostly because they’re worth turning out for. It’s fair to say you know what you’re going to get with Percy, in terms of consistency, and the rate they write new material, there’s always something new in the set – namely half of the forthcoming album, with the title track getting a premier tonight.

Opening their set with the darkly paranoid ‘I Can Hear Orgies’, Colin’s guitar is a metallic clang amidst screening feedback, contrasting with the eerie synths and insistent rhythm section. The loudness of Bassist Andy’s shirt threatens to drown out the sound from his amp, a big low rumble that defines the band’s sound. The drums are loud and crisp and propel some proper stompers.

“Don’t try the wotsits, they taste like earplugs,” Colin quips, in uncharacteristically jovial form, referring to the jar on the bar.

On the evidence of tonight’s outing, the album will be a dark, jagged collection of post punk songs about alcoholic blackouts and sex parties, and even without older favourites like ‘Chunks’ and ‘Will of the People’ in the setlist, there’s plenty of earworms. The waltz-time Thinking of Jacking it in Again’ sits somewhere between The Stranglers and Slates-era Fall.

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Percy

My review of JUKU’s debut performance last Summer was the fourth most-read article at Aural Aggravation for 2023 (behind the review of Swans’ The Beggar, Spear of Destiny at The Crescent, and my interview with Stewart Home). It was a gig that warranted all the superlatives. And they’re every bit as immense and mind-blowingly good as I remember tonight. It’s full-throttle heads-down stompers from start to finish. With big, ball-busting grungy riffs hammered out hard at high volume, there are hints of the Pixies amidst the magnificent sonic blast… but harder and heavier. And the drummer is fucking incredible. His powerhouse percussion drives the entire unit with ferocity and precision. Naomi’s delivery and demeanour contrasts with the lyrics wracked with turmoil, while Dan plays every chord with the entirety of his being, and to top it all, they have some tidy post-punk pop songs buried like depth charges beneath that blistering wall of noise. It’s a perfect package, and they’re an absolute-must-see band.

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JUKU

With a lot of bands and a lot of kit, with really tight turnaround times, it’s a huge achievement that the headliners are only ten minutes late starting, and credit’s due to venue and bands alike for their no-messing approach to plugging in and playing without any soundcheck beyond checking that there is sound. The sound, in the event, is consistently good all night – well-balanced, clear, and achieving an appropriate volume.

Soma Crew are another band I’ve seen more times than I can now count, and they just go from strength to strength. Many acts would have been daunted by following JUKU, bit they’re seasoned performers who play with a certain nonchalance and slip into their own inward-facing bubble where they just play, and magic happens.

Tonight they’re out as a three-piece (the lineup seems to vary week by week, probably as much dependent on availability as by design), and much respect is due for their starting with a quintessential Soma Crew slow-builder, a crawl with crescendos which plugs away at the same droning chord for a solid six or so minutes. On the face of it, their hippy-trippy space rock is neither punk nor post-punk – but what could be more punk than doing precisely this? As their Bandcamp bio asks, ‘Why play 4 chords, why play 3. Why play 2 when 1 will do…?’ This is a manifesto they truly love by, and I’m on board with that: the joy of their music emerges from the hypnotic nature of the droning repetition, a blissful sonic sedative.

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Soma Crew

While the rhythm section throbs away on a tight groove, beautiful chaos cascades from Simon’s amp via an array of pedals that occupies half the stage. It’s seven-minute single ‘Propaganda Now’ that solidifies their taking command of the room by virtue of doing their own thing.

Once again, it’s a trip to a grass-roots venue that shows just how much great music there is to be had a million miles from the corporate air hangars which charge £7 a pint and scalp the performers for 30% of their merch takings. It’s not even about the pipeline for the next big names who’ll be on at Glastonbury in a few years: it’s about real music, music that matters.

Christopher Nosnibor

I’m out on my second consecutive night of gigging and it feels like it used to in 2019, when I used to do this sort of thing all the time. Other things about this remind e of times past, too. It’s a fairly last-minute show, booked after a couple of dates in Scotland fell through, leaving Thank and tour buddies Fashion Tips with gaps in their schedule. Consequently, promotion has been a bit sparse and ticket sales have only been ‘ok’, attracting the kind of turnout that would look good in a 100-200 capacity venue, but perhaps not so good in a 350-capacity space.

Moving the bands to the floor instead of the stage really changed the dynamic, though, and it worked so, so well. Having a 100% solid lineup was what really made all the difference, though, with local guitar and drums duo Junk It being first up.

Having caught them supporting Part Chimp in the same venue back in November 2022 (how was it that long ago?), I’d dug their sound and seen potential. They’re now absolutely delivering on that early promise, and tonight they’re absolutely outstanding. The set beings with a squall of feedback (as does every song, and as often occupies the space between songs) and a mega thick grunge riff. The guitarist sports a beard, long hair, chunky boots and long flowing skirt, and carries it off well, flailing said hair wildly while blasting out hefty power chords.

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Junk It

The drummer and guitarist share vocal duties on the wild ‘Strut My Stuff’, and the former struggles to stay on his stool during the set, leaping and half standing as he thrashes the fuck out of his kit, the nut flying off the cymbal near the end of the set. The chat between songs is awkward, but amusing, and the songs are pure power. They’re a pleasant, affable pair playing hairy, sweaty grunge, the songs often becoming two players screaming ‘aaaghahah’ over hefty guitar and pummelling drums, before bringing unexpected harmonies in the last couple of songs.

Fashion Tips, whose EP I covered a bit back, and was keen to witness live, emerge a lot less poppy and a lot harsher and noisier than anticipated on the basis of the recorded evidence, and the four-piece bring a spiky riot grrrl punk racket played hard and cranked up loud. With heavy synth grind and pumping drum machine and layers of feedback plus extraneous noise, their sound is in the region of Big Black meets Dr Mix meets Bis meets Selfish Cunt.

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Fashion Tips

Singer / synth masher Esme verbalises my thoughts perfectly when she comments on how tonight’s show is reminiscent of The Brudenell circa 2006 – it’s that low-key, lo-fi, direct engagement, band on-the-floor-and in-yer-face making unfashionable noise simply because vibe that does it, and seeing the likes of That Fucking Tank and Gum Takes Tooth playing to small but enthusiastic audiences of oddballs stands as something of a golden age in my mind. You can never recreate the past, at least not purposefully, and to pine in nostalgia is to grasp at emptiness – but sometimes, thing just happen, and this so proved to be one of those things, by accident and by circumstance rather than by design. Fashion Tips were nothing short of blistering with their abrasive antagonism. Fucking hell indeed.

Between Fashion Tips and Thank, Daughters’ You Won’t Get What You Want was blasting over the PA, reminding me of one of the most incredible and intense live shows I’ve ever born witness to.

Steve Myles always looks like he wants to murder the drum kit and he looks seriously fucking menacing as he starts tonight’s set, face low and focused as he thumps hard. To return to the topic of vintage Leeds, my introduction to Thank was in December 2016, supporting Oozing Wound at – where else? – the Brudenell. It got me out of a works Christmas do, and stands out as a belter in the games room, which stood as the second stage then, and Thank, decked in neon running gear stood out as being demented, but also quintessential Leeds alternative. They’re still blazing that trail and have gone from strength to strength, supporting the likes of Big ¦ Brave and maintaining a steady flow of releases – and of course, hardly play any of the songs from those releases tonight, because, well, that’s how they roll. When they erupt it’s a fierce racket. The bassist wrestles noise from a bass with a very long neck. It’s jolting, and it’s hard.

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Thank

The set is strung together by some mental banter, a rambling narrative that expands on a fictitious account of a dialogue between the band and the show’s promoter, Joe Coates, spanning several months. It’s amusing, and grows more surreal and more stupid as the set progresses – which is Thank all over. Amidst the endless slew of new material, there’s a song called ‘Woke Frasier’, the premise of which is…. if Frasier was woke. Of course. ‘Commemorative Coin’, old yet still unreleased, is a big tempo-changing beast of a tune, and encapsulates Thank perfectly – crazed, irreverent, and daft in the way only a northern act can be. Freddie is the perfect frontperson, balancing charisma with clumsiness in a way that’s charming and entertaining, but hits the mark when they go loud, too.

With three bands out of three delivering outstanding, and utterly full-on sets, you couldn’t ask for more on a Friday night – and pints for £3.50 is just a bonus. If you missed it, you missed out.

23rd February 2024

Christopher Nosnibor

On the Ropes started out in 2012, but called it a day with a farewell show in November 2019. Not a bad run for any band, but especially not for a ‘local’ band with dayjob commitments and all the rest. Being in a band, and maintaining it, is hard work – really hard work, especially in recent years. Even pre-COVID, unless you’re filling O2 arenas and selling fucktonnes of albums and merch, sustaining a band as anything more than a hobby was a challenge, and as such beyond the reach of most working-class people who can’t afford luxuries like guitars or amps. In the early days of punk, anyone could pick up a guitar, learn three chords, and for a band. Those days are gone: even if you can afford a guitar and learn three chords, where are you going to play? The industry is fucked – at least for all but the major labels, and acts who score deals without even playing enough gigs to build a following before being scooped up and being handed major support tours and slots at Glastonbury before the debut single even hits Spotify.

I know I’ve been sniffy – to say the least – about pop-punk. I’ve been sniffy about a lot, and I make no apology for it. As a critic, as much as I try on the one hand to be as objective as possible, I also am of the fundamental view that music is personal, subjective. Music that demonstrates more technical proficiency certainly isn’t superior because of it. But, as I say, I’ve been pretty down on punk-pop. But I’ve always said that there are two kinds of music – good, and bad, and maintained the position that there are great songs, even great bands, within every genre, even emo, nu-metal, and ska-punk. Well, maybe not ska-punk. There’s always a bridge too far somewhere.

Anyway, a full nine years on from their last proper release (discounting a cover of The Spice Girls’ ‘2 Become 1’ at Christmas, following a return to live shows last year, On the Ropes have reconvened for a new self-titled EP, with seven songs which stand some way above your identikit punk-pop template stuff, and I suppose it’s the sameness – and the endless buoyancy – of so much of the genre that grinds my gears. There’s a melancholy, a wistfulness, that pervades even the most upbeat songs on offer here, and while the vocals are super-clean and super-melodic – the pop, you might say, the guitars are beefy and up in the mix and the drumming is fast and hard, very much placing the emphasis on the punk element.

‘Deserter’ kicks off with a blast of energy and some well-timed minor chords which create a dynamic twist and an emotionally-rich – and yes, I suppose emo – edge. This is very much the characteristic form of their songs. And it works. This isn’t dumb, cheesy pop-punk, and nor is it self-pitying, whiny emo: it’s emo gone grown up, reflective, and exploring themes of love and loss, but letting it all out, and the songs are both punchy and catchy thanks to the contrast between the instruments and the vocals.

The slower, sadder, introspective ‘West Coast Living’ is certainly more Placebo than Panic! At the Disco, while ‘Broken Shutter’ packs a delicate verse with an explosive chorus and manages to be aching and epic and achieves it all in two-and-a-half minutes. ‘Saturnine’ has a Twin Atlantic vibe to it, and while it’s perhaps not the strongest song of the set, it’s hard to deny the quality of the songwriting, or the fact that this EP feels like the work of a much, much bigger band.

Local fans are going to relish this return, for sure – and given the quality on offer here, maybe they’ll actually become the much bigger band.

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OTR

Christopher Nosnibor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Act 1

No Como Crees

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

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Speedreaders

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

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Percy

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

Christopher Nosnibor

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

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

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

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ShinePath

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

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Ooberfuse

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

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

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Hibari

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

Christopher Nosnibor

Apart from a couple of dates earlier in the year, it’s been a fair while since OFF! toured the UK. This visit consists of half a dozen dates, taking in Dublin, Glasgow, Bristol, Brighton, and Pitchfork Music Festival in London – which makes York a real outlier. Leeds, you’d probably expect – having previously brought the noise to The Brudenell and Belgrave – but York? The Crescent has been going front strength to strength in recent years, and with some bold booking (notably, tonight’s show is hosted as a ‘Brudenell Presents…’ event), the 350-capacity venue has been bringing some impressive names to a city that for many years languished as a musical backwater.

OFF! certainly qualify as an impressive name. As a founding member of both Black Flag and the Circle Jerks, Keith Morris is indisputably one of the key figures of the original hardcore scene. Since hooking up guitarist-producer Dimitri Coats (Burning Brides), they’ve built a supergroup that’s been tearing up venues since 2009. And the reason they’ve such a strong following isn’t because of who’s in the band, but because they deliver pure, back-to-basics hardcore punk: hardly any effects pedals, no gimmicks or banter, just song after song, most under two minutes long, played as hard and as fast as is humanly possible.

This current iteration finds them boating a powerhouse rhythm section comprising bassist Autry Fulbright II (…And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead) and drummer Justin Brown (Thundercat, Herbie Hancock).

In tow, they have Washington DC punk duo Teen Mortgage. They shuffle into the stage crowded with kit (it’s not a tiny stage, but two big drum kits plus some beefy backline don’t leave much room. The singer / guitarist is wearing a Motorhead T and has patches of Misfits and the like on his jeans. He greets the crowd with a drawling “Whassuuup?” and then they’re straight down to business. The duo sound cheap, trashy and in places slightly thin by design: they’re not into the new trend of heaps of effects and splitting the guitar through two cabs or whatever. They’re doing it the old school way, fast and frantic, and with the drums dominating. The result is rather like DZ Deathrays with the addition of twirling drumsticks. Nothing technical or complex, just two guys making a racket and at fast pace. And it’s ace, because it’s so immediate. The crowd – and it’s a decent turnout – recognise this and the moshing gets going early on.

OFF! don’t piss about either. Again, there’s absolutely nothing fancy about their or their setup. Brown has the band’s name in strips of electrical tape on the bass drum. The kit looks battered, and there are just a few bottles of water and mugs of herbal tea on stage – and again, barely any effects pedals.

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OFF!

Keith Morris may have started his careers as an angry young man, and now he’s an angry old man who still performs with the passion of an angry young man. This guy really puts so many bands a fraction of his age to shame. He’s now into his late 60s, but doesn’t stop for breathers, there are no instrumental breaks while he recovers himself: instead, he rants away as feedback streams from the stage between songs. The bald spot is now covered by a hat, and the dreadlocks are down past knees. But other than this, little is different from the times I saw them in 2012 and 2014: the hand-written setlist is still several feet long, consisting of half a ream of sheets taped together and they power through almost thirty songs in less than eighty minutes. Bam! Bam! Bam! Song after song, each one blasting in, bamalamalamalam and stop! The moshpit grows and grows, and the energy in the room is fantastic. And then they’re done: quick, clean, and efficient, this is hardcore at its best.

Christopher Nosnibor

It’s been a while since I attended one of these short Sunday matinee shows, but last time I did – last spring, when Snakerattlers launched their album – I was absolutely sold on the concept of a band or two and a couple of pints after Sunday lunch. Dan Gott – of Snakerattlers, JUKU, and gig promoters Behind the White Door – is one of those people who likes to do something different, and it’s great to see him coming back to this idea.

Since the last time I came to one of these, a lot has happened, and now being a single parent to a primary-school age daughter and with no relatives on the county makes getting out on a night nigh on impossible, so this offered me a rare opportunity to get out for beer and live music. I’m clearly not the only one who digs the short matinee format, with around fifty punters occupying the dark space rather than basking in the beer garden.

Before the show, the partner of one of the guys from Wasted Denim is explaining to their kids, sensibly sporting ear defenders, the process of the soundcheck, and there’s something warming about this kind of environment, and speaks volumes about the bands, the venue, and the organisers.

It’s good for bands, too, opening up the possibility of playing two shows in a day, getting paid twice, and selling merch to two sets of punters. Or simply to get home ein decent time ahead of dayjobs the following morning.

Wasted Denim’s singer has a Black Flag tattoo and the drummer is wearing a Bad Religion T-shirt. The Leeds trip piledrive through the songs – fast, short, Ramones meets The Clash meets The Ruts, all with a gritty hardcore edge – with zeal, blurring together only separated by a call of ‘onetwothreefour!’ Songs like ‘You’re Gross’ and ‘I don’t Wanna be a Dickhead’, introduced as a song about personal wealth, aren’t works of lyrical genius by any stretch, but that’s not what punk’s about. It’s immediate, it’s raw. And they’re as tight as hell. Sure, they only have one tempo – fast – and four chords, but more is just showing off anyway. The set gets faster as it progresses. They’re fun, and seem like decent guys, too.

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Wasted Denim

I’d been forewarned that JUKU would be seriously loud, threatening ‘Thunderclap drumming, distorted to holy fuck guitars, massive riffs and a clean feminine vocal cutting through the massive wall of noise.’ With Snakerattlers Dan and Naomi Gott on guitar and bass/vocals respectively, this relatively new quartet are a world away from the duo’s reverb-heavy swamy psychedelic surf-rock. There’s no twang or space to longer here: every second is pure density, the sonic equivalent of driving headlong into a brick wall.

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JUKU

And yes, they’re loud as fuck. Opener ‘Hot Mess’ opener is a throbbing stomper of a tune, with monster big balls and massive swagger. ‘Pressure’ ups the pace and the adrenaline. ‘Trigger’ shows a more sensitive side, and more of a pop aesthetic, but it’s still propelled by a monster riff and pulsating rhythm section. Naomi’s vocals are a strong asset – gutsy, but nuanced. ‘I’m no fun’, she sings on ‘No Fun’, which is absolutely storming, and it so happens, a lot of fun. Sharing vocal duties back and forth on ‘We Don’t Belong’, Dan screams his lines adding another layer of dynamics, while ‘Devil Inside’ exploits quiet / loud grunge dynamics to strong effect, before ending the set with the 100mph ‘No No.’

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JUKU

At times, New York punk and No Wave leanings come to the fore in a set that’s driving, hard-edged, aggressive. Boasting solid hooks and blistering energy, it’s mint, and Dan taking advantage of being wireless and taking his guitar around the venue as he chugs out beefy chords adds to the energy. They kick out nine songs in twenty-five high-impact minutes. In terms of the set’s structure, it’s faultless: if they record these nine songs and release them in this order, they’ve got a killer album on their hands already. The world needs to hear it.

Christopher Nosnibor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Christopher Nosnibor

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

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

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Disinfo

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

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Beyond All Reason

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

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

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RSJ

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

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

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RSJ

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

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